While Odysseus slumbers the Princess Nausicaa and her maidens come down toward the river. Unaware of the sleeper, they begin washing their clothes in the river and afterwards spread them out to dry in the sun.

Victoria Drew, as the Princess Nausicaa, wore a gown of bright blue with a Greek design in silver braid. Her bright red-gold hair was bound in a silver fillet. Her maids were Margaret Hale, Edith Linder, Martha Greaves and Julia Murray. Their costumes were white and crimson, yellow and green.

In making a careful study of the costumes worn by the early Greeks, Miss Frean and the Troop Captain had been surprised to find that white did not play so important a part in their dress as they had supposed. Together with their love for the beauty of line and form the Greeks possessed an equal love for color.

Nausicaa and her maidens begin a game of ball on the sands. The princess misses the ball and as it rolls into the water she gives a cry that awakes Odysseus.

He comes forward and asks Nausicaa's aid.

Together they move toward the palace of the Sea-kings, when the first tableau ends.

The second scene shows Odysseus seated inside the tent narrating his adventures to the good King Alcinous and his wife, Queen Arete.

Again the voice of the interpreter recited further lines from the Greek poem:

"Hither, come hither and hearken awhile, Odysseus, far-famed king! No sailor ever has passed this way but has paused to hear us sing. Our song is sweeter than honey, and he that can hear it knows What he never has learnt from another, and has joy before he goes; We know what the heroes bore at Troy in the ten long years of strife We know what happens in all the world, and the secret things of life."

A thrill of appreciation and sympathy stirred the larger portion of the audience at the outset of the next tableau.

Strangers, slightly puzzled to guess the cause, found that a few hurried words made the situation clearer.

Odysseus has sailed from Crete and comes at last to his own land.

No change of scenery was possible. The hearers learned from the recitation that he had reached the island of Ithaca. Here his ship was moored in a haven between two steep headlands near a shadowy cave, where the water-fairies come to look after their bees and weave their sea-blue garments on the hanging looms.

Odysseus, knowing not that he has reached his home at last, walks up the steep incline from the shore. Here he meets the Goddess of wisdom, Pallas Athena.

Contrary to her own judgment Katherine Moore had agreed finally to represent Athena; in spite of the difficulties to be surmounted not to have accepted would have been too ungracious.

From beyond in the grove of trees the Goddess advances. She is seated in a chariot drawn by four children. The children wore costumes of white, short skirts to their knees and sandals on their feet.

The Goddess herself was clad in white with a wreath of green leaves about her hair. Had the audience been closer she would have appeared a pale and fragile Goddess with wide gray eyes set in a delicate, bravely smiling face. For the old-time Kara had been doing her best to return these days in order to cast no gloom upon the pleasure of her friends.

Better for Kara perhaps that the general effect of the tableau was what was desired and not a too apparent view of details!

This, however, was not true concerning the little group of children who drew the chariot.

So startling was Lucy Martin's beauty that not only the Girl Scouts and their older friends discussed it among themselves, the Boy Scouts, not so apt to notice a little girl's appearance, also spoke of it to one another privately.

Fortunately Lucy, in spite of her wilfulness, was not self-conscious.

To-day evidently she was thinking not of herself but of Katherine Moore and Billy, her former friends from the Gray House on the Hill.

A blond Cupid grown slightly older and thinner, Billy Duncan appeared, with his blond hair and large childish blue eyes and his somewhat expressionless face.

Either the performance of the Greek tableaux or the presence of the little girl who had so dominated him during the years they had spent together at the Gray House made Billy dazed and speechless.

There was no need, however, that he should use any intelligence save to do what Lucy commanded.

Her dark eyes sparkled with a brilliant excitement, her rose cheeks glowed. The stiff aureole of her dark hair made a striking contrast to the whiteness of her childish costume.

The other two children were acquaintances of Lucy's from the Gray House and equally ready to do her bidding.

So, whatever the others may have believed, Lucy Martin was convinced that she had taken complete charge of Kara's tableau.

Watching the little girl, Kara in a measure forgot what she felt to be her own unfitness for her distinguished role.

Athena touches Odysseus with her magic wand and he changes into an old man, not wishing to be recognized on his return to his own palace. Athena's chariot is then drawn back into the grove of trees and Odysseus, now disguised as a beggar, once more sets out for his home. The Goddess has presented him with a worn coat which he places over his former costume.

The tableaux did not consume any length of time, scarcely longer than it requires in the telling, nevertheless the entire drama of Odysseus could not be unfurled in a single afternoon's pageant.

The meeting of Odysseus with the faithful steward, Eumaeus, played by Mr. Fenton, was presented without the details one finds in the story.

Immediately after the son of Odysseus, Telemachus, makes his appearance.

Neither Lance McClain nor Donald had ever acted until to-day.

They had both been fearful that playing together would have its drawbacks, as one is inclined to be more nervous and critical with regard to one's own family. Actually the brothers were more surprised by each other than they could have surprised their audience.

The change in costume, the gray in his hair, the lines of makeup on his handsome boyish face, gave Donald a look of maturity, while Lance's slenderness and the fact that he was several inches smaller carried with it the necessary suggestion of graceful youth.

Together the father and son set forth to their home, crowded with the suitors who, believing Odysseus dead, have come to seek the hand of Penelope.

Instead of going directly to the palace they retire toward the woods to suggest a lapse of time.

So far the Greek tableaux had been dominated by single figures, chiefly the hero of the poem.

Now a change occurs.

In the courtyard before the palace Penelope is seen to appear accompanied by her maidens.

A serene and stately Penelope robed in ivory and gold, her ash-brown hair braided and coiled low on her neck, a gold band in her hair, Joan Peters had never looked so handsome.

About her the troop of maidens like a swarm of brilliant, many-colored flowers.

They moved from the yard and onto a broad space of ground untouched by tree or shrub. Here the grass had been closely cut so that it formed a velvet greensward.

Penelope stands in the background and her maidens advance.

They were sixteen in number and represented the four seasons.

As Kara's illness made it impossible for her to be of their number, the sixteen girls were not alone Girl Scouts from the camp in Beechwood Forest. Four of them were gowned in white, four in pale green, four in blue and four in scarlet.

Their costumes were like the simple, flowing draperies of the Greek dancing girls seen upon the friezes of the ancient Parthenon at Athens.

Carefully Mrs. Phillips had made a study of every detail of Greek dancing and costuming. Anxious to impress the people of Westhaven with her ability as a teacher of dancing, she appreciated that no such opportunity as the present one would be offered her again.

Evan Phillips was to lead the Greek Dance of the Four Seasons; one of the dancers representing winter, she was dressed in white and silver.

Advancing, the entire line made a streak of rainbow beauty upon the farther edge of the silver stream of water.

The line recedes, forming a crescent about the solitary dancer.

Then Evan danced alone. Her dancing was a series of graceful gestures, of movements of her arms and postures of her body, not toe dancing or a skilful employment of her feet, such as we associate with modern dancing.

In the midst of her dancing she summons the four seasons to advance. Winter comes first. They seem to be blown forward by a gust of winter wind that sets them dancing and shivering forward. Supposedly the snow falls and their arms, partly covered by delicate white draperies, are raised as a shield.

The sun shines, the snow melts and they move backward to give place to the birth of spring, the four Girl Scouts in shimmering green costumes.

The dance of the Spring recalled Evan Phillips' dance of the young beech trees, save that it was more stately. As far as possible her mother had adapted her idea to the Greek model.

Summer follows spring and the dance suggests the blossoming of the flowers. The scarlet succeeds the blue and autumn comes with its portents of flying leaves and birds moving southward.

The dance ends and for the first time the audience broke into enthusiastic applause. Nothing so beautiful had ever been witnessed in Westhaven!

Penelope and her maidens return to the palace. Later Odysseus wanders into his own home, unrecognized by his family and friends.

The Girl Scouts composed the household of Penelope, the Boy Scouts found their opportunity as the impatient suitors of the lady Penelope. They remain about her palace, playing at games, feasting and wasting her substance and that of her son, Telemachus. The hour must be near when she shall make up her mind who is to fill the place of her lost husband, Odysseus.

In the games that took place the Boy Scouts found their chance to exhibit their prowess in outdoor sports.

Penelope fetches the bow and the quiver full of deadly arrows. She then goes to meet the princes, her attendants following carrying the axes.

To the suitor who wins at the trial of the bow Penelope vows to give herself in marriage.

Odysseus, with as little trouble as a minstrel fits a new cord to his lyre, bends the mighty bow with an arrow caught up from the table at his side.

Even when the bronze-tipped shaft goes clean through twelve axes set up in a row, the blinded Penelope fails to know her lord.

The last scene reveals Odysseus, his shabby coat cast aside, his figure no longer bent and aged, a shining hero seated opposite Penelope in the courtyard of his home, united at last after long parting.

The Greek tableaux were over. Within a quarter of an hour the audience departed for their homes, the Girl Scouts to their own camp and the boys to theirs on the other side of the hill. Yet not until bed-time was any other subject discussed by the players and their audience than the surprising success of the Greek pageant given that afternoon in the familiar setting of the New England woods.

So the beauty of the past held its re-birth in the present.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE PASSING

Outside the opening into her tent Teresa Peterson sat presumably playing upon the banjo. The sounds she was making were not particularly pleasing. Yet the camp was fairly deserted. Only a few of the other girls were to be seen and they were busy and nowhere near Teresa.

In fact, the camp in Beechwood Forest would be vacant within the next few days. Summer was closing with the soft loveliness that makes one forgive and forget her less charming moods.

Already the evergreen house, which had been the center of the camp life, was being dismantled.

Katherine Moore had returned to the Gray House on the Hill. After the performance of the Greek tableaux she had not been so well and Dr. McClain had additional reasons for desiring her presence in town at this time.

Impatient always to fulfill his own wishes, no sooner was Mr. Hammond aware of Kara's departure to town than he requested permission to have the floor of the old cabin removed and the search begun. Kara was not to be told of the effort until the work was accomplished. Not one chance in a thousand, Mr. Hammond agreed, that any trace of Kara's past history be located here, therefore she had best not be excited or worried until the task was finished.

This afternoon, as Teresa twanged at her banjo strings, she looked oftener than was good for her music at the group of men who were at work in the evergreen cabin.

So far they had only started the removal of the old boards.

When this was concluded the Girl Scouts had determined to organize the searching parties among themselves. Mr. Hammond would join them; no one else was supposed to feel a sufficiently keen interest in the investigation to be allowed to take part.

In spite of her music Teresa observed Lance McClain coming toward the Girl Scout camp when he was still some distance away. He was not wearing his Scout uniform as might have been expected.

Even at a distance Lance appeared unlike the other boys. He was smaller than a number of them, more slender and graceful. He had a peculiar carriage of the head. He seemed to bend forward slightly and yet his eyes were nearly always upturned. He apparently did not look at the objects directly in front of him.

"Hello, Lance, I am awfully glad to see you! I was feeling dull," Teresa called out. "How did you happen to walk over to camp and not be wearing your uniform? Miss Mason is lying down in her tent; if you like I'll tell her you are here and then you can stay and talk to me, or else I'll play to you."

Lance made a funny grimace.

"Thanks awfully, Teresa, but I want to see Dorothy for a special reason. I can't stay long. I wonder if you will tell me where I can find her?"

Teresa frowned.

"I thought you always claimed to be fond of music, Lance, so I don't see why you need be in such a hurry."

Again Teresa twanged at her banjo, a little angrily on this occasion, so that the boy's sensitive face twitched.

"Oh, for goodness sake don't make that noise, please, Teresa, and don't be annoyed. I'd like to talk to you if I had time. I don't think I am fond of the banjo as a musical instrument, but I've simply got to find Dorothy. If you don't know where she is will you ask Miss Mason? Tell her it is important or I would not have appeared. Oh, yes, I know the Boy Scouts are more welcome visitors at present than they were, still I really have too much else to do ordinarily!"

So worried was Lance's expression that Teresa relented.

"You might tell me what you have on your mind. If you don't wish to, why, I do know where Dorothy is. She and Tory Drew and Louise and little Lucy rowed over to the other side of the lake, not far off. If you are in a hurry you can take the other canoe and join them. It will require less time than walking around the shore and I'll go with you if you'd like to have me come."

Lance flushed.

"You will think I am rude I am afraid, Teresa, but it is rather a private matter I want to talk over with Dorothy, so if you don't object I'll row over alone. Some other time you and I——"

The girl shrugged her shoulders.

"Oh, it does not make any difference," she returned, and began humming a gay little tune and playing more softly.

As he entered the silver canoe and started paddling across the shallow lake Lance regretted his decision. His was a nature not so uncommon as people suppose. He disliked hurting people in small ways, in larger and more important ways he was apparently indifferent.

He liked Teresa and thought her extremely pretty.

After all, Dorothy would not be alone, although they could go off somewhere nearby together. Yet Lance knew he would not particularly object to the presence of Louise Miller and Tory Drew.

No difficulty arose in discovering the group of girls. Before Lance shoved his boat from the shore he observed them at a point about three-quarters of the way down the opposite shore. He could not distinguish one from the other nor tell the exact number.

As he approached nearer he observed that Tory was seated with an easel in front of her, and at a short distance away Lucy was posing. The other girls were not in sight.

So intent was Tory upon her work that she did not see Lance until he was within a few yards. Then he called out to her, and Lucy, glad of a chance to change her position, ran down to meet him.

They came up hand in hand.

"Not so bad, Tory, for a girl, and one no older than you!" Lance murmured, staring at the drawing of the youthful artist, his brows drawn into a fine line, half of criticism, half envy.

Donald and Dorothy McClain and most of her younger companions would have felt only enthusiastic admiration for Tory's work. Had they known, Lance's attitude was more flattering. He expected more of Tory's ability than the others knew how to expect.

She shook her head.

"This is my third attempt, Lance, to make a picture of Lucy that I shall be willing to submit to the judges in our Council or show father. I can't try again, we are going away from camp so soon. Now and then I think this may do, and at others I am discouraged. I must not talk about myself. How did you happen to turn up here? Are you looking for Dorothy? I hope there is nothing the matter, you are so serious."

Before it became necessary for Lance to reply a voice interrupted him.

Overhearing the conversation, Dorothy and Louise Miller, who had not been far away, were returning.

With an unexpected display of affection, Dorothy McClain, not accustomed to showing her emotions, put her arm through her brother's and held tight to him.

"What are you doing not in your Scout uniform, Lance? We were just saying that it was too dreadful to think that our summer camping days in Beechwood Forest would soon be a thing of the past. Nevertheless, I will be kind of glad to return to my own family. Tory and Ouida and I have been making all sorts of plans for the winter. You must help us with some of them, Lance, you and Don."

"Afraid I won't be able to, Dorothy," Lance answered in an odd voice.

The three girls studied him more intently.

Lucy, seldom interested in the conversation of older persons, had wandered away and was throwing pebbles into the clear water.

"Why not, Lance? You are not usually unaccommodating, and though you may consider you are wasting your valuable time to spend any of it with girls, you won't count Tory and Ouida and me with the others?"

"I won't be at home next winter, Dorothy, at least I think not. I came out to camp this afternoon to have a private conversation with you, but if Ouida and Tory won't be bored I don't mind if they hear what I wish to say. Perhaps if you don't see things my way to the extent I want you to, they may help me."

Dorothy looked frightened. "Oh, Lance! What in the world are you going to propose? Please don't ask me to take your part if you have been having an argument with father. I may not think you are in the right. Suppose we have afternoon tea before you tell us anything. We brought the tea things over in the canoe and Ouida and I have been collecting the materials for a fire."

Doggedly Lance shook his head.

"No, it will take more than a half hour before the water can possibly boil. I can't wait so long.

"I have had an argument with father, Dorothy. I don't see how you managed to guess. I went in to see him yesterday and stayed all night at home. We talked until after midnight. I am going back home now after I have confided in you, so I did not care to wear my uniform."

As if she suddenly had grown tired, Dorothy seated herself on the ground, Lance standing above and staring down at her an eager, appealing light in his brown eyes.

Embarrassed by their own position, Tory and Louise were moving away when a swift inclination of Lance's hand beckoned them to remain.

"I want you to stay, please do. I believe Dot is going to be difficult. I did not think so when I came out to talk things over with her. She is always claiming that I am her favorite brother yet when it comes to a test she is far oftener on any one's side than mine."

"That is not because I do not care for you but because I feel you are often wrong, Lance, and for your own sake I am obliged to differ with you," Dorothy answered, as if she were on the defensive.

"Oh, well, all right, here goes. Perhaps I am wrong again," Lance returned. "Nevertheless you and father might as well understand that I am in earnest and sooner or later mean to have my way."

At this instant Lance sat down beside his sister, Tory and Ouida following his example, but a few feet away as if they were interested but reluctant.

Persuasively Lance placed his arm around his sister.

"Dot, does it ever occur to you that a fellow may have a right to his mistakes? The rest of my family is so almighty sensible that if I am never to be allowed to have my own way I'll never learn anything.

"Do you remember about two weeks ago when Mr. Fenton talked to us about the Greek spirit? He said that to him it represented, beauty, adventure and freedom."

Dorothy sighed.

"Dear me, Lance, I was afraid at the time you might take Mr. Fenton's speech personally! What are you planning to do in quest of beauty, freedom and adventure?"

Dorothy's expression was worried but amused, and Lance flushed. Upon only one subject was he particularly sensitive, his devotion to music and his own lack of any knowledge of it.

In a measure his sister could surmise something of what he had in mind.

"My effort was not to be a very serious one, Dot," he said slowly; "at least I did not feel it go until after my talk with father. He seems to have gone up in the air. I don't want to spend next winter in Westhaven. I simply can not endure any longer never having music lessons from any one who knows how to teach and not even hearing any music worth listening to."

Lance set his teeth.

"I don't ask anyone to understand, you can't if you try."

Dorothy's blue eyes grew more troubled.

"I know, Lance, but I do try," she returned. "And I would give anything, make any sacrifice I knew how to make if father were willing or had the money to send you to New York to study. But he is not willing and he has not the money."

"I know, that is just it. I don't mean to ask him for money. I have been writing letters to people in New York and trying to get work and now I have succeeded in landing something that will give me enough to live on, so you won't have to worry."

"But, Lance, there is school. You are only fifteen and you can't stop school, it is even against the law. You must have pretended you were older."

"I can go to school at night when I have finished working; I explained this to father," Lance argued patiently.

"What about the music? When will you have money or time for lessons?" Tory interrupted, not intending to intrude upon the discussion, but in her interest forgetting her resolution.

A little less self-confident Lance appeared.

"Honestly, I don't know, Tory," he replied. "I think I feel that if once I get where music is, the opportunity will come to me as rain and sunshine come to trees and the things that need them. Gee whiz, I am talking like a poet or a girl! Father would not think this line of conversation convincing. You'll think up a better line of argument, won't you Dorothy? Then when your time comes and you want something a whole lot I'll do my best for you."

"But, Lance, I—" Dorothy hesitated—"I don't want you to go away from home; I don't think it best for you. You ought to wait several years anyhow. You are not strong and you'd be ill. You don't believe it, but father cares more for you than for the rest of us because you are more like mother. Please put things off a while longer in your own mind. Truly, father will not consent for the present."

Lance got up.

"All right, Dorothy, don't say anything to father on the subject. If you try to do your best for me what you really think will be plain enough. I am sorry to have interrupted you; I'm off."

Nor would Lance remain in spite of the pleading of his sister and friends.

Disconsolately they watched the slender figure in the canoe push away from shore.

Afterwards they made no pretence of cheerfulness. Tory would not return to her drawing; Dorothy was too depressed even to assist in making tea.

An hour later they were on the way back to their own camp.



CHAPTER XIX

LETTERS

Mr. Jeremy Hammond personally conducted the search.

The evergreen cabin had been erected without foundation save a number of cross beams. There was no cellar except one a few feet square under the small room that served as a kitchen. The logs that upheld the old house were singularly free from decay.

Standing upon one of them, a line of Girl Scouts on either side of him, Mr. Hammond gazed downward with an air of discouragement.

"I am obliged to confess I see no place that gives one a right to believe we shall discover a secret treasure," he remarked. "I am glad Kara is unaware of our effort. I was wrong in speaking to her on the subject. I suppose I am hopelessly romantic and have been cherishing the idea of some day discovering further information about the little girl I rescued a number of years ago. We shall find nothing here."

Tory touched him on the arm.

"Please, Mr. Hammond, don't let us start out upon our search in such a hopeless spirit. I feel as you say you do about Kara. Ever since I met her I have been convinced we would learn that she had a delightful background of some kind, which would explain why she is so brave and charming."

Mr. Hammond smiled.

"No, Tory, I cannot go so far as you. I have never anticipated so much. Besides, I do not consider it necessary. Personality is the strongest force in the world, not the question of one's immediate ancestors. I am not decrying the ancestors, only if one possesses an unusual personality it may come from further back in the stream of life and the stream was the same for us all in the beginning.

"I have merely hoped to come across a clue which might give Kara an idea of her parentage, or perhaps, a relative who would be kind and interested in her."

Tory looked disappointed.

"Kara has plenty of people who are interested in her, and friends may be as satisfactory as relatives." In this sentiment Mr. Hammond may or may not have agreed. Already he had commenced tapping on the logs with the end of his cane and digging underneath in any stray spot that he hoped might develop into the receptacle of a box or treasure of some kind.

The girls went about upon their own quests. Unfortunate that there was no greater amount of space, no secret chambers and passages to be investigated. This would have lent a glamour, a romance that nothing about the little evergreen cabin afforded.

An hour and the exploration became of necessity over.

Nothing of any interest had been unearthed.

Disconsolately Mr. Hammond seated himself upon an upturned stool. A few of the Girl Scouts clustered about him; the others unwilling to give up, were still poking about in unlikely places.

Alone Tory Drew's original ardor continued unquenched.

All day she had a vision of herself going to Kara at the old Gray House with information that would bring a new happiness into the clear gray eyes grown so wistful in these weeks of a summer time they had thought to be so happy.

No one place had been more thoroughly searched than the corners of the old brick fireplace that divided the living room and the kitchen with a single chimney.

Yet kneeling down once more Tory began a last search, poking about into impossible crannies.

Exhausted, she finally surrendered. No reward was to be theirs, and they had only been wasting valuable energy and time.

Nevertheless Tory did not feel in the mood for discussing this obvious fact with the others.

Near the old fireplace was a small collection of loose bricks. Arranging them into a low square Tory seated herself, leaning her head against the left corner of the chimney.

Suddenly she had a sensation of dizziness. Her head seemed to be swimming from the fatigue perhaps and the disappointment of her futile search.

She straightened, biting her lips and wondering why she was not more physically uncomfortable than she felt herself to be.

Then hearing a crumbling noise behind her, Tory turned her eyes. The bricks against which her head had been resting had been loosened. She had not been dizzy, the movement had taken place in them.

Picking up a stick that lay beside her feet she thrust it idly inside a tiny crevice.

Actually by this time Tory had lost interest in what had been an ardent enthusiasm earlier in the day.

She was excited, however, when a brick, displaced from its former position, tumbled to the ground, yet for the moment uttered no exclamation that might attract attention.

Thrusting her hand into the opening she tugged at another brick. The exertion was unnecessary. It yielded at once to her touch. Two other bricks were as easily removed.

Tory then discovered a hollow opening several feet deep.

There was nothing visible inside; the space appeared dark and empty.

Then Tory did call out and Mr. Hammond and the group of Girl Scouts crowded close about her.

"Would you mind thrusting your hand inside and seeing if there is anything stored away? I don't think it very nice of me to ask you because I am afraid of touching something spooky or clammy. Do you mind?"

Apparently Mr. Hammond did not object. Unmindful of his coat sleeve, he was thrusting the entire length of his arm into the hollow recess.

"I wonder if this was not a Dutch oven that was covered over when it failed to be used. In that case I may find a petrified loaf of bread or pumpkin pie," Mr. Hammond remarked in a slightly ironical tone, bored by this time.

An instant later his expression altered sufficiently for the group of girls watching to become conscious of the change. The next he drew forth a small package of letters tied together with a worn cord.

Were they of the remotest interest or value?

No one could say. At least the audience was willing to offer them the benefit of an investigation.

Joan Peters went away to her tent, returning with a candle.

If there was anything else inside the dark enclosure the lighted candle would show it forth.

Except for the letters the recess was empty.

Mr. Hammond continued to hold the packet and stare at it.

"Don't you think you had best open the letters and read what they say?" Tory asked restlessly, wishing that Mr. Hammond would give her the opportunity. After all, she had been the real discoverer, even if her hands had not first touched the yellowed papers. Perhaps they would contain thrilling information for Kara. She might be an heiress or possessed of a more romantic heritage.

Mr. Hammond appeared doubtful.

"I don't know; I don't feel as if I were at liberty to open the letters. I have no authority and they can have no association with me. Perhaps I had best speak first to Dr. McClain and then take them to Kara."

"But, Mr. Hammond," Dorothy McClain protested, "why should you conclude that a small package of letters discovered in the way that we have come across these can have any connection with Katherine Moore? The letters may have been thrust into the old fireplace to burn and been forgotten. Surely there can be no objection to your looking over them first! Then you may be able to decide to whom they should be presented. After all, the little evergreen cabin belongs to our Troop of Girl Scouts. Mr. Fenton bought the place and gave it to us. You have our permission. Besides, we would like to look at the letters with you. I am so excited I really cannot endure to wait any longer."



CHAPTER XX

LOOKING FORWARD

Devoted attention to every line contained in the little package of letters failed to develop information which appeared to be of interest to Katherine Moore or any one else.

Carefully each line was read by Mr. Hammond and the Girl Scouts on the afternoon of their discovery. Later the letters were given to Dr. McClain and to Mr. Hale, Margaret Hale's father, who was a prominent lawyer, for an equally painstaking perusal. They agreed that they were merely a trivial collection such as any one might receive from a dozen friends, preserved for the sake of the affection, not the value of the communications.

There were no papers save the letters.

Only one or two seemingly unimportant details connected the letters in any possible fashion with Katherine Moore. Three of them were signed with the initials O. M., which may or may not have had any association with the name Moore. In point of fact, it would have appeared a straining of the imagination, save that the name Moore was signed to one short note.

In any case, it was agreed that, since there was no one else to claim them, the little package might be consigned to the girl who was discovered as a baby in the forsaken cabin. No one had been known to be living there at the time, so there was no reason to believe otherwise than that the baby had been carried there and immediately abandoned.

As Dr. McClain was at present seeing Kara daily at the Gray House, the letters were given to him for safe delivery. Not until twenty-four hours after was Tory Drew permitted to call and find what the influence and effect of so unsatisfying a communication had been.

She found Kara in the big room downstairs which had been given over to her use since her accident whenever she was living at the Gray House.

When Tory entered the room Kara must have been re-reading the letters, since they lay open upon her lap.

"You were not disappointed over our discovery, dear? The letters do mean something to you? You have the faith to believe that something important to you will develop from them some day? I believe it if you do."

Kara laughed.

"Beloved Tory, if with all your imagination and sense of romance you could find nothing of value in the old letters why expect it of a practical, matter-of-fact, stupid person like I am? The letters are ridiculous to my mind so far as they are supposed to have any reference to me."

Still the gray eyes were shining and to-day Tory beheld the half quizzical lines about the lips that belonged to the Kara of other days.

"But if you have no faith in the letters, why do you seem so much happier and like your old self?" she queried.

Her companion hesitated.

"Hasn't Dr. McClain told you?"

"He has told me nothing save that I might come to see you if I would not stay too long, which is the permission he gives to all our Girl Scouts."

Kara's voice was steady with the old-time gentle drawl.

"Promise me then not to expect too much or be too disappointed if things do not turn out altogether well? Of course I am happier to-day, happier than a dozen letters proclaiming me an heiress could ever make me.

"Dr. McClain and two other surgeons who have seen me believe there is a possibility I may be well. They are not absolutely sure. Don't look so queer, Tory."

"I don't look queer, go on," the other girl whispered, bending her face down so that her lips touched Kara's hair and her face could not be seen.

"There isn't anything else to tell, except that I am to go to New York City to be treated and to spend the winter and that Mr. Fenton and Mr. Hammond and Dr. McClain and several other people have made the arrangements and will pay all my expenses."

Here for the first time Kara's voice trembled.

"Who says one cannot have beautiful things happen to one even if lost letters do prove disappointing?"

She put out her hand and caught hold of her companion's.

"Tory, you don't think I have failed to appreciate your loveliness to me this summer. All the time when I have appeared most ungrateful I have cared most. I won't talk about it now, only as you are an artist you understand better than I how one may see things in a wrong perspective. My view is clearer now whatever happens."

Tory kneeled down:

"I wish I might be Ruth to your Naomi."



CHAPTER XXI

KARA'S DEPARTURE

Believing that it would do his patient no possible injury, Dr. McClain agreed that Kara should see as many of her friends as she desired upon the last few days before departing for New York City.

Every spare hour Kara and Tory were together. The last few days Miss Victoria Fenton had asked Kara to stay with them at their home in the village. Farewell could be more easily said from there than at the Gray House on the edge of the town. There would be less difficulty in finally getting away.

Dr. McClain was to accompany Kara to New York in order to see the New York physicians. Mr. Jeremy Hammond had offered to motor them down, as he owned a handsome car and Kara would be spared having to be lifted in and out of the train.

Kara's farewell Scout meeting was by her own request a quiet one. No one would be present save the Scout Captain and her own Patrol. There was only one other person who would come for half an hour to say good-by, Memory Frean.

Fortunately the Fenton house had a bedroom on the first floor, so that Kara could be comfortable without the problem of the stairs.

One admirer Kara had acquired without realizing the fact. She was to make the discovery on the afternoon that she and Miss Victoria Fenton sat talking, waiting for Tory to announce that preparations were ready for tea.

From the beginning of Tory's first acquaintance with Katharine Moore, Miss Fenton had been quietly watching the other girl. She had liked Kara's fashion of never referring to the difference between her own life and that of her more fortunate friends. When it was natural to mention the orphan asylum, where she made her home, always she spoke of the place with affection, never criticism or resentment.

Knowing nothing of her parentage, Miss Victoria concluded for reasons of her own that Kara had come of well-bred people. And she meant more than ordinary breeding. She was under the impression that Kara revealed rare tact and sweetness in a difficult situation. Now and then she considered that her attitude bore a quality of high courage. But not until after Kara's accident was Miss Fenton convinced that courage was the characteristic that lay behind her other attributes.

In the twenty-four hours the young girl had been her guest with the prospect of such a test of patience and fortitude before her, Miss Victoria had surrendered completely.

Silently Tory Drew had been aware of Miss Victoria's state of mind. She had observed a new tenderness in the older woman's manner and voice whenever she spoke or looked at her guest that she never had seen her display.

This afternoon on the day before Kara's departure, when Miss Victoria entered Kara's bedroom, with a hurried excuse Tory withdrew.

Kara, who was lying on a couch in a dark corner of the square old room, struggled to sit up as the older woman entered.

With hands that were large and kind the older woman pushed her gently back upon the pile of soft cushions.

Then, untying a parcel and flushing as if she were embarrassed, Miss Victoria laid a dressing gown over the reclining figure.

The gown was a beautiful one, with nothing of the plainness or severity one might have imagined Miss Victoria would choose. It was of blue silk, the shade known as old blue, indescribably deep and soft in tone. The lining was of pale gray. A little hood hung at the back and a cord was knotted about the waist.

Kara might wear it for a number of occasions. She could receive guests in it, as it would doubtless be difficult for her at all times to be formally dressed.

Kara's voice shook a little as she touched the silk with one hand and caught Miss Victoria's hand with the other.

"Everybody is being too good to me. I wonder if it is going to make it harder or easier for me this winter. I shall miss my friends the more and at the same time want to show them how deeply I appreciate what is being done. May I write to you now and then, Miss Victoria?"

Miss Fenton showed and expressed pleasure, although she had written her niece only a single letter in more than a month's absence from the village.

"I have something else for you, Kara, something I want you to prize, not because of its great value but because it means a great deal to me.

"It was given me by the bravest person I have known. I will not tell you about him now. Perhaps I will some day. If ever life seems to be too difficult for you, my dear, you must tell me and then perhaps my story may help you find new courage. Please don't speak of this to any one except to say I wished to give you the little pin as a parting gift."

As Tory softly turned the handle of the door to come back into the room and announce the Girl Scouts, she observed Miss Fenton stoop and pin at Kara's throat a small pin. As she came nearer she saw that it was a beautiful sapphire set in an old-fashioned band of gold. In truth, the pin was handsomer than either girl appreciated.

A moment later, before Kara could thank her properly, the older woman hurried away, insisting she had a household duty to look after.

The Girl Scouts had been warned.

Kara's farewell to her Patrol must be as casual and matter-of-fact as possible. There must be no heroics at parting; she would leave in the early morning and must reserve all her strength.

At shortly after five o'clock the girls and the Troop Captain had departed and Kara was again lying down alone until the evening meal.

Afterwards Dr. McClain and Dorothy were to come in for a few moments.

Kara and Tory, Miss Victoria and Mr. Richard Fenton were in the drawing-room when they entered. Unexpectedly Lance accompanied them.

"We did not intend allowing Lance to appear, Kara," Dorothy apologized, "but he insisted he had something of special importance to say to you and never had been allowed the opportunity, you have been so surrounded."

Not long after, stating that he was satisfied with her condition, Dr. McClain departed to call upon another patient. A few minutes later Miss Victoria and Mr. Fenton left the drawing-room to the younger guests.

Kara was in her wheeled chair. Lance was standing near her. Dorothy was seated on a stool nearby, while Tory remained on the rug with her back to the fire, facing the others.

Dorothy smiled.

"Do you remember, Kara? Tory is wearing a green dress to-night as upon the occasion of our first visit to this drawing-room to ask her to become a Girl Scout. Dear me, what is that commotion?"

The two girls ran over toward the window. Lance had the thoughtfulness to wheel Kara's chair so that she might equally gratify her curiosity.

Tory had drawn up the curtain and the four of them could see a small group of figures standing in the street beneath the drawing-room window.

There was a light coating of snow on the sidewalk.

"What in the world is the matter?" Dorothy asked anxiously. "Isn't Don one of the boys down there? I wonder what they intend?"

Lance made an odd grimace.

"Intend? Good gracious! I always felt Don had no sense of humor, but this is worse than I feared.

"Don't you girls appreciate the fact this is to be a farewell serenade for Kara? Yet Don has read 'Seventeen'! They are half a dozen of the Boy Scout Band."

"It is very kind of them, I am sure; no reason for you to be so superior, Lance," Tory answered.

Outside the musicians were beginning the strains of "Auld Lang Syne" and the little crowd inside the room were silent, Tory thrusting the girl for whom the honor was intended into the most conspicuous position and a moment later wrapping a blue scarf about her thin shoulders.

With their heads close together they listened and watched.

"What are we to do when they have finished, Tory, to show our appreciation?" Kara whispered. "I am afraid Dr. McClain would not be willing to have me see them. Shall I go to my room while you receive them?"

"No," Tory shook her head, glancing about the room. On a center table was a bowl of red roses, the flowers Mr. Fenton cared for most, that he had brought as a farewell offering to Kara.

Tory gathered half a dozen in her hands.

"Throw these out and wave good-night," she murmured.

Kara was not able to reach so far and seemed shy at making the attempt, so that the other girl threw the roses and saw them fall, crimson spots of color on the white snow.

Don picked one up and waved it, lifting his hat. The other boys followed his example.

"Good-night, good-by, Kara," they called.

Donald's last glance and good-by was for Tory Drew.

As they closed the window and reluctantly turned away, Dorothy McClain wore an unusual expression. She was frowning and biting her lips, her color warmer than usual.

"Do you know, Tory, I believe Don is growing to be as fond of you as of me."

She slipped her arm through Lance's and held it close.

Lance gave her a reassuring glance.

Tory laughed.

"Never in a thousand years! But if Lance really wants to speak to Kara, perhaps he would rather we give him the opportunity alone.

"Suppose you come over here and sit on the sofa beside me. You must be specially good to me when Kara is away."

Seldom was Lance awkward in manner or apparently at a loss for words. Now he appeared embarrassed and silent.

"No, please don't go away, Tory, you and Dot, not if you can bear remaining. And you must, to brace up Kara. The truth is I had nothing special to say to her, but the other afternoon I composed a little piece of music in her honor as a farewell. I am wiser to-night and she shall not be afflicted with it."

Again Lance's brown eyes were slightly sarcastic, slightly challenging.

"How can you care for my poor efforts after the serenade?"

Tory made no answer save to attempt to lift the cover from the piano, so that Lance was compelled to come to her assistance.

"Sit down, Lance," she ordered quietly, attempting to place the stool in position. "I am glad to say the old piano was tuned only a few days ago, although no one here uses it. You know you want to play what you have written for Kara, so why pretend otherwise?"

Tory's manner left no chance for argument, so Lance, with a whimsical smile of agreement, meekly obeyed.

He sat under a light from a reading lamp, the two girls standing beside Kara's chair.

"My musical composition has the advantage of not being long and is merely an attempt to express our sorrow over Kara's departure, our faith in her good courage and our splendid hope for her return. Yes, and perhaps a little of my envy that she goes to the city of my dreams. Perhaps after all I shall meet her there."

Lance's words trailed away into silence as his slender fingers touched the keys in a simple melody of farewell.

THE END