Nyoda, coming down to untie the launch, reached the dock just as Sahwah and Gladys came alongside of it, and held out her hand to help Gladys up. She thought she was being towed for fun. "Sahwah, you naughty girl, what did you swim all the way home for?" she began, and then gasped in astonishment as Sahwah stiffened out in the water and went down. She grasped her by the collar as she came up and pulled her out on the dock, limp and dripping. "What does this mean?" she asked Gladys.

"She towed me in when the canoe went down," said Gladys, her teeth chattering with fright. "She broke her arm and held me up with the other while she swam with her legs." Gladys's knees gave way and she sank down on the dock, burying her face in her hands.

And Sahwah the Sunfish, the lover of maiden bravery, the envier of heroines, was the greatest of them all, and knew it not.



CHAPTER VIII.

A SERENADE.

"Is she dead?" cried the girls, gathering around with frightened faces. Gladys caught the word "dead" and her heart turned to water within her. The horror of the afternoon's experience had made her see herself in her true light and she was overwhelmed with shame at the sight. This Sahwah whom she had twitted as being a coward and a baby because she would not break her word, was made of the stuff that heroes are made of, and had probably given her brave life to save her worthless one. Looking back over the weeks she had spent in camp, she could not remember one instance where she had done anybody a favor or entered with enthusiasm into their plans, while Sahwah's unselfish devotion to her during these last days smote her with sharp remorse. In the new light she suddenly saw the vast difference between herself and these other girls. Verily, they were not of her class, because they were far above it. How could she ever take her hands from her face and look at them again? "If Sahwah dies," she sobbed to herself, "I'll kill myself too."

Meanwhile Nyoda was working hard to bring Sahwah around. It was not a case of reviving a drowned person, for Sahwah had swallowed no water. She had fainted from exhaustion. Nyoda rubbed her and held salts to her nose and Sahwah finally opened her eyes. "Did I jump off in my sleep?" she asked dreamily.

"No, my dear, you did not," said Nyoda. "You're a real, wide-awake heroine this time, and no mistake."

"Where's Gladys?" cried Sahwah wildly, starting up suddenly, and falling back with a groan.

"She's all right," said Nyoda, without looking around. Sahwah was carried up the hill and rolled in warm blankets and put to bed with a hot drink, while Nyoda sped the launch across the lake for the nearest doctor.

"Vell, vich von of de ladies has been celebrating dis time?" he said with his German accent, as he entered the tent. He was the same doctor who had come to look at Migwan's knee. "A broken arm? Ach, so," he said, patting the injured member. "And for vy did you not set it right away yourself, like dat Missis Migvan did?" he asked. "She vas a hustler, now!" He talked on jovially all the while he set the bone, and Sahwah stuffed the corners of the pillow into her mouth so that no sound should escape her. "Vell, vell," he continued, "dropped a canoe on her funny bone and kicked herself all de vay across de lake, now. And pushed anoder lady by de neck! I gif it up! And now, Missis Sahvah," he said, holding up one finger at her, "you lie on de bed until I say you should get out. You could get a fever, pushing ladies around by de neck!"

"And now," he said, looking around, "de lady vot got drowned, vere is she?" The girls searched through the camp for Gladys, but she was nowhere to be found, and he was obliged to depart without seeing her. Far out in the woods Gladys wandered about distractedly until her anxiety regarding Sahwah drove her back to camp to face the girls and find out bow she was. Near the tent she stumbled against something on the ground, and stooping to see what it was, found the racket on which she had vented her fury that afternoon. The sight of it nearly made her ill. "I'll get her another," she resolved, "the best that money can buy. Hers was only a cheap one, after all."

It was a long time before she could make up her mind to enter the tent, but she finally crept in, hoping to remain unnoticed and hear how Sahwah was getting along. Nyoda looked up as she came in, and pitied her from the bottom of her heart. "Come in, Gladys," she said softly, and Gladys approached.

"How is—" she began, and then her voice broke.

"Fine and dandy," said Sahwah herself, rather weakly. The fever that the doctor had predicted was rising, and her lips were dry. Nyoda feared that the presence of Gladys would excite Sahwah, and led her out of the tent.

"Now Gladys," she said, sitting down on the steps of the shack, "I want you to tell me everything that happened this afternoon. How did it come that you were out in a canoe and had to be rescued?"

Gladys told a straight story, not sparing herself in the least. She told about the dreadful mood she had been in that afternoon after the girls had gone away; how she had broken Sahwah's racket, and then, filled with a very devil of rebellion, had taken out one of the canoes. It happened to be the leaky one and her punishment overtook her swift as the wings of a bird. She had given up all hope when Sahwah had appeared magically from somewhere and towed her in, in spite of her broken arm. Gladys's face was crimson with shame when she told how she had tried to make Sahwah take her out in the sponson during rest hour, and had called her a coward because she refused. She told Nyoda everything except the letter she had written to her father. She could not bring herself to tell that. It lay on her conscience like a lump of lead.

Nyoda said very little about the matter and did not upbraid her at all. She saw that Gladys's sins had come down on her head in a manner which would make a very deep impression, and that Gladys would emerge from the experience a sadder and wiser girl.

"I haven't been a very good camper, Nyoda," said Gladys humbly, "but I'm going to try to be after this."

"I know you will," said Nyoda, putting her arm around her, "and you are going to succeed, too. And now let's go and see how Sahwah is."

Sahwah was tossing on the bed and muttering when they came in. She had a high fever and was living over again her strenuous escapade of the afternoon. She cried aloud that the shore was running away from her, that the clouds were tumbling down on her, that a big fish had a hold of her arm. "This rock I am pushing against," she moaned, "is so heavy, I shall never get around it." Nyoda gave her the fever medicine left by the doctor and she sank into a heavy sleep. All that night and all the next day she alternately raved and slept.

Nyoda fetched the doctor again the next day and he predicted that Sahwah would soon be better. "She is a strong von, dat Missis Sahvah," he said. "She has bones like iron! A weak von vould maybe haf brain fever, but not she, I don't tink!" Nor did Sahwah disappoint him. She had a constitution like a nine-lived cat, and her active outdoor life kept her blood in perfect condition, and it was not long before she began to get the upper hand of the fever.

During the second night she woke up feeling delightfully cool and comfortable. The fever had left her sometime during sleep. The moon was setting over the lake, making a long golden streak across the water. Sahwah smiled happily at the peaceful scene. Then she became aware of a figure crouching on the floor beside her bed. It was Gladys, sitting on a low stool beside her, keeping watch.

"Hello, Gladys," she said, weakly but cheerfully.

Gladys started up. "Do you really know me?" she said joyfully.

"Sure I know you," said Sahwah. "Why shouldn't I?"

"You didn't yesterday, you know," said Gladys.

"Did my arm make me so sick?" asked Sahwah, feeling gingerly of the white bandage, and moving her feet to make sure that they were not similarly adorned. Gladys nodded. "Have you been sitting here all night?" asked Sahwah.

"Yes," said Gladys. "Nyoda sat up last night, but I made her go to bed to-night. She is here in my bed, and I'm to call her if she's needed."

"Let her sleep," said Sahwah softly. "And you go back to bed, too. I won't need anything to-night, really I won't, I feel fine now."

Gladys shook her head resolutely. "I promised to sit up with you to-night, and I'm going to keep my promise. You see I can be trustworthy sometimes. O Sahwah," she cried, burying her face in the blankets, "how can I ever repay you for what you have done?"

"Don't try," said Sahwah cheerfully.

"What a miserable sneak you must think me!" continued Gladys.

"O shucks!" said Sahwah, who hated scenes. "Forget it. Let's start all over from the beginning."

"Are you really willing to give me another chance?" said Gladys joyfully.

"Sure," said Sahwah. "Here's my hand on it." She slid her hand out from under the covers and caught Gladys's in a warm clasp. She fell asleep soon after that and did not waken again during the night, but Gladys sat beside her until morning, watching her slightest movement. And the Camp Fire leaven was beginning to work in her, and she was learning to fulfil the Law, which says, "Give service."

The girls were filled with delight the next morning to hear Sahwah calling for her breakfast in her natural voice and clucking to the chipmunks as of old. Migwan sped to the woods for a bouquet of the brightest flowers she could find to adorn the tent, while Hinpoha clattered around the kitchen concocting delicacies. Gladys hovered over her like a fond grandmama, brushing her hair, washing her face and plumping up the pillows, and the rest of the Winnebagos looked in every five minutes to see how she felt. Sahwah had never had so much attention before in her life. Her slightest want was attended to as soon as expressed. The suffering of the last two days was more than made up for by the joys of being a heroine, and Sahwah drank deep of the cup that was offered her.

"This tent is getting famous," said Hinpoha, as she moved about setting it to rights, "there are already two heroines in it. We'll have to change the name from 'Omega' to 'Heroine's Lodge.' Quite a good idea, that," and picking up a piece of birch-bark, she painted the name on it in large letters and tacked it to the tent pole. "Now,", she continued, "we'll name your bed 'Rescuer's Roost' and Migwan's 'Clew-givers' Cradle,'" and she made two more signs, and hung them on the foot rails of the beds.

Sahwah sat up for an hour in the afternoon and Gladys danced for her amusement. The girls gasped with wonder and delight, for they had never seen anything like it. She was as light on her feet as thistledown and as graceful as a swaying rose. Nyoda watched her with keen pleasure, but it was not her twinkling feet, nor the artistic posing of her limbs that held her attention, but the new expression on her face. The old selfish, blase' look was gone, and her features were lit up by an eager smile that sparkled in her eyes and curved up the corners of her pretty mouth. Again the leaven was at work in her, and she was fulfilling the Law of the Camp Fire, which is to "Seek beauty."

Sahwah slept again after that and Gladys called all the girls together around the piano in the shack, where they stayed until supper time, singing softly under Gladys's direction. Sahwah had finished her supper and had been made comfortable for the night and lay staring out into the gathering darkness and wondering where the girls were. Not a soul was in sight, neither could she hear their voices. Then all at once she heard the sound of singing, wafted up from the lake. It was "Stars of the Summer Night," sung exquisitely in three parts. Sahwah could hardly believe it was the Winnebagos, so perfect was the harmony. This was followed by "I Would That My Love," sung by Gladys and Nyoda. Sahwah drew a long, rapturous breath at the beautiful blending of alto and soprano. She was passionately fond of music. Then Gladys sang "Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming," her clear high voice ringing over the water like a flute. The notes died lingeringly away, and the silence was broken by the soft chugging of the launch as it bore the serenaders back to shore.

Sahwah composed herself to sleep, the melodies she had just heard still echoing in her ears. A soft rustling outside the tent door made her open her eyes, and she started in surprise at the fairy scene which was being enacted there. In the open grassy space before the tent figures were passing back and forth and winding in and out in the mazes of a dance. So silently they moved they scarcely seemed flesh and blood, but rather a band of woodland nymphs performing their nightly revels. There was one figure among them who was lighter and airier than all the rest, and she darted in and out between the lines, and round and round them, like a butterfly fluttering around a bed of tossing flowers. At last, after joining hands and whirling madly in a circle, they broke ranks and vanished among the trees.

Sahwah tried to applaud, but could not manage it single-handed, and shouted her appreciation at the top of her lungs, which brought the whole troupe to the edge of the tent to bow and curtsey. Nyoda drew them away again immediately, however, declaring that it was high time Sahwah went to sleep.

Long after the other girls lay motionless in their beds Gladys was wakeful and restless. In spite of the fact that she had spent the entire day in the service of others she had no peace. Nyoda had praised her warmly for arranging the serenade and dance, but this only aggravated the trouble she was having in her mind; namely, the letter which she had written her father, the horrid, lying epistle in which she had cruelly wronged kind-hearted Nyoda and all these wonderful girls. He must have it by now, and would undoubtedly send for her immediately. And furthermore, he would probably make all the others go home too. At this thought her heart almost stopped beating. There was only one thing that could prevent it, and that was for her to write him another letter, contradicting the first. It sounded easy to say it, but it would mean that her father would know she had told an untruth, and she shrank back miserably from the revelation. She admired her father and cared much for his opinion of her, and to be branded as a liar in his sight was more than she could bear. He would never believe her again.

On the other hand, the thought of breaking up this jolly summer camp and sending the girls home unhappy made the chills run down her back and the perspiration start out on her forehead. Sahwah and her swimming—could she have the heart to separate them? Her other indebtedness to Sahwah she dared not even think of. Wherever she turned her face she saw Nyoda's trusting eyes looking into hers with a smile as they had done that very evening. Could she bear to cloud them over with grief and disappointment? She was just beginning to rise in Nyoda's good graces. Could she bear to fall forever?

The hours dragged wakefully and her thoughts tortured her like searing irons. In all her life Gladys had never done the hard thing when there was an easier alternative, and the struggle between the two forces in her was a mortal one. But the constant example of unselfishness which the girls had set for her all summer had had its effect, and by morning the balance had swung over to the side of self-sacrifice, and she was fully resolved to write the letter which would make her father despise her. She rose as soon as it was light, brought out her writing materials, and with an unfaltering pen wrote the sentences which branded her with dishonor. It was the most difficult letter she had ever written, but she kept on steadily to the end, and sealed and addressed it as the rising bugle blew.

When it was all over a load seemed lifted from her heart, and breakfast was the jolliest meal she had eaten for some time. For the last three days her meals had been nightmares. The happy chatter of the girls nearly maddened her when she thought that it would soon be hushed and she had done the deed which was to silence it. She could not look a single girl in the face and her food choked her. But this morning all that was over. She joined in making plans for future trips with enthusiasm, for she felt that she had a right to. Whatever would be the consequences of her confession to her father, all the suffering would be borne by her alone, and she had nothing more on her conscience. Feeling curiously light-hearted, she ran down to the dock to give the letter to the steamer captain.

Nyoda had already received the incoming mail and was distributing it. "Here, Gladys, something for you," she said, handing her an envelope. At the sight of it Gladys stood as if rooted to the dock. It was the very letter she had written to her father on that memorable afternoon. It had missed her father in his travels and been returned to her.

"What's the matter, Gladys, have you seen a ghost?" asked Hinpoha, as Gladys stood staring open-mouthed at the envelope.

"Nothing," said Gladys, and sped up the path clutching the two letters in her hand. "I didn't deserve it," she panted, as she reached the shelter of the woods. "Some good angel had me under its wing that time for sure." She tore both letters into bits and then burned them and scattered the ashes to the winds. Then taking her knife she cut a letter L in the bark of the tree under which she stood, and pierced it with an arrow, to signify that a letter can do as much harm as an arrow. Every time she passed that tree she saw the mark and renewed her vow never to write another letter in anger.

The next mail did carry another letter to her father, but its composing cost Gladys no pain. It contained an enthusiastic account of her rescue by Sahwah, and then she went on to tell what a good time she was having and what wonderful girls the Winnebagos were. She ended up with the statement that they had such good "eats" here that she never knew when to stop, and had already gained five pounds.

She also sent to Portland for a new racket for Sahwah, paying eight dollars for it. She did not ask her father for the money, but took the whole amount out of her own allowance. Sahwah was up now and running around the camp as lively as ever, in spite of her splinted arm. "Isn't it blessed luck that it's my left one," she declared over and over again, "and doesn't interfere much with what I want to do?" She insisted on taking her morning dip with the rest of them, although of course she could neither swim nor dive. She waded out to her waist and with her good hand managed to splash the water over her chest and head. This proceeding generally filled her with profound disgust when she saw the others jumping in with a grand gurgle and splash, but it was better than staying out of the water altogether.

But the greatest phenomenon in the water just now was the way Gladys was learning to swim. Thoroughly ashamed of her backwardness in this matter, she made up her mind once for all that she was going to overcome her fear of the water and let herself be helped. Of late the girls had about given up trying to teach her. She confided her determination to Nyoda and asked her to be patient with her a little while longer. Nyoda, overjoyed at this sudden show of spirit, took her under her wing immediately. Gladys struck out bravely; lost her balance and went under; came up blind and strangling; blew the water out of her nose and laughed, and then went at it again. She repeated the performance more than a dozen times and every time she went down she came up more determined than ever to master that stroke. At the end of the swimming hour she had taken six strokes in succession with Nyoda just barely supporting her. The next day Nyoda began by holding her up and then when her arms and legs were working rhythmically slyly withdrew her hand and let her go alone. Gladys went a dozen strokes before she perceived that Nyoda had let go of her. She progressed so much that day that the next swimming period Nyoda considered it unnecessary to help her at all, and let her swim up and down the beach by herself and practise for distance until she could take the test.

Sahwah no longer had the doctor come over to see her, as this took a great deal of his time, but went across the lake in the launch to his office to have the splints looked after.

"Vell, Missis Sahvah," he would always say on these occasions, "how many ladies haf you pushed by de neck across de top of de lake to-day?" He always exclaimed in delight at the progress her arm was making. "Such bones!" he would say, waving his hands eloquently. "Dey can knit faster dan my grandmama could, and she was de fastest knitter in Hamburg! If only my son Heinrich could see dose bones! You vould like to see my son Heinrich, yes?" He took down a photograph from the top of his medicine cabinet and showed it to her and Nyoda. "Dot is my son Heinrich. He now studies medicine at de University of Berlin in de Staatsklinick. He is going to be a great surgeon doctor. Next year he comes to America to practise mit me in dis office. Den you can break both of your arms at vonce, for dere will be two doctors to tie dem up!" His deep laugh boomed out pleasantly at his own joke.

On another occasion he led them with an air of great mystery into the kitchen of his house and showed them a basket wherein five kittens were lying on a soft bed. He sat down and took all five of them into his lap. They scampered all over him, up and down his arms, on top of his head, up and down his legs, while he laughed heartily at their antics. He shouted with glee when one of them darted a furry paw into his open mouth. "You vould like von of de liddle cats, yes?" he said to Sahwah. "I vould like to keep dem all, but Missis Schmitt, de lady who keeps house for me, she says no, and I haf to mind vot she says."

"May I take one, Nyoda?" asked Sahwah. Nyoda assented and Sahwah picked out the liveliest one, which was coal black from his nose to the tip of his tail.

"Vait a minute," said the doctor when they were about to start, and after fumbling in a drawer he produced a red ribbon with a little bell attached. "Dere, now, you can find him in de dark," he said, tying it round the kitten's neck. The girls were enchanted with the new pet and promptly christened it "Kitty Wohelo." Playing with it whiled away many a tedious hour for Sahwah when she could not join in the sports with the other girls.

One morning the steamer stopped at the dock and unloaded two express packages of enormous size, both addressed to Sahwah. "What on earth can it be?" she said. "I don't know a soul who would be sending me anything by express." There was a letter for her in the mail and she opened this first. It was from Gladys's father and read: "I am sending you by express a few trifles I picked up among the Indians here, in gratitude for the service you rendered my daughter Gladys on the 30th of July. May you live a hundred years, and wear every one of them out!"

The first of the "trifles" was a pair of Indian moccasins, made of finest doe skin and elaborately beaded. Then came a variety of reed and birch baskets of different shapes and sizes. Most of these were filled with strings of wampum, arrow heads, pieces of bead work and other Indian curios. Under the baskets was an Indian girl's costume made of doe skin, with leggings to match. The next thing that came to light was a large muff of finest black fox fur, and another package contained the neckpiece. In the bottom of the box were a sealskin cap, a hunting knife in a soft leather case, a small Winchester rifle and a pair of fine hockey skates with shoes attached. Sahwah, rendered speechless by this sudden rain of presents, could only hop up and down for joy as each new treasure was brought to light.

But if the contents of the first box took her breath away, when she saw what was in the other her delight knew no bounds. It was a long narrow crate, built of wooden slats, and careful opening revealed a birchbark canoe, big enough to paddle on the lake. Its sides were decorated with Indian craft work and in it lay two paddles. It took almost physical restraint to keep Sahwah from launching it right then and there, one-handed as she was, and trying it out. Only the promise of a grand ceremony of launching when she could use her arm again comforted her for the delay.

One morning not long afterward Gladys announced modestly that she thought she could take the swimming test to-day. Nyoda and Hinpoha got into the sponson and the three set out, Gladys swimming alongside the boat. All fear of deep water had left her now and she moved along easily and swiftly. The first half of the distance was covered without difficulty, and then she began to tire. Even a vaulting ambition cannot supply a powerful body on short notice. Her breath grew short and the water began to run into her throat and choke her. She struggled on valiantly for some time until Nyoda, seeing that she was going beyond her strength, reached out and pulled her into the boat. Gladys crouched in a disconsolate heap in the bottom of the sponson, and refused to be comforted by the assurance that she had done wonderfully well, all things considered, and that a number of the other girls had failed their first test. "I'll do it to-morrow," she said, clenching her hands, "or die."

And she did. The old weakness overcame her at the same distance out, but this time she had the presence of mind to turn over on her back and rest, and went on again when she had her breath back. Nyoda noted this manoeuver approvingly. It indicated good sense. Gladys covered the last twenty-five yards by sheer grit. Every breath was a gasp, the shore line wavered dizzily before her, and it seemed that she was pushing against an immovable wall. Nyoda watched her closely, and saw her rear up her head and set her teeth and battle on against wind and wave. "She'll do," she said to herself joyfully, "she has physical courage as well as the others. She will uphold the honor of the Winnebagos!"

"That will do," she said gently, as the boat grounded noiselessly on the sloping beach. Gladys's feet struck solid ground and she opened her eyes in surprise. "Is it all over?" she asked wonderingly.

"All over," said Nyoda. "Congratulations!"

She was borne back to the dock in triumph, to be praised and patted on the head by all the girls, like a conquering hero. Sahwah was particularly pleased at her success. "When you first came I didn't think you had it in you," she said, "but now I believe you can do anything you want to!"

"When may I go out in a canoe?" asked Gladys.

"Right this very minute," said Nyoda, and took her out for a ride in the sailing canoe.

The morning song hour had now become a time of keenest pleasure, for Gladys threw herself into the work with heart and voice. Her strong, sure soprano led the girls through many a difficult passage which they could not have attempted without her help, and she taught them much about expression. She took great pleasure in singing solo parts and having the girls hum the accompaniment. This last arrangement was particularly effective on the water, and the hills echoed nightly with "Don' You Cry, Ma Honey," "Mammy Lou," "Rockin' in the Wind" and other negro melodies, besides boating songs galore. Migwan won a local song honor by writing a lullaby, beginning:

"Over the water Night steers her canoe, She's coming, she's coming, for me and for you."

But the favorite canoe song was, and always would be, "Across the Silver'd Lake," and the girls sang it first and last every night. The moon was in full glory at that time of the month, and the glittering lake closed in by high dark pines made a scene of indescribable beauty. It was harder each night to break away and go to bed.

"O dear," sighed Migwan one night, "why do we have to go to bed at all? I'd like to stay up and serenade the moon all night!"

"I don't know as I care about wasting songs on that old dead moon," said practical Sahwah, "but there is one thing I'd like to do, and that is serenade the doctor."

"That's a good idea," said. Nyoda, "and one which we must carry out."

So the next morning they gathered around the piano to practise a song to sing under Dr. Hoffman's window. "We ought to sing a German one," said Sahwah, "that would please him more than anything." They picked out the "Lorelei" and began learning the German words.

The night was one of magic splendor and the lake was without a ripple as the two long, dark canoes glided silently over the water toward the opposite shore. The doctor's house, which was a summer cottage, stood close to the beach, and a light on the side where his office was assured them that he was at home. Gladys started them off, and the beautiful strains rose on the still air:

"Ich weiss nicht wass soll es bedeuten Dass ich so traurig bin—"

Inside the office the doctor sat with his head in his hands, his whole body bowed in grief and despair. On the table beside him lay an open letter and in his hand he clasped a small iron cross. "Heinrich," he cried brokenly, "my Heinrich!" The letter told the story. When the war broke out the young man had been called from his studies in the University to take up arms for his country and fell in the very first battle at the storming of Liege'. Not before he had distinguished himself for bravery, however. He received the bullet which caused his death while carrying a wounded comrade off the battlefield in the face of a murderous fire from the enemy, and wounded and suffering, had borne his friend to safety. He lived just long enough to be decorated with the Iron Cross, which he begged the captain to send to his father, as his last message.

It was a heavy blow for the old man, who was counting the days until his son should come to America and go into partnership with him. The world became a dark and sad place for him and he had no ambition to go on living. The only consolation he had was the thought that his son had died a hero and his last act had brought honor to his family. He gripped the Iron Cross tightly and wished passionately that Heinrich had lived to wear it. As the lonely, broken-hearted old doctor sat there with his head in his hands trying to realize the misfortune which had crushed him he heard strains of music floating up from the lake.

"Ich Weiss nicht wass soll es bedeuten Dass ich so traurig bin—"

The sweet girlish voices rang out in fine harmony. The doctor raised his head to listen. "Bless dere liddle hearts," he murmured, "dey are bringing me a serenade to please me." A tiny ray of pleasure visited his sad heart. "Tell dem," he said to his housekeeper, "dat de old doctor has too much sorrow to speak to dem to-night, but he tanks dem for de song and hopes dey will come again."



CHAPTER IX

THE WHITE MEN'S LODGES.

"Don't stand so stiffly, Sahwah," said Gladys. "Bend your knees a little. Let yourself go in the air the way you were always telling me to let myself go in the water. See, this way." She took a few graceful dancing steps back and forth in front of Sahwah. Sahwah did her best to imitate her. "There, that's a little better," said Gladys, "but there is lots of room for improvement still. Now, one, two, three, point, step, point, turn, point, step, point, turn, point, slide, slide, slide, close." Sahwah struggled to follow her directions, poising her free hand in the air as Gladys did. "You handle your feet fairly well," said Gladys, "but you ought to see your face. You look as if you were performing the most disagreeable task, and were in perfect misery over it. Smile when you dance, and incline your head gracefully, and don't act as if it were glued immovably onto your shoulders." Sahwah dutifully grinned from ear to ear, and Gladys shook her head again. "No, not like that, it makes you look like a clown. Just smile slightly and naturally; act as if you were enjoying yourself." Thus the lesson proceeded. Gladys had undertaken the task of teaching Sahwah fancy dancing, and drilled her every morning in the shack. Sahwah was eager to learn and practised the steps until her feet ached with weariness. "There," said Gladys, as Sahwah succeeded in memorizing a number of steps, now we'll try it with the music. Remember, you are impersonating a tree swaying in the wind, and bend from your waist line. That's the right way.

"Now, everybody up for the 'Hesitation,'" she called, when Sahwah, flushed and panting, sat down in a corner to rest. The girls lined up briskly for their lesson. Nearly all of them knew the correct steps of the modern society dances, but few of them danced really well, and it was the little fine touches and graces that Gladys was teaching them—lightness of foot, stateliness of carriage, graceful disposing of arms and hands. Gladys had taken charge of the entire dancing hour now, and it was the most popular class in the whole schedule. Nyoda was a little breathless at the way Gladys was developing into a leader. She, who a few weeks before was not able to reach the standards which the Winnebagos had set for themselves, was now calmly leading them on to greater heights!

Now that Gladys had learned to swim, the next thing for her to do was to get used to jumping into deep water. She stood out on the end of the low springboard a long time trying to make up her mind to go off, and finally shrank back, thoroughly disgusted with herself, but unable to bring herself to make the leap. "Shall I hold your hand the first time?" said Nyoda. Holding tightly to Nyoda's hand, Gladys jumped from the board, and sank down, down through the glassy, translucent depths, holding her breath and trying to keep her eyes open as she had been bidden. At first all was darkness, then a mass of bubbles became visible, then light shone through the water and the next moment her head shot out above the surface, and Nyoda pulled her up on the dock. It had all happened so quickly that she had no time to be frightened.

"Why, it's fun," she said in amazement. All the girls laughed at the comical expression on her face.

"Now do it alone," said Nyoda, "and this time try to right yourself and begin to swim." Again Gladys jumped into the depths, and as soon as her head was clear of the water struck out of her own accord and swam around the dock. "Now come up, and turn over on your back and float," said Nyoda. Gladys accomplished this also. She could not overcome her astonishment at the feats she was able to perform in the water, now that she had lost her fear of it. She became bolder and bolder with each new trial and finally took every one's breath away by announcing that she was going off the top of the tower. And she did it, too, without a moment's hesitation. There was one trick she had which caused them all great amusement. She would hold her nose when she jumped, which Nyoda laughingly explained, was very bad form indeed. It was a sight to see her going off the tower, feet together like a statue, one hand held straight above her head and the other tight over her nose.

Sahwah's arm had fully healed by this time and the splints were taken off. The old doctor tried hard to be cheerful when she came to him the last time, but his heart had gone out of his work. He told Sahwah about his son and showed her the Iron Cross. Led on by her sympathetic manner, he talked a long time about Heinrich, told her little incidents of his school days, and dwelt with pride on the record he had made in the class room, in the gymnasium, in the Klinik. When he spoke of the brave deed which had won him the Iron Cross his voice sank into a reverent whisper and his stooped figure straightened up into the bearing of a soldier. It was no light thing to be the father of a hero! Then he added, "But I forget, Missis Sahwah, you haf also done a brave deed and brought honor to your family. You should also haf de Iron Cross!"

Sahwah smiled at the idea of being decorated for "pushing a lady by de neck across de top of de lake" as the doctor had expressed it. She and the doctor had become great friends while he was taking care of her arm. He had taken a great fancy to her from the start. Sahwah had no German blood in her; she was straight Puritan descent and knew only the few words of the German language she had acquired in school, and pronounced them badly. She reminded him of nothing in the Fatherland, and he was unlike any one she had ever associated with, and yet between these two there had sprung up the warmest kind of friendship. He opened up his cabinet and let her handle the instruments, a thing it would have been worth his housekeeper's life to have tried; he pulled out old pipes and pieces of pewter and told her their stories; he showed her pictures of his wife and little Heinrich. And Sahwah in turn took his breath away recounting the escapades of the Winnebagos. She made him promise to come over to camp to see her new canoe launched. Promptly at the time appointed he came, in his own launch, with a big straw hat shading his face and his surgical case in his hand, "in case von of de ladies should break her a bone."

Sahwah had named her new canoe the "Keewaydin," or "Northwest Wind," and the launching proceeded ceremoniously. The seven girls carried it down to the water's edge, its sides decorated with balsam boughs, saluted it by raising it three times above their heads at arm's length, and then held it while Migwan recited a poem in honor of the launching:

"Out o'er the shining lake, Glide thou, my bark canoe, Out toward the purple hills, Lovely Keewaydin! Swift as the seabird's wing, Light as the ocean's foam, Speed o'er the dancing wave, Lovely Keewaydin!"

The canoe was lowered to the water's edge and Sahwah and Gladys got in and paddled out from shore, followed by the cheers of the girls.

When the Keewaydin had returned from her maiden voyage Hinpoha and Migwan were ready with a stunt to amuse the audience. They dramatized that classic argument between the man and his wife as to whether the crime was committed with a knife or a scissors. Migwan, as the husband, stoutly maintained that it was a knife, and Hinpoha, as his spouse, fiercely declared it was a scissors. Arguing hotly, they went out in a canoe, and soon came to blows about the point in question. The man threw his wife overboard, and hit her with a paddle every time she poked her head up. She kept coming up and saying, "Scissors!" while he insisted, "Knife!" As the story goes, the wife finally drowns, and the last minute her fingers come up making a scissors motion. Migwan, however, after Hinpoha went overboard, hit out so energetically with her paddle that the canoe went over and the climax was lost in the splash.

The girls did everything they could think of to cheer up the doctor and made a great feast in his honor. Sahwah baked her feathery biscuits; Migwan stirred up a pan of delicious fudge; Hinpoha made her famous slumgullion; Nyoda broiled fish, while the rest of the girls gathered blueberries in the woods. The cooking must have tasted good to the doctor, for he passed his plate three times for slumgullion and ate so many biscuits he lost count. Hinpoha, too, throwing her vow of abstinence to the winds, ate until she groaned, and while she was clearing away the dishes finished up all that was left of the fudge and the blueberries. The doctor took his leave in the afternoon, declaring he had never eaten anything so good as Sahwah's biscuits. "She can make," he said impressively, "better biscuits dan my grandmama, and she made de best biscuits in Hamburg!" Strange to say, the girls were not very hungry at supper time, and ate nothing but wafers and lemonade.

"Where are you going with your blankets?" said Nyoda, stopping in surprise as she met Migwan coming out of her tent with all her bedding in her arms.

"I'm going to sleep in the tree-house," answered Migwan.

"Sleep in the tree-house?" echoed Nyoda, "isn't there room enough in the tent?"

"Oh, there's room enough," said Migwan, "that isn't the reason. I just want to do it for the experience. I was lying awake the other night, listening to the wind singing through the treetops, and I thought of all the little birds sleeping up in the trees, and decided I would try it and see what it was like."

"Her poet's soul spurns the common earth, and she seeks the treetops to be nearer the sky," said Nyoda banteringly. "If I may intrude such a material question among your ethereal desires," she continued, "how are you going to get your blankets up there?"

Migwan stopped, a little taken aback. The tree-house was more than thirty feet from the ground and in order to get into it the girls had to climb up the limbs of the tree. Some of the branches were far apart and it was quite a stretch to make the distance, while the long space from the ground to the first branch was notched to assure a foothold. It was easy enough climbing empty-handed, but scrambling up there with an armful of blankets was another matter. Nyoda watched the expression on Migwan's face with keen amusement. This was the sort of thing she was always doing—her poetic fancy would be kindled to a certain idea without ever stopping to consider the practical side. But Migwan was resourceful as well as romantic. She took in the situation at a glance, laid her blankets at the foot of the tree, and repaired to the kitchen, whence she presently emerged with a long rope, made of sundry short ropes tied together and pieced out with strips of cloth. Winding this around her waist, she climbed the tree and fastened one end of it to the railing of the Crow's Nest. Then she let the other end down, asked Nyoda to tie her bedding to it, and hauled it up with the greatest ease. The floor struck her as being far from soft when she spread her blankets out, and by dint of much labor she also hauled up her mattress. Then she had a further inspiration and laid the mattress across two poles, which kept it up off the floor and made it softer yet.

The moon and stars seemed very close, when she finally had the bed fixed to her satisfaction and stood looking around her. In fact, it seemed as if she could put out her hand and grasp the Great Bear by the tail. Jupiter was just at her left hand, peeking impudently through the branches while she undressed. Down below the tents gleamed ghostly in the pale light.

What an airy cradle it was, after she was rolled in the blankets and fixed comfortably for sight seeing! The breezes fiddled through the twigs, making elfin music, and the tree-house swayed gently. It was too beautiful to sleep through, and Migwan lay awake hour after hour in wonder and delight, watching the moon steer her placid course across the sky. She saw Jupiter culminate and incline to westward; saw Arcturus sink behind the hills, and watched the Dipper go wheeling round the pole like the hand of an enormous clock.

Off somewhere in the woods a whip-poor-will was lamenting; the waves splashed against the rocks below; a cricket chirped at the foot of the tree. Migwan turned over to get a look at the view on the other side and her pillow went overboard with a soft plop. She leaned over the edge to see where it had gone and the poles slid gently apart, letting the mattress down flat on the floor. She adjusted herself to the new position and continued looking up.

When all the stars had traveled to the morning side of the sky she finally dropped off to sleep, only to waken again with the first faint gray light of dawn. A frowzy, cocky-looking bird flew into the tree just above her head and balanced himself on the limb. He had evidently been out all night and was sneaking home in the wee sma' hours, much the worse for dissipation. He teetered back and forth for a moment, then began unsteadily climbing the stairs up the branches. Migwan hoped his wife was waiting for him at the top step, and listened to hear the curtain lecture he would receive. She heard no uproar, however and concluded he was a bachelor and could go and come when he pleased.

In contrast to Migwan's peaceful night, Hinpoha lay tossing in dire distress. She was no sooner in bed than the biscuits she had gobbled for dinner started to make war on the slumgullion, and the lemonade began to have words with the blueberries. The fudge was a power unto itself and made war on all the rest. Hinpoha tried to get up and get something to relieve herself, but she was so dizzy she couldn't stand. A great monstrous biscuit was sitting on the pit of her stomach, squeezing the breath out of her, and she sank back on the pillow. Sahwah finally heard her groan and got up and brought her some hot water, which settled the dispute going on in her stomach.

Gladys and Sahwah were coming home from the village in the launch one afternoon, where they had been to get the milk. It looked like rain and they were hastening to get back to camp. Great was their vexation, therefore, when the engine wheezed a few times and then stopped dead still. Investigation revealed that the gasoline had given out. "Why didn't I think to fill her up before we left?" said Sahwah impatiently. "Here we are, out in the middle of the lake with never an oar or a paddle, and not a bit of breeze blowing. Why, we aren't even drifting!" To all appearances it looked as if they were becalmed there for the rest of the afternoon, until they would be missed from camp, and Gladys said so, resignedly.

"I should say I won't stay here all afternoon," said Sahwah. "I'll swim ashore first. The girls are waiting for this milk. I wonder if anybody would see us if we ran up a distress signal?"

"What could we use for one?" asked Gladys.

Sahwah looked around for a moment and then calmly took off her middy and waved it around her head by one sleeve. They were hidden from camp by a bend in the shore line, but they hoped to attract the attention of some of the other campers along the lake. Besides waving the middy, both girls called and yodled until they were hoarse. At last they had the satisfaction of seeing a launch coming across the lake toward them, with a flag waving in answer to their signal. Sahwah hastily put on her middy again. There were two boys of about sixteen in the launch and they stopped alongside of the Sunbeam and inquired the trouble.

"We have run out of gasoline," said Sahwah.

"Would you like us to tow you in so you can get a fill-up?" asked the boy who was running the launch. "We're from the Mountain Lake Camp over yonder, and have plenty of gasoline to spare." The girls agreed and the boys threw them a tow line and off they went toward the shore. Upon landing they found themselves in a large summer camp for boys. Boys of every age and size from six years up to eighteen were swarming around the dock, waiting to see who the distressed sailors were, and the girls became the center of interest. The two boys who had brought them in, and who had introduced themselves as "the Roberts brothers, Ed and Ned," called one of the senior Counsellors and told him the trouble, and he willingly agreed to sell Sahwah and Gladys a quantity of gasoline. Great interest was aroused when the girls said they were from Camp Winnebago, for the fame of some of their doings had gone about the village, and their singing on the lake at night had been heard by more people than they knew.

"Didn't one of your girls tow in another one with both her arms broken?" asked one of the boys standing near. Sahwah and Gladys laughed outright at this version of the story. When Gladys announced that Sahwah was the heroine in question and she the nearly drowned maiden a ripple went went through the camp.

"I don't see how you ever did it," said another of the boys, "you're so little!" Sahwah was sorely tempted to do one of her famous dives right then and there, only she knew that such an exhibition would be entirely out of place, and so restrained herself. It began to rain while they were waiting for the gasoline and the Counsellor insisted upon their remaining until it stopped, and took them up into one of the bungalows in which the boys lived.

Before they left he showed them all over the camp. The boys lived in little wooden lodges called Senior and Junior Lodges, the younger ones on one side of the camp and the older ones on the other. They were divided into three classes according to their swimming ability, namely, minnows, perch and salmon, and the different groups had different swimming hours.

"Do you have different grades in swimming, too?" asked Ned Roberts.

"No," replied Sahwah, "we're all salmon!" Ned looked at Gladys expressively and Sahwah read his meaning. "Oh, she swims beautifully now," she said loyally.

"At any rate, I wouldn't have to be rescued any more, even if I don't classify as a salmon," said Gladys.

Sahwah could not help noticing how much Gladys was at her ease among these boys. Her eyes sparkled and her lips smiled and she displayed a lively interest in all that they showed her. One of the Roberts boys, Ed, was quite taken with her and determined to see more of her before the summer was over. When they took their departure these two boys asked permission to call on her and Sahwah. "Wouldn't you like to bring some more of the boys, and come and see all of us?" said Gladys.

"I'll bring the boys over sometime," promised the Counsellor.

The very next morning a twelve-year-old boy wearing the uniform of the Mountain Lake Camp came in a launch and presented a note to Nyoda. It read:

"Mountain Lake Camp sends greetings to Camp Winnebago and begs permission to send a delegation to call and pay its respects."

Nyoda wrote in answer:

"Camp Winnebago heartily returns Mountain Lake Camp's greetings and begs to say that it will be at home this very sundown."

What a flutter of excitement there was after the envoy had gone! Gladys and Sahwah were overwhelmed with questions about the boys and conjectures as to how many and which ones were coming. Tents were cleaned and put in such order as they had never known before; the shack was decorated with grasses and wild flowers; canoe cushions were brushed; songs were practised and lemons squeezed, that everything might be in readiness for the visitors! Skirts which had not been worn since the beginning of summer were brought out of trunks and the wrinkles pressed out. Then there rose such a chorus of exclamations that the birds stopped their own chattering to listen.

"Oh, I can't get my skirt shut!" "Why, I can't either! Not by two inches!" "Oh, fudge! There goes the button!" From every side came the same wail. Not a girl there who had not gained from five to fifteen pounds, and the tight skirts, made to fit in their slenderer days, were a sorry sight. "What will we do, Nyoda?" they groaned to their Guardian, who was in the same plight herself.

"The only thing we can do," said Nyoda, "inasmuch as we haven't time to make them over, is for all of us to wear our white linen skirts with our middies outside, so it won't show how much they gap. And let this be a solemn warning to every girl to look over her clothes before it is time to go home!"

Promptly at sundown four canoes appeared around the cliff, each manned by two paddlers, and drew up alongside the Winnebago dock, where the girls stood to welcome them. The Counsellor who had shown Sahwah and Gladys around the boys' camp was there, and the Roberts brothers and five more of the senior campers. Ed Roberts looked around for Gladys the first thing, and his brother for Sahwah, while the rest paired off with the other girls as they went up the hill to the shack. Nyoda was not very fond of having her company sitting around in pairs and immediately started them to playing games which took them all in, and followed the games up with a Virginia Reel. Ed Roberts was filled with impatience at this method of entertainment, for it gave him no chance to monopolize Gladys as he would have liked to. He saw that she was a good dancer and was eager to try a new Hesitation step with her.

By and by Gladys slipped from the room and returned dressed in a fancy dancing costume. Poising on her toes as lightly as a butterfly, she did some of her choicest dances—"The Dance of the Snowflake," "The Daffodil," "The Fairy in the Fountain." The admiration of the boys knew no bounds, and she received a perfect ovation.

"Now, Sahwah, do your dance," commanded Nyoda. Sahwah shrank back and did not want to, saying that after Gladys's performance anything she could do would seem pitifully flat. But the boys all urged her to try it, and at last she allowed herself to be led out on the floor by Gladys. She was still in an agony of embarrassment and wished the floor would open and swallow her, but it was a rule of the Winnebagos that if they were called on to perform for the entertainment of visitors they must do the thing called for to the best of their ability, and Sahwah knew that if she refused to dance the reckoning with Nyoda would be worse than the embarrassment of dancing, so she swallowed hard and went to work. She got through it very creditably indeed and was rewarded with hearty applause, which made her more fussed than ever.

Then boys and girls alike clamored to be allowed to "just dance" and Ed Roberts had plenty of opportunity to try his new Hesitation with Gladys. But after she had danced three or four times with him in succession she left him for another partner. This made him cross and he would not ask any one else to dance until a quiet word from his Counsellor sent him rather unwillingly on to the floor again. "Mayn't I have this one?" he pleaded every time after that, but Gladys smilingly declined, saying she had promised every one of the boys a dance and would not get around if she gave him any more, to which he assented politely, fuming inwardly, and wanted Gladys to himself more than ever. "Bet I don't get another dance with her to-night," he thought crossly, and this was exactly the case, for Nyoda presently suggested lemonade and the dancing stopped.

It was nearly nine o'clock by this time, but the boys pleaded so hard for a ride on the lake in the canoes that Nyoda yielded and granted fifteen minutes extra. Ed Roberts took immediate possession of Gladys and led her into his canoe before she had time to say a word. He pushed off before there was time to put any one else in with them, for some of the canoes had to carry four. As they paddled through the moonlit water the girls sang "Across the Silver'd Lake" and by and by the boys added a few bass and tenor notes to it. Fairly in tune now they sang song after song in time to the dipping of their paddles.

"How much better any song sounds with a bass to it!" said Nyoda to the Counsellor in the canoe with her, which remark, though merely an effort to start a conversation on Nyoda's part, caused the Counsellor to flush to the roots of his hair and get completely out of stroke.

Sahwah, up at the head of the procession with Ned Roberts, was in her element. He was a fine paddler and his stroke matched hers exactly. They were in her own little canoe, the Keewaydin, and as it was so much lighter than the others they were continually getting ahead. She taught him the "silent" paddle of the Indians, which they used to hide their approach, twisting the paddle around under the surface to avoid the sound of dipping. She told him about the rifle which Gladys's father had sent her, and he promised to teach her to shoot it when the boys made the all-day visit which Nyoda had suggested.

Ed Roberts managed to keep himself and Gladys at the tail of the procession. He was continually stopping to let the canoe drift and gradually widening the distance between them and the others. When they rounded one of the little islands he stopped so long that the first canoes got out of sight around the bend, leaving them hidden behind the island. Gladys would have paddled on, but he begged her to stop and talk awhile. "Let's land on the island and sit on the rocks in the moonlight," he proposed. Gladys refused.

"Nyoda wouldn't like it," she said, "and it's past our bed time already. The other canoes have started for home."

"O bother bed time!" said Ed petulantly. "Who could bear to go to bed on a night like this? Besides, you can tell Miss Kent that I broke my paddle and we had trouble getting home."

Gladys shook her head indignantly. "I'll do no such thing," she said. "You take me home immediately, Ed Roberts, or I'll send out a call for Nyoda." Sulkily he picked up his paddle and dipped it in the water. Gladys paddled so energetically that they soon came up with the others and landed at the dock with them, and as the rest had been so occupied with their own affairs the disappearance of the one canoe for several minutes had gone unnoticed. The boys shook hands all around and departed in their canoes, singing until they disappeared around the cliff.



CHAPTER X.

BLUEBERRY ISLAND.

Gladys sat poring over the list of honors in the Handbook, looking for new worlds to conquer. She had been a Wood Gatherer for several weeks and was hoping to be made a Fire Maker before the end of the summer. With considerable pride she painted in the pictographs on her record sheet which stood for the honors already won. "Swim one hundred yards"—was it really true? At the beginning of the summer this honor had seemed as unattainable as flying the same distance in the air. She was also learning to recognize the different birds, trees and flowers that she found in the woods and along the roads. She was a very much surprised girl indeed when Nyoda pointed out at least a half dozen different varieties of ferns and grasses on one afternoon's walk. "Are there different kinds of ferns and grasses?" she asked in astonishment. "I thought grass was just grass and ferns were just ferns, and that was all there was to it." Winning honors had become a fascinating game, and she read carefully through the list, putting a mark opposite those she thought she could accomplish before the next Council Fire.

Sahwah, sitting near her similarly occupied, suddenly called to Nyoda. "How about all of us winning this honor for planning an outing to include as many boys as girls?" she asked. "We have never had our trip to Blueberry Island, and it would be fun to have the boys along for a whole day." All the girls immediately shouted their approval and Nyoda said it would be a fine idea. "We'll have to go in a couple of days, though, for the blueberries will not last much longer," she said. "We'll ask them this very day." Nyoda delivered the invitation in person. Sherry, the Counsellor, who had escorted the boys the other night, was mending the dock when she approached in the Sunbeam, and was very much surprised and delighted to see her. He received the idea of a joint excursion with enthusiasm, but said he would have to wait until the camp director returned from a day's trip with three of the older boys before he could accept definitely. He would let her know in the evening. Now Sherry knew well enough that there was no question about accepting the invitation, but he had a sudden feeling that a visit to Camp Winnebago that night would benefit his health considerably, and so delayed his answer.

Nyoda returned to camp and reported the result of her mission, and the girls settled down to wait for definite news. "Ned Roberts told me he wished they could come over every night;" said Sahwah, poising her woodblock in the air preparatory to stamping it down on the table cover she was decorating.

"Gracious!" said Migwan, "what a bore that would be! We'd never get anything done for ourselves, because we'd spend all day getting ready for them." Migwan begrudged every minute that she lost from the book she was making for Professor Bentley.

"It's impossible anyway," said Gladys in a tone of finality, "because we haven't enough skirts to last. I'll have to let out the belt of mine before I can wear it again. It was so tight last night I nearly died! That reminds me," she went on, "has anybody seen that yellow scarf I had last night when I was dancing the 'Daffodil'? I don't seem to be able to find it this morning." Nobody had seen the scarf, but all promised to look through their belongings to see if it had accidentally been put in among them. "I thought I left it hanging on the railing of the shack," said Gladys.

"I might as well fix my skirt right away," said Sahwah, when conjectures about the whereabouts of the scarf had ceased, "I'll never have any more time than now." She rose and went to her tent but returned in a few moments looking mystified. "I can't find my white skirt," she announced. "I hung it on the tent ropes last night because it got splashed with water in the canoe. Has somebody taken it for a joke? Hinpoha," she cried, pointing her finger at her, "you did it!"

Hinpoha shook her head in all seriousness. "Not guilty this time," she said. "The funny part of it is that I saw that skirt hanging in the moonlight after I was in bed and thought what a good joke it would be to throw it up on top of the tent, but I was too sleepy to get up and do it." Sahwah still suspected Hinpoha and Hinpoha went on declaring her innocence, when the arrival of a messenger from the Mountain Lake Camp put an end to the discussion. "He's bringing the answer to our invitation," cried the girls, as the young lad came up the path from the dock.

But instead of approaching Nyoda with his message as they expected, he asked for "Miss Gladys" and handed her the envelope. Gladys opened the note and read:

"Dear Miss Gladys: The lateness of the hour kept us from having a pleasant talk on the island the other night, but I hope we may have an opportunity some other time. If I come for you to-night will you go out canoeing with me, just you alone? And please get permission to stay out as long as you like, as the Counsellor in our lodge will be away to-night and if I'm not in when 'Taps' blows nobody will know the difference.

"In hopes,

"ED ROBERTS."

Gladys flushed painfully and all the girls crowding around teased her and asked if it was a love letter. She wrote an answer and gave it to the boy:

"Dear Mr. Roberts: To-night is our Council Fire and naturally I would not care to leave camp. I do not think I care to go any other night, either, as a Winnebago could never take advantage of a Counsellor's absence to stay out after hours. I am surprised and disappointed in you."

The boy departed and she threw Ed's note into the fire, simply telling the girls that he had asked her to go out canoeing that night and that she had refused. She said nothing about the underhand business he had proposed or the episode of the other night. The Camp Fire leaven had done its work thoroughly, and Gladys had fulfilled that part of the Law which reads, "Be trustworthy."

Sherry, the Senior Counsellor, left the Mountain Lake Camp in the gathering dusk, heading his canoe in the opposite direction from Camp Winnebago. Far out in the lake he turned right about face and pulled rapidly toward the Winnebago dock. A steady rain was falling and he drew the canoe up on the sand and turned it upside down carefully before mounting the path. He thought of course the girls would be in the shack, and bent his steps thither, but it was deserted; neither was there a sign of any one in the tents. He looked into the Mess Tent and into the kitchen end of the shack, but found no one. "Must be off for a ride," he reflected. "No, that can't be, either, because all the boats are in. They must have walked to the village." And with disappointment showing in every line of his face he turned his steps back toward his boat. Just then he heard the sound of singing coming from somewhere.

"Burn, fire, burn, Burn, fire, burn, Flicker, flicker, flicker, flicker, flame!"

With ears strained to listen he began to walk toward the sound. Soon he saw the soft glow of a fire shining through the distant trees and hastened toward it.

"The torch shall draw them to the fire—" The wind carried the words distinctly to his ears. Through the wet loneliness of the woods the flame drew him like a magnet. Drawing nearer he saw a bright fire burning high in the middle of an open space, unchecked by the rain, and around it moved a number of black-robed figures. He recognized the Winnebagos, clad in bathing suits and bathing caps, and covered with their ponchos, calmly having their Ceremonial Meeting in the pouring rain. The song over, they sat down in a circle and went through their ritual with the water streaming over their firelit faces. A play was enacted, which he made out to be a pantomime presentation of "Cinderella," and he recognized Nyoda in the guise of the fairy godmother. Hinpoha was the prince and Migwan Cinderella. In the teeming rain she was rescued from her ashy seat by the fireplace and borne to the ball. As the prince bent over to fit the slipper to her foot a perfect torrent rolled off his poncho into her lap and threatened to swamp the romance. They plighted their troth with one hand and held their ponchos around them with the other.

Sherry pulled his sou'wester down over his ears and standing under the shelter of a pine tree watched the performance to the end. "Glory, what a bunch of girls," he muttered to himself. "Having fun out in the wet woods while our boys are sticking around in their dry bungalows!" The Council Fire came to an end and the girls filed out among the trees singing the goodnight song. Of course Sherry didn't know the difference, but instead of singing the regular words, "May the peace of our firelit faces," most of the girls were singing, "May the peace of our dripping noses!" Nyoda was the last to come, as she had lingered to extinguish the fire, and Sherry placed himself directly in her path and stepped out from behind a tree as she came along. She started violently and flashed her bug light in his face. "Don't be afraid," he said, embarrassed and blushing, "it's only I, come to tell you that the boys can accept your invitation to go to Blueberry Island next Wednesday."

"Oh," said Nyoda, lowering her bug light and laughing, "that's very good news indeed. The girls will be glad to hear it. I must tell them right away!"

Sherry thought to himself that the news might keep awhile, as he had several other topics of conversation which would have beguiled the way up to the tents, but Nyoda called out to the girls and they came running back and swarmed all over her, and there was no chance for the poor man to say a word. After standing around for a few minutes he took his leave and paddled back to Mountain Lake Camp, looking rather drenched and forlorn.

The girls spent the next day in preparation for the picnic, full of joyous anticipation, but Gladys was filled with secret trepidation. She knew Ed Roberts would be there, and would try to force himself upon her, and she was afraid her pleasure would be spoiled. She said nothing about it, however, for she feared Nyoda would take some decisive action which might result in none of the boys being allowed to go.

Migwan came along in the midst of the preparation and announced that her red middy tie had disappeared. The words were hardly out of her mouth when Hinpoha came in declaring that her bathing cap must have evaporated, for it was gone from the tent ropes where she had left it. The girls looked at one another with consternation in their faces. If some one wasn't playing a joke there must be a thief in camp! That one of the Winnebagos should be taking the other girls' things was inconceivable. They were bound to each other by bonds stronger than sisterhood; they knew each other's very thoughts, almost, and to suspect one of their number of stealing hurt worse than a blow; and yet here were their things disappearing almost under their hands! No, the thing was impossible. What would one Winnebago gain by taking the other girls' clothes? She could not wear them without instant detection and they would be worth nothing if sold. A scarf, a white skirt with a seam burst open, a tie with a spot of ink in it, a half-worn bathing cap—what could induce any one to take them? The thing became uncanny.

Nyoda wondered uncomfortably how long Sherry had been in camp the previous night before he had made himself known, and Gladys shuddered at the possibility of Ed Roberts having a hand in it. Each time things had disappeared some one from Mountain Lake Camp had been over. The girls had been in the habit of leaving all their belongings open and spread around, with never a thought for their safety, but now they began putting them away carefully. They all felt uncomfortable doing it and each one hoped she was unobserved. There was an air of restraint about the camp that had never existed before, and it reacted in a general crossness. The singing in the evening seemed all out of tune and the fire smoked because the wood was damp and everything had a false note in it. Nyoda was glad when it was time to blow the bugle.

Even then there was no immediate peace. No sooner were they settled in bed than from the lake below came the sound of a manly voice raised in song, accompanied by the strumming of a guitar. "There's your lover, Gladys," giggled Sahwah, "I recognize his voice. He plays the guitar, his brother told me so." Gladys hid her face in the pillow and the girls kept on teasing her. "Aren't you going to reward your gallant troubadour by tossing him a flower or a glove, or something?" called Nyoda from the other tent.

"I'd like to toss him a rock," said Gladys savagely to herself. Finding his efforts unrecognized, the serenader finally desisted, and they heard the dipping of his paddle as he departed.

The girls were at work bright and early the next morning, for they were to be ready to leave for Blueberry Island by nine. With a great waving of paddles the boys arrived promptly on the dot and jumped out to help stow the empty baskets for berries and the full baskets of lunch into the boats, together with the cups and kettles.

Gladys had been wondering all morning how she should treat Ed Roberts and stood around so quiet and pensive that Nyoda rallied her on her lack of spirits. "Are you so anxious to see your troubadour that you forget to talk?" she asked.

Gladys, suddenly grown weary of all this teasing, said vehemently, "I don't like Ed Roberts and I wish you would stop talking about him to me."

"Don't you really like him?" said Nyoda, grown serious in an instant.

Gladys shook her head. "He thinks I shouldn't talk to any one but himself, and he's forever trying to get me off into corners away from the others. All he talks is nonsense; calls me 'kid' and 'girlie,' and actually tried to hold my hand when we were going down to the canoes that night. It makes me tired! I wish I didn't have to go to-day."

Nyoda puckered her brows, but thought best not to treat the matter too seriously, and merely said, "Stay near me all day and I don't think he will act that way."

There were sixteen of them altogether and only seven canoes, counting the Keewaydin, so one canoe had to carry four. When Nyoda got in with Sherry, Gladys got in right after her, and Ed Roberts, who was trying to get a canoe for himself, either had to get in also or let some one else have the place. He chose the former and was placed as bow paddler with his back to the others and Nyoda between him and Gladys.

The day was perfect and every one in high spirits. The berries were thick on the Island and the baskets were filled with little trouble. Gladys kept close to Nyoda. After a courteous greeting she had paid no further attention to Ed, and during the picking he stayed in the background, sulky and chagrined. When the berries were picked Gladys went to help Nyoda make the blueberry pudding, which was to crown the feast. Sherry sought out Ed Roberts. "You big boob," he said, "why don't you take that Gladys girl away from Miss Kent and keep her entertained? She's sticking so close beside her I have no chance to talk at all. Where are your manners, anyway, leaving her without a partner?" Ed looked at him sourly, and then he brightened at the prospect of having Sherry for an ally.

"If you can manage to lose her somewhere near me I'd be delighted," he said. But Gladys steadfastly refused to be "lost" and Nyoda was constantly requiring her assistance, so the two were never very far away from each other.

Sahwah and Ned were having a glorious time. He was teaching her to shoot her rifle and she was proving a very apt pupil indeed, hitting the paper three times out of five the first round. Not so Hinpoha, who was also being taught. She took aim with her left eye and pulled the trigger with her right hand and the result was that she could not even hit the tree on which the paper was fastened. She screwed her face up into a frightful grimace and turned her head away when she fired, as if she expected the explosion to blow her head off. But Ned gallantly assured her that she would be a good shot in time and never made one remark about "the way girls do such things." Hinpoha persisted until she had hit the paper once and then left to put her slumgullion over the fire, assisted by Lane Allen, who had followed her around since the first night he visited the camp.

Soon dinner was ready and the hungry crowd spread out on the rocks to be served with good things cooked over the open fire. "Leave room for blueberry pudding!" Gladys cautioned every one, viewing with alarm the quantities of slumgullion and sandwiches that were being consumed. "No danger!" laughed Ned. "I could eat everything in sight and still have room for all the blueberry pudding you have. Bring it on!" Gladys served every one with a heaping big dish, and with "'Ohs" and "Ahs" of enjoyment they sent it the way of the rest of the feast.

"Now we must heat water to wash the dishes," said Nyoda, when every one had reached the limit of eating.

"You let us fellows attend to that," said Sherry decisively, "it's enough that you got the dinner." He calmly took her big cook's apron away from her and put it on himself. The boys fell to with a will and the dishes were soon off the scene. In the afternoon they divided the company into two parts and had a shooting match with Sahwah's rifle. Some of the girls surprised themselves by hitting the paper the first time, and more than one hit the bull's eye before her round was over. Ed Roberts called out the wrath of Sherry because he would point the gun at people, and lost his turn in consequence, which did not improve his temper. Later he received a sharp rebuke from Sahwah because he wanted her to shoot at a song sparrow, and retired to the beach by himself to mope. He was no more like his frank, courteous, sunny-hearted twin brother than day is like night, and Nyoda understood fully Gladys's aversion to him.

They went paddling home in the rosy sunset singing "A Perfect Day," which it had been to every one but Ed Roberts, all vowing that they must get together again before the camps broke up. Long after the others were wrapped in slumber Sahwah lay staring into the moonlight. She was never more wide awake. The night was hot and the blankets seemed to stifle her. "I can't sleep!" she declared to herself as she thumped her pillow for the twentieth time, "I'm going to get up awhile."

She stepped softly out of bed, slipped on her sweater and stood at the door of the tent looking out into the night. By and by her feet began to move as by their own impulse and carried her down the path to the lake. The Keewaydin lay on the beach bathed in moonlight, and scarcely knowing what she was doing she drew it down to the water's edge, launched it and got in. She had no thought of disobeying Nyoda by going out after bedtime; she was not thinking at all; she was moving in a sort of wide-awake dream. It was one of those strange wild fancies that seize girls in their teens and she was going out to play in the moonlight like an elf. The lake exerted its magic influence over her and drew her to itself when awake as it had done once before in her sleep. Straight across the lake she paddled, following the path of the moonbeams, to where the rocky shore reared its steep cliffs on the other side. At the base of one of the highest cliffs there was a tiny cave and into this Sahwah steered the Keewaydin. Inside it was as black as ink and so low that she had to bend her head.

"Chaos and ancient night—"

The words came aimlessly into her mind. From afar off in the depths of the cave came the sound of water falling. She shuddered at the awfulness of it and backed the canoe out.

During those minutes she had spent in the cave a change had come over the moon. It was fast becoming veiled and a heavy mist was settling on the lake, closing around her like a mantle. She had not the slightest idea where she was, nor in which direction she was going. The spell of the moonlight was gone and she was wide awake. She felt chilly and very much afraid. She lost her sense of direction and dared not steer out toward the middle of the lake, but kept close to the shore, following the sound of the waves as they dashed on the rocks. A strong breeze sprang up and the light canoe tossed like a blossom in the wind. On and on around that great curve of the shore line she paddled, until her arms ached from the strain.

The waves flung themselves upon the rocks with a horrible moaning sound that chilled the marrow of her bones. Then came the weirdest sensation that something was swimming after the boat. It was really only the swirls made by the rocks below, but in that queer light every wave seemed topped by a head that twisted its neck after her and then started in pursuit. Her teeth chattered, and her hands trembled so she could hardly hold the paddle. Thus passed the night—fearful, unreal, endless. When morning came the mists began to lift and she could see where she was. She was quite close to camp, still very near to shore. She had paddled halfway around the circumference of the lake, a distance of nearly twelve miles. In the hush of dawn she beached the Keewaydin and crept up to bed, falling asleep immediately from exhaustion.

No one knew that she had gone out, and she never told any one, not even Nyoda. It was not that she was afraid to tell Nyoda that she had broken bounds, but the whole experience seemed so unreal to her that she did not see how she could ever explain it at all. She knew it was not her fault and at the same time she knew that she would never do it again, and so it remained a secret. In fact, in a few days she was not at all sure that she had not dreamed the whole thing—except for her shoulder, which was lame for a week.

The morning after Sahwah's nocturnal journey the camp was thrown into consternation by the discovery that Nyoda's sweater was gone. The last time she remembered having it was coming home from Blueberry Island, when she had given it to Sherry to hold while she unpacked the cups from the canoes. This was the first thing of value that had been taken, but it might not be the last, and Nyoda was really worried. Sahwah's fine furs were in a trunk in the shack, along with the rest of her presents, and she remembered with a start that Sahwah had shown them all to the boys when they were over. Since yesterday a distrust of Ed Roberts sprang up in her mind, and she wondered if there could be any connection between his determined hanging around the camp and the disappearance of the articles. Might not the taking of the unimportant things at first be a deliberate blind? Calling Sahwah she made her put all the things from Canada in the trunk and locked it securely, after first weighting it down with stones so that it could not be carried away bodily by less than six men.

A short time later Sahwah came in in a high state of excitement. Her bathing suit was gone! Here was trouble indeed. Sahwah would have been sorry if the furs had been stolen, but it would not have roused her half so much as the taking of her bathing suit. Sahwah without a bathing suit was like a horse without a head. "I'm going to sit up all night and watch," she declared.

"We'll all sit up, I think," said Nyoda. "If the thief comes again he'll find a bivouac." Accordingly that night they all stayed up, sitting in the shadow of the shack. The tents were plainly visible in the moonlight. The place was as calm and still as a churchyard, and did not look as if it could be the scene of such mysterious doings. Hour after hour passed and nothing happened. The thief had evidently changed his mind to-night. The girls yawned and dozed and wished they were in bed. Suddenly there was a crashing in the underbrush that made the girls sit up as if an electric shock had passed through them. With a rapid snapping of dry twigs and waving of tall grass the bushes parted and a great St. Bernard puppy dashed up the path to the tents. Seizing a bath towel that hung on a rope he worried it for a moment with his jaws and then made off with it in the direction he had come.

For a moment astonishment held them speechless, then Sahwah broke into her giggle and they all screamed with laughter. The thought of the weighted trunk overcame them and they doubled up weakly on the shack floor. Ten minutes later the puppy was back again, looking for something else to chew. They drove him off with switches and he ran yelping with his tail between his legs. He never came again. "I don't doubt but what we'll find all our belongings scattered through the woods," said Nyoda. Which was exactly the case. A search by daylight disclosed all the missing articles, strewn through the various paths and hollows, all more or less chewed, but still recognizable. Thus the specter of suspicion that had been hovering over the camp vanished into thin air.

In spite of the fact that Gladys had made her feeling toward Ed Roberts perfectly plain, the nocturnal serenades continued. Nightly at about half-past nine, they would hear a canoe scrape on the rocks in the shadow of the great cliff, and then the voice and the guitar would begin. For fifteen minutes or more the songs would float up to the occupants of the tents, and then the serenader would paddle away. The girls never gave any sign of hearing, but this did not seem to discourage the singer any. They had ceased to tease Gladys about Ed and were no longer thrilled at the serenades. The business was getting monotonous. Nyoda thought of sending word over to the head of the boys' camp and having him put a stop to it; but this course struck her as ridiculous and she determined to go down herself the next night and send Ed about his business.

Accordingly, when the first strains rose from the lake the next night, she went down the path to the foot of the cliff, while the girls above listened breathless for what would happen. She saw the dim figure in the canoe outlined against the tall rock and crossed the beach toward him. "Roberts!" she called sharply, "Ed Roberts!" The singer ceased his song at the sound of her voice and looked around. Nyoda stopped in confusion. The youth in the boat was not Ed Roberts. It was Sherry, the Senior Counsellor. "You came down at last?" he said joyfully.

When Nyoda returned to the tents the girls eagerly demanded to know "what he had said." But she waved all their questions and sent them back to bed. Only to Gladys's, "Will he stop serenading us now?" she returned a short, non-committal "Yes."



CHAPTER XI.

ON SHADOW RIVER.

The long awaited canoe trip, which had been put off "until Gladys learned to swim," had at last become a reality, and bright and early one morning the Winnebagos started off on a fifteen-mile paddle up the Shadow River. Sahwah led the procession in the Keewaydin, uttering shouts which she fondly believed to be in imitation of an Indian warrior. Her new hunting knife hung at one side of her belt, her own hatchet on the other, while the rest of the space was decorated with her Wohelo knife and a string of enormous safety pins with which to pin her blankets together. In the bottom of the canoe reposed her rifle. Nyoda had to turn her head away to hide a smile when she saw the outfit. Sahwah looked like a floating cutlery store. Just why she should elect to impersonate a brave instead of an Indian maiden was not clear to Nyoda, but this was only another illustration of her whimsical temperament. Part of the time the stay-at-home duties appealed to her; the care of the hearthfire, the cooking and cleaning and hand-craft; and then again her imagination was kindled by tales of scouts and warriors and she longed for the wild life of the hunter.

Migwan, on the other hand, was the picture of shy, dreamy girlhood, as she sat in the bottom of the canoe and let herself be paddled along by two other girls so she might have her hands free for writing down her impressions of the trip. Describing it in a letter to her mother, she wrote:

"I am packed in like a sardine between the ponchos and supplies. Can you imagine me sitting in an inch of water, with one foot straight up in the air, the other doubled under somebody's poncho, and scarcely daring to breathe for fear of disturbing the balance, placidly doing beadwork? It is quite an accomplishment to thread a needle in a pitching canoe, but every one has mastered the art."

The trip up the Shadow River was ideally beautiful. The scenery was still wild and natural, and the foliage very dense. Many of the trees along the banks had four or five trunks, and leaned far out over the water, making the shadows which gave the river its name. A crane, startled by the approach of the canoes, rose in wheeling flight over their heads. The willows waved their feathery boughs in the sun and gleamed bright against the dark background of the pines. Migwan noted down the different contours of the trees, how the elms spread out wide at the top, how the pines tapered to a point, how the maples spread out irregularly. A flock of wild ducks passed them. In some places the banks of the river were honeycombed by the holes of bank swallows. A turtle, sitting on a half-sunken log, stretched his neck and looked after them as long as he could see them. All these things Migwan saw and set down in her book with a quiet enjoyment.

A ripple of excitement ran through the girls as they saw, far in the distance, the big river steamer approaching. "Shall we land until it has passed?" called Sahwah.

"We can't land here," answered Nyoda, "the banks are nothing but mud and slime. Come in as close to shore as possible, and keep paddling so the waves from the steamer won't swamp you." The big passenger boat nearly filled the river from bank to bank, but she came very slowly and the waves she made did not amount to much after all. The people on board ran to the rail with their cameras to snapshot the three canoes full of girls—a birchbark canoe ahead bearing the huntress with her rifle; a big green canoe next packed with ponchos and supplies, followed by a canoe with sails, at the top of which floated the Winnebago banner. Sahwah saluted with her paddle as she passed; the other girls waved their handkerchiefs in friendly greeting.

Farther up the river there were rapids and the paddling became strenuous indeed. The sails had to come down from the sailing canoe, and the crew, who had been having an easy time, of it, had to bend to their paddles with all their might. Going through a rapid requires short, hard strokes in swift succession, to make any headway at all, and more than once a canoe was whirled around in the rushing water and hurled back downstream. Sahwah was having a great time. She pretended that she was in the rapids of the Niagara, paddling for her life, and put forth such strenuous efforts that she soon left the others behind.

The girls were so tired by the time they reached calm waters again that Nyoda ordered them to land on a low green bank and rest for an hour. They built a fire and cooked their dinner and then stretched themselves in the shade of a large oak tree for a nap. As far as the eye could see on every side there was no trace of a human being; no house, no boat, no cultivated land. It was as though they had stepped back a hundred years and were in the midst of the primeval forest of song and story. Migwan lay on her back in lazy contentment, watching the sunshine filter through the leaves. Idly she drew out her pencil and began scribbling words in her notebook:

"Underneath this spreading tree, Let us rest luxuriously; And caressed by breezes mild, And with song of birds beguiled, Interweave our bright day dream With a tale of wondrous theme."

"Up, up, comrades," cried Nyoda, rising and returning to her canoe. All through the lovely golden afternoon they paddled steadily upstream, and just about sunset landed on a low green meadow that ran down to the water's edge. Behind the tiny plain the woods grew high and dark. Sahwah, watching the other girls picking out their sleeping sites for the night, had an inspiration.

"May I sleep out in the Keewaydin to-night?" she asked Nyoda.

"Why, yes," said Nyoda, "if you will tie it securely to a tree. The current is pretty strong." They lingered long around the camp fire that night, telling stories and watching the moon rise over the treetops. None of them had ever experienced that feeling of being so absolutely by themselves. Quiet and unmolested as Camp Winnebago was, it seemed the center of civilization compared to this. Migwan, who was in a poetical mood, made up a new Camp Fire song and taught it to the girls:

"Lofty pine tree, old and grim, With the horned moon hooked round the topmost limb, And the owl awatch on the branch below, What is the song of the winds that blow Through your boughs so mysteriously?

They sing a song of the wide green world, Of the leaves in the merry breezes whirled, And rustle and murmur and moan and sigh Of the storm that darkened the sunny sky, And the ship that was lost at sea.

Lofty pine tree, lone and grim, With the moon peering over the topmost limb, And the owl asleep on the branch below, What is the song of the winds that blow Through your twigs so caressingly?"

Before rolling into their beds they all went for a moonlight swim in the river, which each girl declared to be the most wonderful experience of her life. No outdoor bed is quite so comfortable as a grassy meadow and the Winnebagos settled themselves with sighs of contentment. In her letter to her mother, Migwan wrote:

"I have never seen such cloud pictures as I saw that night. Once it looked as if a black-robed priest were holding the moon before him like a basin, while a polar bear stood upright beside him, his paws resting on a carved pillar. Once it seemed as if the moon were about to enter a vast cavern, at the door of which stood the figure of a youth with hands outstretched in welcome. The moon paused before the door but did not enter. The youth slid to the ground and crouched with head on knee in an attitude of despair. A gigantic figure stood out in the light. Before him danced a circle of elves. The figure in the doorway leaned back and slept. Watching this strange panorama, I fell asleep."

Nyoda awoke before sunrise and sat up to see if the rest were all right. All those girls sleeping on the ground looked like an army. She could not help wondering—would it ever come to that in earnest? Was this semi-military training of the Camp Fire girls all over the country a prophetic flash? She looked fondly around at her charges. Hinpoha and Migwan were sleeping together and the bed would hardly hold them. Both were still sound asleep and both mechanically swatting mosquitoes in their sleep. At the foot of her own bed the Winnebago banner was stuck into the ground, keeping silent guard. Gladys's bed had come apart and her bare feet were sticking out between the ponchos.

Nyoda lay back for another nap to waken when the rising sun shone in her face. She sat up again and this time she beheld a curious sight. One of the ponchos, tied up in a long roll, suddenly rose in the air, and after waving back and forth like a pendulum, slowly descended. Smothered giggles burst from the beds about. Again the phenomenon occurred. Nyoda jumped up suddenly. Seizing the poncho, she shook it, and a head appeared at the bottom end. It was Hinpoha. The girls had rolled her into her poncho and tied it up, and she was lying on the ground with her legs in the air when Nyoda first spied her. It was two hours before rising time but the girls were all wide awake and ready for larks. They sat up in bed and began to throw shoes at each other, until Nyoda, in sheer self-defense, blew the rising bugle.

The river was hidden from the girls by a heavy fringe of willows, and Sahwah had not joined in the early morning frolic. When she did not appear at the sound of the bugle Nyoda went down to call her. There was no sign of the Keewaydin. Nyoda knew well that Sahwah would not have paddled off by herself without saying anything. The canoe had broken away and floated downstream while she was asleep! Calling Hinpoha to come and paddle bow, Nyoda launched a canoe and started in pursuit. A great fear tugged at her heart. The rapids! The first one was not three miles down. What if Sahwah should not wake up in time to see her danger! With powerful strokes she sent the canoe flying downstream. Fifteen anxious minutes passed and then they saw the Keewaydin floating merrily along ahead of them, with the rope trailing out behind it and Sahwah still sound asleep in the bottom. They caught the runaway and Sahwah sat up in great surprise. "Sahwah," said Nyoda severely, "is that the best hitch-knot you can tie? You come back to camp and tie fifty secure hitch-knots before you get a bite of breakfast!"

Migwan, fully dressed, stood on the bank of the river admiring the scenery. Without moment's warning the ground gave way under her feet and she tumbled headlong into the water. It was only up to her waist, but the suddenness of the slide took her breath away and she blinked dazedly at the laughing girls. Recovering herself, however, she asked them to throw her her toothbrush, as she might as well finish her toilet while she had the water so handy!

An instant later Gladys was in trouble. "Watch me dive!" she called, and sprang from the bank. The water was shallow and the bottom soft, and her head stuck fast in the mud while her feet waved in the air. She was rescued from her uncomfortable position, her face and hair plastered with mud. Next, Hinpoha, swimming under water with the swift current, struck her head against a log and emerged with a great bruise. Nyoda, trying to get the pancake batter ready for breakfast, was nearly distracted with this swift succession of accidents. "Every one of you come here and sit in a row beside me," she commanded, "and the first one that causes any excitement until breakfast is over will get spanked!"

"What a lovely cave!" exclaimed Migwan later when they were exploring the woods. "It's a regular witch's cave. Nyoda, won't you dress up like a witch to-night and tell our fortunes?" Nyoda consented and the girls scoured the woods for hanging moss to decorate the cave, and for pine cones to build a charmed fire. They were busily transforming the bare rocks into a green tapestried chamber, when Sahwah came up, crying as if her heart would break, carrying in her arms a dead wild duck.

"What's the matter?" asked Nyoda in alarm.

"I shot it!" sobbed Sahwah.

"But that's nothing to cry about," said Nyoda, "don't you know that wild ducks are game birds? It's a bit out of season and you mustn't shoot any more, but I must congratulate you on your aim." Sahwah was a living riddle to her. Fearless as an Indian in the woods and possessing the skill with a rifle to bring down a bird on the wing, she was so tender-hearted that she could not bear to think of having killed any living thing! Nyoda bade her cheer up and pluck the fowl for roasting, and the girls danced for joy at the thought of the feast in store for them. They left off decorating the cave and went to constructing a stone oven in which to cook the bird. It was a bit scorched on the outside when done, but the meat was so tender it nearly fell apart. Sahwah, who at first wanted to bury the martyr with full honors, changed her mind when she smelled the savory odor and enjoyed the dinner as much as the rest.