The Camp Fire Girls' Larks and Pranks

Chapter 14

Hinpoha and Sahwah were patiently teaching Katherine hand signs one Saturday afternoon when Gladys burst in with a tragic face.

"Girls," she cried, with extravagant emphasis, "have you heard the news?" Then, without waiting for reply, she continued: "Nyoda's going to be married!"

"We know she is," answered Hinpoha, "a year from this summer."

"No, not a year from this summer," said Gladys, swelling with the importance of the announcement she was about to make, "this summer. This very month!"

An incredulous exclamation burst from the three.

"It's true," continued Gladys. "Sherry's going to be sent away on a long trip and he wants to take her with him, so they're going to be married right away."

All four sat stricken, trying to realize that the evil day which they had dreaded so and which they had thought far in the future was actually upon them. Only two more weeks and their idolized Guardian, who for three years had been a part of nearly everything they did, would be gone from them. It seemed that the world was coming to an end.

In the days that followed gloom hung thick over the House of the Open Door. Now that Nyoda was to be in it no longer the Winnebagos lost all joy in its possession. Each article of furniture that she had helped to make, each sketch of hers on the wall telling in clever little pictographs the tale of some adventure or frolic, gripped them with a fresh pang. Plans for summer excursions and activities were dropped.

"And we were all going ca-camping togu-gether!" wailed Hinpoha, and damp weather prevailed for many minutes.

But this was the end of their Senior year in high school, crowded to the limit with all the bustle and excitement and festivity of Commencement time, and the Winnebagos were so busy with examinations and essays and clothes and songs and parties that there was no time to fold their hands and grieve. Katherine, as editor of the class paper, was the star performer on Class Night, although Miss Snively, who trained the speakers, had tried to sandpaper her speech of everything clever. Katherine agreed to every change she suggested with suspicious readiness, and then when the night arrived calmly read her original paper, while the chandeliers dripped giggles and Miss Snively made sarcastic remarks about the cracked-voice orator. Somehow the story of Miss Snively's attempt to make a hero out of her fianc had gotten out, although Katherine always looked preoccupied whenever the subject was mentioned, and of late Miss Snively had found the seats in her recitation room occupied by rows of wise grins, which somewhat disturbed her lofty dignity. It was well that this was to be her last year of teaching.

One of the big events of the last week was the interscholastic track meet and athletic contest, to be held on the Washington High athletic field, in which ten big schools took part. The field was thronged with spectators, the grand stand was crowded, school colors floated from tree and pole, cheers burst from groups of students every few minutes and the air was electric with suppressed excitement.

First came the track events, and in these Washington High was tied with Carnegie Mechanic for second place. The Winnebagos were glad it was so, because now the Sandwiches could not crow over them. The Captain finished first in one of the hundred-yard dashes right in front of Hinpoha, where she sat in the grandstand, and he looked over the heads of the cheering boys straight at her. Hinpoha dared not applaud him, because he belonged to Washington's bitterest rival, but she smiled brightly, and he dropped his eyes, flushing suddenly.

The girls' events opened with a game of volley ball between Washington High and Carnegie Mechanic. Much to the surprise of the Winnebagos, they saw Katherine come in with the Washington players. Katherine was not on the team. But just before the game opened the girl's gymnasium director had spied Katherine sitting at one side of the field, unconcernedly shaking a pebble out of her shoe in full view of the grandstand, and hurried over to her. "Will you fill in this game?" she asked breathlessly. "One of our team can't come and we're short a girl."

"But I've never played volley ball," protested Katherine.

"Oh," said the gymnasium teacher disappointedly. Then she added in a kind of desperation, "Well, I don't know as it makes any difference. I don't seem to be able to find a girl who has played. Just stay in the background and strike at the ball with the palms of your hands every time it comes near you. Let the girls in front get it over the net."

Katherine uncurled her length from the ground and followed the gymnasium teacher obligingly. She was not in the least sensitive about being asked at the eleventh hour to "fill in," when she had not been asked to be on the team before. Washington's volley ball team was not a very strong one, and went all to pieces against the concentrated team work of the Carnegie Mechanicals. The score rolled up against Washington steadily. The deafening yells from the grandstand bewildered them, and they could neither volley the ball over the net nor return the Mechanicals' volleys. They were helpless from stage fright.

Katherine dutifully stayed in the background, sending the ball to the girls at the net, her brow drawing into anxious puckers, as they fumbled it time after time. She began to comprehend the rules of the game and was "getting the hang of it." The Mechanicals, with fifteen points to their credit, had just lost the ball by sending it out of bounds. It was time to do something. Katherine had noticed that most of the Washington girls had been trying to volley the ball across the net from the back line, instead of passing it on, as she had been doing, and had been falling short nearly every time. With a commanding gesture, she claimed the attention of her team.

"Get back on the volley line in a row," she ordered. They obeyed her like sheep. Then she took her place half-way between the volley line and the net, facing the girls. "Now," she said crisply, "whosoever's turn it is to volley, shoot the ball to me and not an inch farther. I'll get it over the net. The first one that shoots it over my head is going to get ducked in the swimming pool!"

In their surprise at this sudden rising up of a leader, they forgot the racket around them, and the triumphantly clamoring team on the other side of the net, and calmed down. The girl with the ball sent it straight toward Katherine, and with a windmill motion of her powerful arms, she hit it a sounding whack and sent it over the net like a meteor. There was no returning such a volley.

"One!" cried the scorekeeper, and the Washington corner of the grandstand gave its first yell of triumph.

"Now, everyone of you do just the same thing, one after another," commanded Katherine to the volley line. Her utter lack of excitement was bringing them out of their confusion. The next girl made an equally good throw and another loud whack announced that Katherine was volleying. Backing the net, she could not see where it was going, but a squeal told her that the girl who should be returning the ball was fleeing it. Then the machine started to work. As long as one side scored it was privileged to keep the volley.

When in operation the machine sounded like this: "Next!" Whack! Bump! That was all. Katherine's command to the server; the impact of her palms on the ball; and the thump of the ball on the ground on the Mechanical side of the net. Up went the Washington score.

Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten! Eleven! Twelve!

"Washington Rah!

Washington Rah!

Katherine Adams,

Rah! Rah! Rah!"

The atmosphere was rent with the yell.

Thirteen! Fourteen! Fifteen!

"Next!" Whack! Bump!

SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN! EIGHTEEN! NINETEEN! TWENTY!

"WASHINGTON RAH!

KATHERINE RAH!

KATHERINE AD--"

TWENTY-ONE!

The umpire ran along the net, holding up her hands, and the teams broke ranks.

"Washington High winner in the volley ball game!" shouted the scorekeeper through her megaphone. "Score, twenty-one to fifteen!"

And the grandstand thundered at Katherine, who suddenly got stage fright when it was all over and stood pigeon-toed with her head hanging down. Then she noticed for the first time that her middy was on hind side before and the long collar was down in front. Her horrified expression threw the spectators into convulsions. They had been laughing at it all through the game, but her amazing performance had made it a secondary consideration.

A few moments later she strolled nonchalantly into the grandstand and sat down among the Winnebagos. "That certainly is a strenuous game for a person with a dellyket constitooshun like mine," she remarked ruefully, rubbing her swollen knuckles. Three fingers were sprained as a result of doing all the volleying for twelve girls, but she didn't think it worth while to mention the matter.

Thus passed the days, filled to overflowing with fun and excitement. Katherine, thoroughly uncomfortable in a crisp new white dress and blue sash, tripped blithely along the elm-shaded avenue in the glow of the late June sunset. It was the night of the class banquet, and her mind was intent on the speech she was to make. Thus absorbed, she did not watch where she was going, and a sprawling root from a big tree tripped her unexpectedly and brought her to her knees on the soft lawn. Brought into such close contact with the ground, she spied something lying at the foot of the giant oak beside which she had fallen. It was a black leather bill fold, with a heavy elastic band around it.

"Daggers and dirks!" said Katherine, borrowing the Captain's favorite expression. "What's this?" She slipped off the elastic band and opened the bill fold. Across the inner flap there was a name printed in gold letters. Katherine squinted at the name and explored the inner recesses of the wallet. She took one look and hastily bound the wallet together again with its elastic and dropped it gingerly into her hand bag, as if it were red hot. Then she proceeded on her way, more absorbed than ever, but the thing her brain was intent on now was not her banquet speech.

Crossing the little park-like square, which lay on the way to school, she came upon Veronica walking slowly up and down the sidewalk, intently searching for something on the ground. She was very pale and showed signs of great agitation. It was the first time Katherine had met her face to face since she had left the group.

"Have you lost something?" asked Katherine abruptly.

"No," said Veronica, straightening up and flushing deeply, "that is, nothing much, I-I just dropped a-something out of my purse along here somewhere."

"What was it?" asked Katherine.

Veronica gave a last frantic look along the walk.

"It was a-" She hesitated, and then burst out:

"Oh, Katherine, it was my bill fold, and it had five hundred dollars in it!"

"Five hundred dollars!" echoed Katherine faintly.

Veronica ran back and forth along the walk, looking desperately into every crack and crevice. Every few minutes she held up her hand and looked at her wrist watch; then she would return to the search with more energy than before. Katherine also looked at her watch.

"I'll help you hunt," she said, taking the other side of the walk. "Are you sure you lost it along here?" she asked.

"Pretty sure," answered Veronica. "I know I had it when I was back on Elm Street, because I looked to make sure."

"The last time you saw it was back on Elm Street," mused Katherine. "That's two blocks behind us. We'll have to go all the way back."

"By the way," said Katherine, a few minutes later, "it's none of my business, I suppose, but what on earth were you doing with five hundred dollars in your bag?"

Veronica started and looked confused for a minute. But she answered naturally enough. "I drew it from the bank this afternoon to give my uncle to pay for some investment he is making for me, and I was to take it over to his studio, but I was detained and he had gone when I got there, so I was just bringing it home when I lost it." She stared up the road with widening eyes, not toward Elm Street, where the purse might lie, but toward the big avenue in the other direction, where the streetcars clanged townward. Katherine stared thoughtfully at the suitcase Veronica had with her.

"Have you been away?" she asked casually.

"No," said Veronica, with a start. Then, as her eyes followed Katherine's, she added: "I've just been carrying some-things in there."

Katherine looked at her watch again. "What did your bill fold look like?" she asked.

"It was a small black one," answered Veronica, "with an elastic band around it. It had my name in gold letters across the inner flap."

"Hadn't we better go home and tell your uncle," suggested Katherine, "and get him to help us find it?"

"No, no!" cried Veronica, shrinking back in alarm. "Don't tell him! I wouldn't have him know for worlds that I've lost it."

"But if you don't find it he'll know about it, anyway," said Katherine practically.

Veronica's face went white again and she returned to the search with desperate haste. "I must find it! I must find it!" she was saying over and over again under her breath.

Katherine was just as diligent in her search. She pawed through the bushes with her white gloves and sank on her knees in the soft grass, accumulating more and more grass stains all the while. The last streak of daylight faded and the big arc lights began to blaze among the tall trees, and still they searched-Katherine in a patient, systematic way, Veronica hysterically. The few people who crossed the square were closely questioned as to whether or not they had found anything, but the same disappointing answer came from all of them. Veronica looked at her watch with ever-increasing anxiety; Katherine looked at her furtively almost as often.

After two hours of nerve-wracking search a steeple clock nearby boomed out nine strokes; slowly, deliberately, its clamor shattered the summer night's stillness. Veronica sank down on a stone which bordered the walk and covered her face with her hands. Katherine straightened up and stood for a moment looking thoughtfully at Veronica; then she went on searching methodically. Veronica sat huddled on the stone for fully five minutes; then, with an expression which was strangely like relief, she rose up and followed Katherine's example. Fifteen minutes more went by with scarcely a word from either girl. Then the steeple clock chimed the quarter hour. A moment later came the sound of a train whistle, far off, but borne clearly on the still air, followed by the faint rumble of distant cars going over a culvert.

Katherine stood still until the sound had died away, then she went up to Veronica, led her to an iron bench nearby, and shoved her into it. Then she opened her handbag and took out a small black wallet fastened round with an elastic band, and laid it on Veronica's knee without a word.

Veronica looked at it and uttered an incredulous scream of joy. "Where did you find it?" she gasped.

"Back on Elm Street, before I met you," said Katherine quietly.

"Back on Elm Street, before you met me?" repeated Veronica wonderingly. "You had it all this while?" Katherine nodded. "Then why did you keep it all this while?" demanded Veronica. "Why didn't you give it to me at once and save all this agony?"

Katherine looked at her narrowly. "I didn't dare give it to you before nine o'clock," she said significantly.

Veronica started and clutched Katherine's arm nervously. "What do you mean?" she asked faintly.

Katherine put her arm around Veronica and drew her toward her so she could look into her face. The light from the swinging arc was directly upon her. "You were going to run away on that nine o'clock train, weren't you?" she asked quietly.

Veronica jerked away and turned dreadfully pale. "How-how did you know?" she faltered.

"I didn't, for sure," said Katherine. "But I made a pretty good guess. You see, when I found that wallet, I naturally looked inside. There I saw your name, five hundred dollars in bills, and a note which read:

"'Take the New York Central Flyer at nine o'clock Wednesday night.' It was signed with the initials A. T., which I suppose stand for that friend of yours with the plush whiskers, Alex Toboggan."

"Alex Tobin," corrected Veronica under her breath.

"That looked suspicious to me," continued Katherine. "I've seen him around with you a good deal, and I don't like his looks, not a little bit. Then a minute later I came upon you with a suitcase, hunting your wallet and looking at your watch as if you were crazy. So I came to the conclusion that you were planning to run away on that nine o'clock train, and decided to hold you up by keeping the money until the train was gone. Am I right?"

Veronica's eyes dropped and her face was crimson. "You are right," she said unsteadily. "I was planning to run away on that train. After I dropped out of the Camp Fire Group I had no girl friends and became lonelier and lonelier all the while. The only interest I had was my music, and the only place to which I went was to hear the Symphony Orchestra rehearse. There, Alex Tobin, who is really a fine violinist, was always very friendly to me and kept telling me I should go to New York and study with Martini, who is the best teacher in the country. Uncle would not let me go because he said I was too young and he could not go with me. But Alex Tobin kept telling me that uncle was jealous of my talent and was trying to keep me back on purpose, and if I had any money in my own right I should take it and go anyhow. Uncle quarreled with Alex Tobin and after that he forbade me to have anything to do with him, but he used to meet me outside, and always he talked about my talent, and what a shame it was I could not study with Martini, and things like that, until I began to think I was abused. I was very lonely, you know, and had nothing else to think about.

"Well, this week was the end of the Symphony Orchestra rehearsals, and Alex Tobin was going home to New York. He promised me that if I would play in a restaurant there in which he is interested he would see me safely there and introduce me to Martini. He talked so much about it that I finally yielded and said I would go. I had money in the bank, but could not draw it out without uncle's consent. However, just this week he wanted to invest five hundred dollars for me and gave me his signature so I could get it. You know how easy uncle is about money matters, and he thought it was perfectly all right to send me to the bank alone. I have gone about by myself so much, you know. But instead of going to his studio with it, as I was supposed to, I kept it with me and did not go home at all.

"I was to meet Mr. Tobin in the station at a quarter before nine. If I was not there when the train went he was going without me. I was so excited all day I did not have time to stop and think what I was doing, and how terrible it was to run away from uncle and aunt, when they had been so kind to me, even to study with Martini. I looked upon Alex Tobin as my friend and benefactor, instead of a horrid, scheming man, as I see he is now. He just wanted me to play in that restaurant of his for nothing, and draw crowds, and beyond that he really didn't care what became of me.

"When I lost the money I was nearly frantic, because I was afraid I would miss the train. But when the clock struck nine and I knew the train was gone, I suddenly felt glad, glad, although I had been so anxious to go. For I had come to myself and felt sick at the thought of what I had almost done. Oh, Katherine, how can I ever thank you for keeping me from doing it?"

"Don't try," said Katherine cheerfully, rubbing away at a grass stain on her skirt with the wreck of a white silk glove.

For the first time Veronica noticed Katherine's white dress. "Oh, Katherine," she exclaimed in distress, "tonight is your class banquet! I heard some of the other girls talking about it. And you have missed it for my sake!"

"Why, so it is," said Katherine, with a well-feigned start of recollection. "I had forgotten all about it."

"No, you didn't forget it," persisted Veronica; "you deliberately spent the time here with me."

"Well, never mind about that," said Katherine soothingly. "It was worth it."

"Worth it? Oh, Katherine, after the way I have treated you! I once called you a peasant, but you are noble-you are a princess! It is I who am not fit to associate with you!"

"O Glory!" exclaimed Katherine in an embarrassed way. Katherine was like a fish out of water when anyone began to express emotion. "Forget about the whole business," she said, "and come back into the group. You need to have something on your mind."

"They will never take me back now," said Veronica sadly, "after this dreadful thing I did."

"But you didn't do it," maintained Katherine, "you came to your senses in time. We all have done some pretty foolish things, I guess, if they weren't quite so startling as the one you planned. But anyway, they'll never know a thing about it, so they can't have the laugh on you."

"You mean you'll never tell anyone?" cried Veronica unbelievingly.

"Not a soul," said Katherine earnestly. "Not any of the Winnebagos, nor your uncle, nor your aunt, nor even Nyoda. Never a word, on my honor as a-a peasant! If I had intended telling anyone I'd have taken your wallet to your uncle right away, with the note in it, instead of keeping you back in the way I did. But I knew you'd come to yourself presently, and there was no use making a fuss. I'll keep your secret, never fear. I won't even have to explain my absence from the class banquet. They all know how absent-minded I am, and they will simply think I forgot. That's the advantage of having a reputation!" And Veronica, looking into Katherine's homely, honest face, knew that her word would stand against flood and earthquake.

"Do you really think the Winnebagos will take me back?" she asked timidly.

For answer Katherine picked up Veronica's suitcase, linked her arm through hers, and started homeward at a lively pace. "You are back," she said simply. "You never were really 'put out,' you know. You left of your own accord and we have missed you very much and were just waiting for you to say the word. Oh, I'm so glad!" And her feet began to shuffle back and forth in a lively manner, and she began to hum in sprightly tones the tune, "When Johnny Comes Marching Home." Thus it was that the Torch, carried by Katherine, drew Veronica to the Fire after all, although Katherine did not even know that she held the Torch in her hand.

The last meeting of the Winnebagos with Nyoda came, oh, much too soon! The boys were warned to stay away, for not even these dear friends were to be allowed to disturb the sacredness of that gathering. They cooked supper for the last time, trying to be riotously cheerful, with the tears dripping off the ends of their noses into the dishes. All the favorite Winnebago messes were cooked, because Nyoda couldn't decide which one she wanted most. There was Shrimp Wiggle and Slumgullion and scones and ice cream with Wohelo Special Sauce, which was a heavenly mixture of maple syrup, chocolate and chopped nuts.

The feast was soon spread, and they gathered around the table to sing the Camp Fire blessing,

"If we have earned the right to eat this bread,"

and most of the voices quavered before they came to the end.

That supper remained in their memories many years afterward. Katherine had to deliver all her familiar speeches over and over again; Migwan, who had come home from college in time to attend the farewell meeting, gave a fine history of the group from its beginning; Gladys danced her best dances; and all the favorite stunts were gone through and the favorite songs sung. And Nyoda looked upon and listened to it all with a smiling face and tear-dimmed eyes. The Winnebagos had formed a large part of her life for the past three years. Veronica, who was at the supper, and had been welcomed back into the group with open arms upon her humble apology, wept disconsolately most of the time. To have been restored to the good graces of this wonderful young woman, only to lose her again immediately afterward! She bitterly regretted her withdrawing from the group during the winter and thus losing her last opportunity of comradeship with Nyoda.

Supper over they wandered out into the warm June twilight to watch for the evening stars before beginning the ceremonial meeting. "We'll have the same stars as you do, anyhow," said Hinpoha, "and when they come out we'll think of each other, will you, Nyoda?"

"Indeed I will," said Nyoda, heartily.

"And when Cassiopea comes out the W will stand for Winnebago," added Gladys.

"And that long scraggly constellation will remind you of me," said Katherine, and they all had to laugh in spite of their sadness.

By and by they wandered back to the House of the Open Door and Nyoda went up alone and left them standing before the door. Then pretty soon the signal bird calls floated up and Nyoda's voice called down from above, saying, "Who's there?" and they answered with the foolish passwords and countersigns that they loved because they were so foolish. One by one they climbed the ladder and took their places in the circle, their eyes on Nyoda, as she twirled the drill with the bow, kindling their last Council Fire. The spark came immediately and leapt into flame and kindled the fagots piled on the hearth. Feeling the spell of it as they never had before, they sang "Burn, Fire, Burn."

Then came the last roll call. Nyoda's voice lingered lovingly on each name: "Hinpoha; Sahwah; Geyahi (Gladys); Iagoonah; Medmangi; Nakwisi; Waban (Veronica)."

Migwan read the Count, written in her inimitable lilting metre, which touched on the many happy times they had had together, and ended,

"All too brief that Moon of Gladness,

Long shall be the years of parting!"

Then Hinpoha put her head on her knee with a stifled sob, and at that they all broke down and cried together, with their arms around Nyoda.

"Come girls, be good," said Nyoda, after a minute, sitting up and wiping her eyes. "Stand up and take your honors like men!"

And she proceeded to raise all the girls who had not already taken that honor, to the rank of Torchbearer, excepting, of course, Veronica. As she awarded the pins she spoke a few words to each girl, telling in what way she had become worthy of this highest rank. When she came to Katherine, she laid her hand on her shoulder. "Good wine needs no bush," she said with a whimsical smile. "And Katherine needs no advocate. Her actions speak for themselves. Her masterly handling of that volley ball game the other day gives the keynote to her character. The ability to snatch victory from seeming defeat is a gift which will carry one far in the world. And do not forget that Katherine went into that game as a humble filler-in, simply to oblige the team, and without a thought of gaining any glory thereby. That is what I meant by losing one's self in the common cause which is a necessary qualification for a Torchbearer. Katherine would go to any trouble to help somebody else get glory for themselves, or to help them out of trouble." And Veronica almost burst with the desire to tell of the last great service Katherine had done her.

Katherine blushed at Nyoda's words and winked back the tears and dropped the pin, and murmured brokenly that she would try to be a worthy Torchbearer, and would do her best to stop being so absent-minded. And then all the Torchbearers, new and old, joined hands in a circle and repeated their desire:

"The light that has been given to me

I desire to pass undimmed unto others."

"And now a word about the future," said Nyoda, putting wood on the fire and sending the flames roaring up the chimney. "You girls declare you do not want another Guardian. I heartily agree with you in this. That does not mean that I would be jealous of a possible successor. But I think the time has come when you no longer need a Guardian. For three years you have been bound together by ties stronger than sisterhood, and have had all the fun that it is possible for girls to have, working always as a unit. You have stood in a close circle, always facing inward. Now you must turn around and face outward. You have been leaders from the beginning, and I have trained you as leaders. And a leader must stand alone. Each one of you will have a different way of passing on the light. The time has come to begin. The old order has passed when you did every thing under my direction. You must k****e new Camp Fires now and teach to others the things you have learned."

"Oh, Nyoda," cried Gladys sorrowfully, "do you mean that all our good times together are over? That this is the end of it all?"

"No, dear, this is not the end," said Nyoda cheerfully, "this is the 'beginning of it all.' I do not mean for a moment that you girls are not to meet and frolic together any more; but that must not be the main thing. You must begin leading groups of younger girls and teaching them to have a good time as you have learned to. What wonderful Guardians you will make in time!" she said musingly.

"Besides," she added, after a moment's silence, while the girls thoughtfully pondered the new idea she had given them, "you had come to the parting of the ways, although you didn't seem to realize it. You have graduated from school, and next year Hinpoha and Gladys and Katherine are going away to college, each one to a different city, and Nakwisi is to travel with her aunt, and Veronica will be going to New York to study music sooner or later. That leaves only Sahwah and Medmangi here in the city. You couldn't go on as you have in the past, even if I were not going away. But come," she cried in an animated tone, "enough of solemn talk! We've had three years together, and nobody can take them away from us, never. And we're all together now. Let the future take care of itself; this is today! Come, come, a song!"

And once more the rafters rang:

"O we are Winnebagos and we're loyal friends and true,

We always work in harmony in everything we do,

We always think the weather's fine, in sunshine or in snow,

We're happy all the time because we're maids of Wohelo!"

The echoes died away and then sprang into life again.

"For we are Winnebagos,

For we are Winnebagos,

For we are Winnebagos,

And that's why we're so spry!"

"A toast!" cried Nyoda, "a toast to the future!" And they drank it in the remains of the cocoa. Their eyes met as they clinked the cups, and overflowed. "Oh, my girls," cried Nyoda, trying to get her arms around all of them at once, "there never was such a group! And there never will be such a group! I just can't leave you!" Then she pulled herself up again. The time was passing and she must hasten, for she was leaving on the train late that night. Her marriage was to take place in the East. "Come, girls, 'Mystic Fire.'" And once again their voices rose in musical chant:

"With hand uplifted we claim thy power,

Guide and keep us as we go,

True to Wohelo.

Thy law is our law from this hour,

Thy mystic spirit's flame will show

Us the way to go."

And so on to the end.

But when they stood in the close circle with which the song ends, Nyoda stooped to the hearth, and, plucking forth a burning brand, held it aloft as a torch, and the girls passed in front of her, each carrying a tiny torch in her hand, which she lit from the big one. Then the circle stood complete once more, a ring of shining light. Silence fell on all. The moment of parting had come.

"Don't say good-bye," begged Nyoda. "Act as if I were a guest just leaving for a short time."

And bravely, with voices that did not falter to the end, they sang the familiar guest song:

"Our guest, may she come again soon--"

and followed it with a fervent cheer:

"O Nyoda, here's to you,

Our hearts will e'er be true,

We will never find your equal

Though we search the whole world through!"

Then the circle turned resolutely and faced outward. A moment more they lingered, and then they went forth into the night, carrying their torches with them.