CHAPTER XVII General News
The final winter months passed peacefully and fairly uneventfully at theSunrise cabin, with the girls following a regular routine of school andCamp Fire work and receiving new honors at each monthly meeting of theirCouncil Fire. So far Esther Clark, Mollie O'Neill and, strangely enough,Nan Graham, had earned the greatest number of honor beads, for sinceNan's unpleasant day at home a new incentive seemed to have been added toher first ambition to make herself an attractive and capable woman. Whatthis incentive was she confided only to her two most admired friends,Rose Dyer and Polly, but by a Polly channel the news also reached BettyAshton's ears. Nan's former good-for-nothing brother, Anthony, haddisappeared, but had written his sister two letters declaring that he washard at work, keeping straight, and, though he did not wish anyone toknow where he was, some day when he could feel that Nan might be proudinstead of ashamed of him, meant to come home. In the meantime he urgedNan to stick close to her Camp Fire friends and to work.
Therefore there was only one Wood Gatherer now within the Sunrise clubcircle and this the small Abbie, whom Dr. Barton and Sylvia hadintroduced with such an amazing lack of tact on Christmas eve. Forseveral weeks after her arrival the girls had simply permitted her tolive on at the cabin enjoying their outdoor life, their healthy diet andwatching the faint roses bloom in her cheeks but without the faintestidea of ever asking her to become a member of the Sunrise club. In thefirst place the child was too impossibly young, a bare thirteen, whenmost of the other girls were now approaching seventeen and grown-up-ness,and it was an unwritten Camp Fire law that the girls in a single groupshould be as nearly as possible of the same age. If Abbie had only beenas old as her years, but she was not even that, and yet somehow this verybabyishness and oddity finally won her admittance to the magic circleparadoxical as it may seem.
Perchance the club may have needed a baby now that "Little Brother" hadreturned, to live in his own home, anyhow, Abbie, almost before any onewas aware of it, was occupying this position. Before her arrival SylviaWharton had been the youngest member of the Sunrise club, but there hadnever been anything particularly youthful or clinging about Sylvia;indeed, she had been about the most independent and self-reliant of thegirls and therefore she found it very difficult to understand her ownspecial protege.
Abbie's name wasn't Abbie at all, but Abigail Faith Abbott, and once theromantic Polly made this discovery, Faith the little girl became to theentire club. Faith had lived a curiously solitary life apart from allother children. It was true her mother kept boarders in a downtown housein old Boston that had once belonged to her great-grandfather, but Faithhad been kept away from them as much as possible and because of her illhealth had never been allowed to go to school. It was because of her manyillnesses that young Dr. Barton took an interest in the child. Her fatherwas dead and her mother too busy with many cares to see much of her, somost of the young girl's life had been spent in a small room at the topof an old house, which had an ever-closed window through which she couldlook out upon miles of chimney tops with every now and then a moreaspiring steeple. So was it much of a wonder that the little lonely girllived with fancies instead of realities and that as a result of all thesethings she now looked as though a harsh New Hampshire wind might easilyblow her away? The children Faith had played with had never been realchildren at all, but two little spirit sisters whom she had imaged in herown mind for so long now that she could not remember when first she hadthought of them. Nevertheless, it was with them that she constantlyplayed and, if left alone, occasionally she spoke to them aloud. Ofcourse Faith was old enough now to understand the absurdity of this andhad made up her mind never to betray herself at the cabin. Yet within ashort time after her arrival and because of her dreadful homesickness,Miss Dyer made the discovery. Unfortunately Sylvia, who had taken thelittle visitor's physical training sternly in hand, also found out thefancy.
Faith did not go into town to school with the other girls, for by thedoctor's and Sylvia's advice she was to spend all her time outdoors onthe cabin front porch wrapped up in rugs. It was rather cold and dullwith only the Sunrise Hill before her, the now frozen lake, where thegirls skated in the late afternoons, and the long, dark avenue of pines.However, in the beginning of her experience Faith confessed to herselfthat she liked the loneliness far better than so many and such amazinglyenterprising girls. With an almost desperate shyness she clung to RoseDyer as the one grown-up person who faintly suggested her own mother andto Sylvia's ministrations she yielded herself without protesting, but forsome weeks she never spoke one word to any of the older girls except inanswering a question addressed to her. Indeed, when evening came and theothers gathered about their log fire to talk, the little stranger used toslip away to be cuddled like a baby in old Mammy's arms until Sylvia, whowished her to retire an hour before any one else and have a special latesupper of milk and eggs, would come and bear her off to be put to bed.
One morning Rose had been feeling worried at having been compelled toleave Faith so long outdoors alone without even going to the door tospeak to her. The guardian's hands had been unusually full that morningwith Mammy, who ordinarily helped a little with the work while the girlswere away, laid up with rheumatism. Also Rose knew that Max, the big St.Bernard dog who had arrived almost at the same time with Faith, spentmost of his time with the little girl, and so she let the whole matterslip her mind until it was time to carry out her midday lunch. Then shesmiled a little ruefully as she paused for a moment before opening thefront door, wondering if Dr. Barton could guess just how much this childhad added to her responsibilities and whether he would care seriously ifhe did. With his own devotion to looking after the sick (really he seemedtotally indifferent to people who were well) doubtless he would takeeverything as a matter of course. In his visits to the cabin sinceChristmas certainly nothing more had been said on the subject. Roselaughed and then sighed, pausing with the door to the porch half open andlistening. Faith was evidently not alone, for she could distinctly hearher talking to some one although unable to catch any answers.
"I think perhaps I can keep on bearing it, Anastasia," Faith said in avoice that was only fairly brave, "if only you will stay with me and notlet all those strange girls drive you and Gloria away. When they talk somuch it seems as though I can't remember you and it makes me want to go_home_."
Her voice broke and Rose peering out was deeply mystified. The littlehalf-sick girl was plainly alone and plainly dreadfully homesick, butwith whom could she be talking?
"I don't mind the Rose one so much, Gloria," she continued, "but Dr. Nedsaid she was as nice as my mother, even nicer I believe he thought her.Yet he does not even look at her and hardly speaks to her when he comesto visit me." And here Faith dropped her pale face into her small glovedhands and began to cry just as Rose appeared with her lunch.
Nevertheless, by the exercise of as much tact and patience as Miss Dyerhad ever used in her society days to charm the coldest and most obdurateof her critics, finally she managed to persuade Faith to explain to herwith whom she had been talking and just who were the mysterious personsGloria and Anastasia. Of course, with many blushes Faith made herconfession, understanding that she was now far too old for any suchfanciful nonsense. Yet she did tell Rose with a good deal of pleasuretoward the last that the two names represented two older sisters withwhom she had been pretending to play ever since she was a baby and whowere really dearer to her and more actual than real people. Naturally thenew Camp Fire guardian was puzzled over this wholly new problem, with aso much younger girl, and after thinking it over for a long time made upher mind to consult with Dr. Barton. For if ever the little girl were torecover her normal health under their Camp Fire rules she must certainlyput away her morbid fancies. But the consultation gave the new guardianno satisfaction, appearing to estrange her more than ever from the youngphysician. For he and Rose disagreed about the method of Faith's curecompletely and it was ever the young man's
obstinacy that Rose had foundit hardest to forgive. Actually Dr. Barton had the stupidity to lectureFaith about her cherished secret and even to betray her to Sylvia, whotried reasoning with her every night while putting her to bed.Fortunately, however, Rose Dyer had not had a colored Mammy for nothing,having grown up on splendid fairy and folk-lore stories, so that bydegrees she managed to interest little Faith in the things outside herown mind, in real Camp Fire games and work, and finally in the girlsthemselves, until, growing less afraid, Faith found Mollie, Polly andBetty better substitutes than the sisters of her dreams. And by and bythrough their guardian's advice the little girl was permitted to enterthe Sunrise club as a Wood Gatherer. There she grew to be more and morefaithful to its rules and ideals, until after a while her too vividimagination seemed to be fairly well under her control. If later in life,however, her fancy was to lead her into strange experiences, soon no onewould have guessed it, for March found Faith stronger than ever before inher life and utterly attached to Rose Dyer. Still looking like our littlegolden haired Christmas angel, Polly once remarked, but like the angelafter she had eaten the Christmas dinner.
Nevertheless, though Sylvia fully understood that all Faith's devotionwas now bestowed on their Camp Fire guardian, now and then she used towonder why Faith did not show any liking for her. Certainly she had givenher the tenderest physical care, making her follow faithfully every CampFire health rule, live outdoors, sleep and eat all she should.
It was also puzzling to Sylvia, just as it has often been to olderpersons, why after a few weeks every girl in the Sunrise camp seemed tofeel a special affection for little Faith. She never appeared to doanything to try to deserve it, except to be pretty and have curly lighthair, big gentle, blue eyes and a timid and appealing manner, whileSylvia, who spent most of her time making herself as useful as possibleto her friends, was not particularly loved, not even by Polly. And forPolly O'Neill, Sylvia Wharton's devotion has never for a single instantwavered and never will, even when the future puts it to many difficulttests. For faithfulness to an idea, a conviction or a person will ever beSylvia's predominant trait of character, and while it may not make herappear on the surface as loving or lovable as some of her companions, itwould be well if she could now know that it will be to her the othergirls will always turn in after years when they stand in need of sensibleadvice or even of real practical assistance. And this was to beparticularly true of Polly O'Neill in her not very peaceful life, so itwas unfortunate that poor Sylvia had now to fight down many pangs offoolish jealousy through seeing that Polly as well as the other girlsmade a special pet and plaything of the newest comer.
But if Faith had unconsciously made Sylvia suffer now and then, she alsoaccomplished another result. Just at first Betty Ashton had imagined thatthere might be some unknown bond of interest between Rose Dyer and youngDr. Barton, cemented before Rose's entrance into their club as guardian.But now she gave up the impression, believing thoroughly that Rose foundthe cold, puritanical young man actually distasteful in spite of his manyacts of kindness to the Sunrise Camp Fire girls.