Wolf dropped in to return a flashlight she had borrowed the night
before. She strolled over to the railing at the back of the tent and
peered over it. A gleam came into her eye as she noticed that one of the
bushes just below the tent on the slope toward the river was waving
slightly in an opposite direction from the way in which the wind was
blowing. Stepping back into the tent she stopped beside Bedlam's water
pail, newly filled for tent inspection.

"Your water looks sort of--er--muddy," she remarked artfully. "Hadn't
you better throw it out and get some fresh? Here, I'll do it for you.
I'm not busy."

She picked up the brimming pail and emptied it over the back railing,
right over the spot where she had seen the bush waving. Immediately
there came a curious sound out of the bush--half gasp and half yell, and
out sprang Monty, dripping like a rat, and fled down the path toward the
bungalow, without ever looking around.

"Why, he was down there _listening_," Katherine exclaimed in disgust.
"Oh, how funny it was," she remarked to the Lone Wolf, "that you
happened to come in and dump that pail of water over the railing just
at that time."

"It certainty was," the Lone Wolf acquiesced gravely, as she departed
with the pail in the direction of the spring.

Cousin Monty flitted unobtrusively to his tent, got on dry garments,
fished another notebook out of his bag, and set out once more in quest
of local color. He wandered down to Mateka, where Craft Hour was in
progress. A pottery craze had struck camp, and the long tables were
filled with girls rolling and patting lumps of plastic clay into vases,
jars, bowls, plates and other vessels. Cousin Monty strolled up and
down, contemplating the really creditable creation of the girls with a
condescending patronage that made them feel like small children in the
kindergarten. He gave the art director numerous directions as to how she
might improve her method of teaching, and benevolently pointed out to a
number of the girls how the things they were making were all wrong.

Finally he came and stood by Hinpoha, who was putting the finishing
touches on the decoration of a rose jar, an exquisite thing, with a
raised design in rose petals. Hinpoha was smoothing out the flat
background of her design when Monty paused beside her.

"You're not holding your instrument right." he remarked patronizingly.
"Let me show you how." He took the instrument from Hinpoha's unwilling
hand, and turning it wrong way up, proceeded to scrape back and forth.
At the third stroke it went too far, and gouged out a deep scratch right
through the design, clear across the whole side of the vase.

"Ah, a little scratch," he remarked airily. "Ah, sorry, really, very.
But it can soon be remedied. A little dob of clay, now."

"Let me fix it myself," said Hinpoha firmly, with difficulty keeping her
exasperation under the surface, and without more ado seized her
mutilated treasure from his hands.

"Ah, yes, of course," murmured Monty, and wandered on to the next table.

By the time the day was over Cousin Monty was about as popular as a
hornet. "How long is he going to stay?" the girls asked each other in
comical dismay. "A week? Oh, my gracious, how can we ever stand him
around here a week?"

"Is he going along with us on the canoe trip?" Katherine asked Miss Judy
as she helped her check over supplies for the expedition.

"He is that," replied Miss Judy. "He's going along to pester us just as
he has been doing--probably worse, because he's had a night to think up
a whole lot more fool questions to ask than he could think of
yesterday."

And it was even so. Monty, notebook in hand, insisted upon knowing the
why and wherefore of every move each one of the girls made until they
began to flee at his approach. "Why are you tying up your ponchos that
way? That isn't the way. Now if you will just let me show you--"

"Why you are putting that stout girl"--indicating Bengal--"in the stern
of the canoe? You want the weight up front--that's the newest way."

"Now Uncle, just let me show you a trick or two about stowing away those
supplies. You're not in the least scientific about it."

Thus he buzzed about, inquisitive and officious.

Katherine and Miss Judy looked into each other's eyes and exchanged
exasperated glances. Then Katherine's eye took on a peculiar expression,
the one which always registered the birth of an idea. At dinner, which
came just before the expedition started, she was late--a good twenty
minutes. She tranquilly ate what was left for her and was extremely
polite to Counsin Monty, answering his continuous questions about the
coming trip with great amiability, even enthusiasm. Miss Judy looked at
her curiously.

The expedition started. Monty, who had Miss Peckham in the canoe with
him--she being the only one who would ride with him--insisted upon going
at the head of the procession. "I'll paddle so much faster than the rest
of you," he said airly, "that I'll want room to go ahead. I don't want
to be held back by the rest of you when I shall want to put on a slight
spurt now and then. That is the way I like to go, now fast, now slowly,
as inclination dictates, without having to keep my pace down to that of
others. I will start first, Uncle, and lead the line."

"All right," replied Dr. Grayson a trifle wearily. "You may lead the
line."

The various canoes had been assigned before, so there was no confusion
in starting. The smallest of the canoes had been given to Monty because
there would be only two in it. Conscious that he was decidedly
ornamental in his speckless white flannels and silk shirt he helped Miss
Peckham into the boat with exaggerated gallantry, all the while watching
out of the corner of his eye to see if Pom-pom was looking at him. He
had been trying desperately to flirt with her ever since his arrival,
and had begged her to go with him in the canoe on the trip, all in vain.
Nevertheless, he was still buzzing around her and playing to the
audience of her eyes. By fair means or foul he meant to get the
privilege of having her with him on the return trip. Miss Peckham, newly
graduated into the canoe privilege, was nervous and fussy, and handled
her paddle as gingerly as if it were a gun.

"Ah, let me do all the paddling," he insisted, knowing that Pom-pom, in
a nearby canoe, could hear him. "I could not think of allowing you to
exert yourself. It is the man's place, you know. You really mustn't
think of it."

Miss Peckham laid down her paddle with a sigh of relief, and Monty,
with a graceful gesture, untied the canoe and pushed it out from the
dock. Behind him the line of boats were all waiting to start.

"Here we go!" he shouted loudly, as he dipped his paddle. In a moment
all the canoes were in motion. Monty, at the head, seemed to find the
paddling more difficult than he had expected. He dipped his paddle with
great vigor and vim, but the canoe only went forward a few inches at
each stroke. One by one the canoes began to pass him, their occupants
casting amusing glances at him as he perspired over his paddle. He
redoubled his efforts, he strained every sinew, and the canoe did go a
little faster, but not nearly as fast as the others were going.

"What's the matter, Monty, is your load too heavy for you?" called out
Miss Judy.

"Not at all," replied Monty doggedly. "I'm a little out of form, I
guess. This arm--I strained it last spring--seems to have gone lame all
of a sudden."

"Would you like to get in a canoe with some of the girls?" asked Dr.
Grayson solicitously.

"I would _not_," replied Monty somewhat peevishly. "Please let me alone,
Uncle, I'll be all right in a minute. Don't any of you bother about me,
I'll follow you at my leisure. When I get used to paddling again I'll
very soon overtake you even if you have a good start."

The rest of the canoes swept by, and Monty and Miss Peckham soon found
themselves alone on the river.

"Hadn't I better help you paddle?" asked Miss Peckham anxiously. She was
beginning to distrust the powers of her ferryman.

"No, no, no," insisted Monty, stung to the quick by the concern in her
voice. "I can do it very well alone, I tell you."

He kept at it doggedly for another half hour, stubbornly refusing to
accept any help, until the canoe came _to_ a dead stop. No amount of
paddling would budge it an inch; it was apparently anchored. Puzzled,
Monty peered into the river to find the cause of the stoppage. The water
was deep, but there were many snags and obstructions under the surface.
Something was holding him, that was plain, but what it was he could not
find out, nor could he get loose from it. The water was too deep to wade
ashore, and there was nothing to do but sit there and try to get loose
by means of the paddle, a proceeding which soon proved fruitless. In
some mysterious way they were anchored out in mid stream at a lonely
place in the river where no one would be likely to see them for a long
time. The others were out of sight long ago, having obeyed Monty's
injunction to let him alone.

Monty, in his usual airy way, tried to make the best of the situation
and draw attention away from his evident inability to cope with the
situation. "Ah, pleasant it is to sit out here and bask in the warm
sunshine," he murmured in dulcet tones. "The view is exquisite here,
_n'est-ce pas_? I could sit here all day and look at that mountain in
the distance. It reminds me somewhat of the Alps, don't you know."

Miss Peckham gazed unhappily at the mountain, which was merely a blur in
the distance. "Do you think we'll have to sit here all night?" she asked
anxiously.

Monty exerted himself to divert her. "How does it come that I have never
met you before, Miss Peckham? Really, I didn't know that Uncle Clement
had such delightful relations. Can it be that you are really his cousin?
It hardly seems possible that you are old enough. Sitting there with the
breeze toying with you hair that way you look like a young girl, no
older than Judith herself."

Now this was quite a large dose to swallow, but Miss Peckham swallowed
it, and much delighted with the gallant youth, so much more appreciative
of her than the others at camp, she sat listening attentively to his
prattle of what he had seen and done, keeping her hat off the while to
let her hair ripple in the breeze the way he said he liked it,
regardless of the fact that the sun was rather hot.

In something over an hour a pair of rowboats came along filled with
youngsters who thought it great sport to rescue the pair in the marooned
canoe, and who promptly discovered the cause of the trouble. It was an
iron kettle full of stones, fastened to the bottom of the canoe with a
long wire, which had wedged itself in among the branches of a submerged
tree in the river and anchored the canoe firmly.

"Somebody's played a trick on us!" exclaimed Miss Peckham wrathfully.
"Somebody at camp deliberately fastened that kettle of stones to the
bottom of the canoe to make it hard for you to paddle. That's just what
you might have expected from those girls. They're playing tricks all the
time. They have no respect for anyone."

Monty turned a dull red when he saw that kettle full of stones, and he,
too, sputtered with indignation. "Low brow trick," he exclaimed loftily,
but he felt quite the reverse of lofty. "This must be Cousin Judith's
doing," he continued angrily, remembering the subtle antagonism that had
sprung up between his cousin and himself.

His dignity was too much hurt to allow him to follow the rest of the
party now. Disgusted, he turned back in the direction of camp. By the
time he arrived he began to feel that he did not want to stay long
enough to see the enjoyment of his cousin over his discomfiture. He
announced his intention of leaving that very night, paddling down the
river to the next landing, and boarding the evening boat.

Miss Peckham suddenly made up her mind, too. "I'm going with you." she
declared. "I'm not going to stay here and be insulted any longer. It'll
serve them right to do without my services as councilor for the rest of
the summer. I'll just leave a note for Mrs. Grayson and slip out quietly
with you."

When the expedition returned the following day both Pecky and Monty were
gone.

Bengal raised such a shout of joy when she heard of the departure of her
despised councilor that her tent mates were obliged to restrain her
transports for the look of the thing, but they, too, were somewhat
relieved to be rid of her.

The reason of the double departure remained a mystery in camp until the
very end, but there were a select few that always winked solemnly at one
another whenever Dr. Grayson wondered what had become of his largest
camping kettle.




CHAPTER XIV


REGATTA DAY

The long anticipated, the much practiced for Regatta Day had dawned,
bringing with it crowds of visitors to Camp. It was Camp Keewaydin's
great day, when the Avenue and the Alley struggled for supremacy in
aquatics. The program consisted of contests in swimming and diving,
canoe upsetting and righting, demonstrations of rescue work, stunts and
small canoe races, and ended up with a race between the two war canoes.
Visitors came from all the summer resorts around, and many of the girls'
parents and friends came to see their daughters perform.

The dock and the diving platform were gay with flags; the tents had been
tidied up to wax-like neatness and decorated with wild flowers until
they looked like so many royal bowers; in Mateka an exhibition of Craft
Work was laid out on the long tables--pottery and silver work and
weaving and decorating. Hinpoha's rose jar, done with infinite pains
and patience after its unfortunate meeting with Cousin Egmont, held the
place of honor in the centre of the pottery table, and her silver
candlesticks, done in an exquisite design of dogwood blossoms, was the
most conspicuous piece on the jewelry table.

"Hinpoha'll get the Craft Work prize, without any doubt," said Migwan to
Agony as they stood helping to arrange the articles in the Craft Work
exhibit. "She's a real artist. The rest of us are just dabblers. It's
queer, though, I admire that little plain pottery bowl I made myself
more than I do Hinpoha's wonderful rose jar. I suppose it's because I
made it all myself; it's like my own child. There's a thrill about doing
things yourself that makes you hold your head higher even if other
people don't think it's anything very wonderful. Don't you feel that
way, Agony?"

"I suppose so," murmured Agony, rather absently, her animation falling
away from her in an instant, and a weary look creeping into her eyes.

"That's the way you must feel all the time since you did that splendid
thing," continued Migwan warmly. "No matter where you are, or how hard a
thing you're up against, you have only to think, 'I was equal to a great
emergency once; I did the brave and splendid thing when the time came,'
and then you'll be equal to it again. O, how wonderful it must be to
know that when the time comes you won't be a coward! O Agony, we're all
so proud of you!" cried Migwan, interrupting herself to give Agony an
adoring hug. "All the Winnebagos will be braver and better because you
did that, Agony. They'll be ashamed to be any less than you are."

"It wasn't anything much that--I did," Agony protested in a flat voice.

Migwan, busy straightening out the rows of bracelets and rings, did not
notice the hunted expression in Agony's face, and soon the bugle
sounded, calling all the girls together on the dock.

Only those who have ever taken part in Regatta Day will get the real
thrill when reading an account of it in cold print--the thrill which
comes from seeing dozens of motor boats filled with spectators lined up
on the river, and crowds standing on the shore; the sun shining in
dazzling splendor on the ripples; the flags snapping in the breeze, the
starters with their pistols standing out on the end of the dock, the
canoes rocking alongside, straining at their ropes as if impatient to be
off in the races; the crews, in their new uniforms, standing nervously
around their captains, getting their last instructions and examining
their paddles for any possible cracks; the councilors rushing around
preparing the props for the stunts they were directing; and over all a
universal atmosphere of suspense, of tenseness, of excitement.

The Alleys wore bright red bathing caps, the Avenues blue; otherwise
they wore the regulation Camp bathing suits, all alike. First on the
program came the demonstrations--canoe tipping, rescuing a drowning
person, resuscitation. Sahwah won the canoe tipping contest, getting her
canoe righted in one minute less time than it took Undine Girelle, so
the first score went to the Alley. The Avenue had a speedy revenge,
however, for Undine took first honors in the diving exhibition which
followed immediately after. Even the Winnebagos, disappointed as they
were that Sahwah had not won out, admitted that Undine's performance was
unequalled, and joined heartily in the cheers that greeted the
announcement of her winning. In the smaller contests the Avenue and the
Alley were pretty well matched, and at the end of the swimming and small
canoe races the score was tied between them. This left the war canoe
race, which counted ten points, to decide the championship.

A round of applause greeted the two crews as they marched out on the
dock to the music of the Camp band and took their places in the war
canoes. Sahwah was Captain of the Dolphins, the Alley crew; Undine
commanded the Avenue Turtles. Agony was stern paddler of the Dolphin,
the most important position next to the Captain. Prominence had come to
her in many ways since she had become the camp heroine; positions of
trust and honor fell to her thick and fast without her making any
special efforts to get them. If nothing succeeds like success it is
equally true that nothing brings honor like honor already achieved. To
her who hath shall be given.

Besides Sahwah and Agony the Dolphin crew consisted of Hinpoha, Migwan,
Gladys, Katherine, Jo Severance, Jean Lawrence, Bengal Virden, Oh-Pshaw,
and two girls from Aloha, Edith Anderson and Jerry Mortimer, a crew
picked after severe tests which eliminated all but the most expert
paddlers. That the Winnebagos had all passed the test was a matter of
considerable pride to them, and also to Nyoda, to whom they had promptly
written the good news.

"I am not surprised, though," she had written in return. "I am never
surprised at anything my girls accomplish. I always expect you to do
things--and you do them."

Quickly the two Captains brought their canoes out to the starting line
and sat waiting for the shot from the starter's pistol. The command
"Paddles Up!" had been given, and twenty-four broad yellow blades were
poised stiffly in air, ready for the plunge into the shining water
below. A hush fell upon the watching crowd; the silence was so intense
that the song of a bird on the roof of Mateka could be plainly heard. A
smile came to Sahwah's lips as she heard the joyous thrill of the bird.
An omen of victory, she said to herself.

Then the pistol cracked. Almost simultaneously with its report came her
clear command, "Down paddles!" Twelve paddles dipped as one and the
Dolphin shot forward a good five feet on the very first stroke. The race
was on.

The course was from the dock to Whaleback Island, around the Island and
back to the starting point.

Until the Island was reached the canoes kept practically abreast, now
one forging a few inches ahead, now the other, but always evening up the
difference before long. As the pull toward Whaleback was downstream both
crews made magnificent speed with apparently little effort. The real
struggle lay in rounding the Island and making the return pull upstream.
The Dolphin had the inside track, a fact which at first caused her crew
to exult, because of the shorter turn, but they soon found that the
advantage gained in this way was practically offset by the force of the
current close to the Island, which made it difficult for the boat to
keep in her course. It took all of Agony's skill as stern paddler to
swing the Dolphin around and keep her out of the current. The two canoes
were still abreast when they recovered from the turn and started back
upstream. As they rounded the large pile of rocks which formed a
bodyguard around Whaleback, the current caught the Dolphin and gave her
a half turn back toward the Island. Agony bore quickly down on her
paddle to offset the pull of the current; it struck an unexpected rock
underneath the surface and twisted itself out of her hands. In a moment
the current had caught it and whirled it out of reach. Only an instant
did Agony waste looking after it in consternation.

"Give me your paddle," she said quickly to Bengal Virden, who sat in
front of her, and took it out of her hand without ceremony.

The Dolphin righted herself without any further trouble and came out
into the straight upstream course only a little behind the Turtle. Then
the real race began.

In a few moments the Turtle had forged ahead, and it soon became
apparent that the Dolphin, carrying one member of the crew who was not
paddling, could not hope to keep up.

"Bengal," megaphoned Sahwah, taking in the situation at a glance,
"you'll have to get out. You're dead weight. Jump and swim back to the
island. The water isn't deep here."

Bengal refused. "I want to stay in the race."

Sahwah gave a disgusted snort into the megaphone. Agony cast herself
into the breach and made use of Bengal's crush on her for the sake of
the Alley cause. "If you do it, Bengal, I'll come and sleep with you
all the rest of the time we're in camp."

Bengal rose to the bait. "I'll do it for you," she said adoringly, and
promptly jumped out of the canoe and swam back the short distance to the
Island where she was soon picked up by one of the visiting launches and
carried to the sidelines.

Relieved of Bengal's weight, which had been considerable, the Dolphin
quickly recovered herself and caught up with the Turtle; then slowly
worked into the lead. She did not lose the lead again, but came under
the line a good three feet ahead of the Turtle. The long anticipated
struggle was over and the Alley was the victor.

The rest of the Alley rushed down upon the dock and dragged the
victorious crew up out of the Dolphin as she came up alongside of the
dock, and lifting them to their shoulders carried them to shore in a
triumphal procession, with waving banners, and ear splitting cheers, and
songs which excess of emotion rendered slightly off key. Bengal was
brought over and given a separate ovation for having so nobly sacrificed
herself for the cause of the Alley; Agony also came in for a great deal
of extra cheering because she had acted so promptly when she lost her
paddle, and Sahwah--well, Sahwah was the Captain, and when did the
Captain of a victorious crew ever suffer neglect from the side he
represented?

Until Taps sounded that night the Alley celebrated its victory, and the
last thing they did for joy was to carry all the beds out of the tents
and set them in one long row in the Alley, and when Miss Judy went the
last rounds there they lay, all linked together arm in arm, smiling one
long smile which reached from one end of the Alley to the other.




CHAPTER XV


THE BUFFALO ROBE

"Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!"

The familiar lines slipped softly from Miss Amesbury's lips as she
leaned luxuriously against the canoe cushions, watching the vivid glows
of the sunset. It was the hour after supper, when the Camp girls were
free to do as they pleased, and Agony and Miss Amesbury had come out for
a quiet paddle on the river. The excitement of Regatta Day had subsided,
and Camp was jogging peacefully toward its close. Only a few more days
and then the _Carribou_ would come and take away the merry, frolicking
campers, and the Alley and the Avenue alike would know desolation.

All over there were signs that told summer was drawing to a close. The
fields were gay with goldenrod and wild asters, the swamp maples had
begun to flame in the woods, and there was a crisp tang in the air that
sent the blood racing in the veins like a draught of strong, new wine.
All these things, as well as the westward shifting of the summer
constellations, which a month before had reigned supreme on the
meridian, told that the summer was drawing to an end.

Never had the friends at Camp seemed so jolly and dear as in this last
week when the days together were numbered, and every sunrise brought
them one degree nearer the parting. Everyone was filled with the desire
to make the most of these last few days; there was a frantic scramble to
do the things that had been talked of all summer, but which had been
crowded out by other things, and especially there was a busy taking of
pictures of favorite councilors and best friends. Pom-pom, Miss Judy,
Tiny Armstrong and the Lone Wolf could be seen at almost any hour of the
day "looking pleasant" while some girl snapped their pictures.

"If anyone else asks me to pose for a picture today I shall explode!"
declared Tiny Armstrong at last. "I've stood in the sun until I'm burned
to a cinder, and I've 'looked pleasant' until my face aches. I'm going
on a strike!"

Agony found herself possessed in these last days of an ever increasing
desire to be with Miss Amesbury, to hear her talk and watch the
expressions play over her beautiful, mobile face. For this brilliant and
accomplished woman Agony had conceived an admiration which stirred the
very depths of her intense, passionate nature. To be famous and
fascinating like Miss Amesbury, this was the secret ambition that filled
her restless soul. To be near her now, to have her all to herself in a
canoe in this most beautiful hour of the day, thrilled Agony to the
verge of intoxication. Her voice trembled when she spoke, her hand shook
as she dipped the paddle.

The wide flaming fire of the sunset toned down to a tawny orange; then
faded into a pale primrose; the big, bright evening star appeared in the
west. From all the woods around came the goodnight twitter of the birds.

"Sunset and evening star--" repeated Agony softly, echoing the words
Miss Amesbury had spoken a few moments before. "Oh," she declared,
"sunset is the most perfect time of the day for me. I feel just
bewitched. I could do anything just at sunset; all my dreams seem about
to come true."

And drifting there in the rosy afterglow they talked of dreams and
hopes, and ambitions, and Agony laid her soul bare to the older woman.
She spoke of the things she planned to do, the career of social service
she had laid out for herself, and of the influence for good she would be
in the world--all of this to take place in the golden sometime when she
would be grown up and out of school.

Miss Amesbury heard her through with a quiet smile. Agony looked up,
encountered her gaze and stopped speaking. "Don't you think I can?" she
asked quickly.

"It is possible," replied Miss Amesbury tranquilly. "Everything is
possible. 'We are all architects of fate;' you must have heard that line
quoted before. Everyone carries his future in his own hands; fate has
really nothing to do with it. Whatever kind of bud we are, such a flower
we will be. We cannot make ourselves; all we can do is blossom. This
Other Person that you see in your golden dreams is after all only you,
changed from the You that you are now into the You that you hope to be.
If we are little, stunted buds we cannot be big, glorious blossoms. The
Future is only a great many Nows added up. It is the things you are
doing now that will make your future glorious or abject. To be a noble
woman you must have been a noble girl. You are setting your face now in
the direction in which you are going to travel. Every worthy action you
perform now will open the way for more worthy actions in the future, and
the same is true of unworthy ones."

Agony sat very still.

"It is the thing we stand for ourselves that makes us an influence for
evil or good," continued Miss Amesbury, "not the thing that we preach.
That is why so much of the so-called 'uplift work' in the world has no
effect upon the persons we are trying to uplift--we try to give them
something which we do not possess ourselves. We cannot give something
which we don't possess, don't ever forget that, dear child. Be sure that
your own torch is burning brightly before you attempt to light someone
else's with it.

"You know, Agony, that after Jesus went away out of the Temple at the
age of twelve years we do not hear of him again until he was a grown man
of thirty. What took place in those years we will never know exactly;
but in those Silent Years He prepared Himself for His glorious destiny.
He must have conquered Self, day by day, until He was master over all
his moods and desires, to be able to influence others so profoundly. He
must have developed a sympathetic understanding of His friends and
playfellows, to know so intimately the troubles of all the multitudes
which he afterwards met. These are _your_ Silent Years, Agony. What you
make of them will determine your future."

*       *       *       *       *

"Why, where is everybody?" Agony asked wonderingly as they drew their
canoe up on the dock and went up the hill path. Nobody was in sight, but
a subdued sound of cheering and laughter came from the direction of
Mateka.

"Oh, I forgot," cried Agony. "There _is_ something tonight in Mateka, a
meeting. Dr. Grayson announced it this noon at dinner, but I forgot all
about it and hurried through supper tonight so I could come out on the
river with you. I wonder what it was about. Come on, let's go up, maybe
we can get there before it's over."

They were just going up the steps of Mateka when half a dozen girls
rushed out of the door and fell upon Agony.

"Where on earth have you been? We've been hunting all over camp for you.
You're elected most popular camper! You've won the Buffalo Robe! Oh,
Agony, you've won the Buffalo Robe!"

It was Oh-Pshaw who was speaking, and she cast herself on her twin's
neck and kissed her rapturously.

Agony stood very still on the steps, looking in a dazed sort of way from
one to the other of the faces around her.

"Oh, Agony, don't you understand? You've won the Buffalo Robe!" Oh-Pshaw
repeated laughingly. "We had the election tonight. You won by a big
majority. It's all on account of the robin. Nobody else had done
anything nearly so splendid. Oh, but I'm proud to be your twin sister!"

Then all the rest came out of Mateka and surrounded Agony, telling her
how glad they were she had won the Buffalo Robe, and they ended up by
taking her on their shoulders into Mateka and setting her down before
the Robe where it hung on the wall. It would be formally presented to
her at the farewell banquet two nights later.

"We're going to paint a robin on it as a record of your brave deed,"
said Migwan. "Hinpoha is working on the design right now."

Agony's emotions were tumultous as she stood there in Mateka before the
Buffalo Robe with the girls singing cheer after cheer to her. First
triumph flooded her whole being, and delight and satisfaction that she
had won the biggest honor in Camp took complete possession of her. The
most popular girl in camp! The desire of her heart, born on that first,
far off day at camp, had been realized. The precious trophy was hers to
take home, to exhibit to Nyoda. She was the center of all eyes; her name
was on every lip.

Then, in the midst of her triumph the leaden weight began to press down
on her spirits, pulling her back to realization. Her smile faded, her
lips trembled, her voice was so husky that she could hardly speak.

"It's--so--hot--in--here," she panted. "Let me go out where it's cool."

And all unsuspecting they led her out and bore her to her tent in
triumph.




CHAPTER XVI


THE TORCH KINDLES

Even the Winnebagos wondered slightly at the extremely quiet way in
which Agony received the great honor that had been bestowed upon her.
She did not expand as usual under the influence of the limelight until
she fairly radiated light. She hummed no gay songs, she played no pranks
on her friends; she did not outdo herself in work and play as she used
to in the days of yore when she was the observed of all observers.
Silent and pensive she wandered about Camp the next day and seemed
rather to be shunning the gay groups in Mateka and on the beach. Most of
the girls believed that Agony's silence proceeded from the genuine
humility of the truly great when singled out for honor, and admired her
all the more for her sober, pensive air. She found herself overwhelmed
with requests to stand for her picture, and the younger girls thronged
her tent, begging for locks of hair to take home as keepsakes. Agony
escaped from them as best she could without offending them.

She sedulously avoided Mateka, for there sat Hinpoha busily painting
robins on the place cards for the banquet which was to take place the
following night. This banquet was given each year as a wind-up to the
camp activities, with the winner of the Buffalo Robe in the place of
honor at the head of the table. Agony felt weak every time she thought
of that banquet. Why had she not the courage to confess the deception to
Dr. Grayson, and give up the Buffalo Robe, she thought miserably. No,
she could never do that. The terrific pride which was Agony's very life
and soul would not let her humble herself. The pain it would give Dr.
Grayson, the astonishment and disappointment of the Winnebagos, the
coldness of the beloved councilors--and Jane Pratt! How could she ever
humble herself before Jane Pratt and witness Jane's keen relish of her
downfall? She could hear Jane's spiteful laughter, her malicious
remarks, her unrestrained rejoicing over the situation.

And Miss Amesbury! No, she could never let Miss Amesbury know what a
cheat she was. No, no, the thing had gone too far, she must see it
through now. Better to endure the gnawings of conscience than give
herself away now. And Nyoda--Nyoda who had praised her so sincerely, and
Slim and the Captain, who thought it was a "bully stunt"--could she let
them know that it was all a lie? She shrank back shuddering from the
notion. No, she must go on. No one would ever find it out now. Other
people had received honors which they hadn't earned; the world was full
of them; thus she tried to soothe her conscience. But she averted her
eyes every time she passed the Buffalo Robe hanging over the fireplace
in Mateka.

Slumber came hard to her that night, and when she finally did drop off
it was to dream that the Buffalo Robe was being presented to her, but
just as she put out her hand to take it Mary Sylvester appeared on the
scene and called out loudly, "She doesn't deserve it!" and then all the
girls pointed to her in scorn and repeated, "She doesn't deserve it!"
"She doesn't deserve it!" until she ran away and hid herself in the
woods.

So vivid was the dream that she wakened, trembling in ever limb, and
burrowed into the pillow to shut out the sight of those dreadful
pointing fingers, which still seemed to be before her eyes. Once awake
she could not go back to sleep. She looked enviously across the tent at
Hinpoha, who lay calm and peaceful in the moonlight, a faint smile
parting her lips. She had nothing on her mind to keep her awake. Sahwah,
too, was wrapped in profound slumber, her brow serene and untroubled;
she had no uncomfortable secret to disturb her rest. How she envied
them!

She envied Oh-Pshaw, who had taken the swimming test that day after a