Chapter 8 A SERENADE.

"Is she dead?" cried the girls, gathering around with frightened faces. Gladys caught the word "dead" and her heart turned to water within her. The horror of the afternoon's experience had made her see herself in her true light and she was overwhelmed with shame at the sight. This Sahwah whom she had twitted as being a coward and a baby because she would not break her word, was made of the stuff that heroes are made of, and had probably given her brave life to save her worthless one.

Looking back over the weeks she had spent in camp, she could not remember one instance where she had done anybody a favor or entered with enthusiasm into their plans, while Sahwah's unselfish devotion to her during these last days smote her with sharp remorse. In the new light she suddenly saw the vast difference between herself and these other girls. Verily, they were not of her class, because they were far above it. How could she ever take her hands from her face and look at them again? "If Sahwah dies," she sobbed to herself, "I'll kill myself too."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now Gladys," she said, sitting down on the steps of the shack,

"I want you to tell me everything that happened this afternoon.

How did it come that you were out in a canoe and had to be

rescued?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't try," said Sahwah cheerfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's the matter, Gladys, have you seen a ghost?" asked

Hinpoha, as Gladys stood staring open-mouthed at the envelope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Over the water Night steers her canoe,

She's coming, she's coming, for me and for you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ich weiss nicht wass soll es bedeuten

Dass ich so traurig bin-"

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

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

"Ich Weiss nicht wass soll es bedeuten

Dass ich so traurig bin-"

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