The Camp Fire Girls Amid the Snows

by Margaret Vandercook

Polly is dressed in a short skirt with a fox’s skin fastened from one shoulder to her belt, there are sandals on her feet and her straight black hair is hanging about her shoulders. Unhappy, she gropes her way about the stage shivering and finding nothing to do, no place in which to rest herself. It is December, the month of the long moon, and the night promises to be bitterly cold. In another moment there is heard from the outside the crying of a child and next “Little Brother,” very proud of his rabbit coat and cap, runs forward throwing his arms about the woman’s knees and evidently begging for warmth and shelter. Still in pantomime the mother mournfully shakes her head, and with this Eleanor Meade appears representing a primitive man and carrying a brace of freshly killed game over her shoulder. This he presents to the child and the woman, but both of them shake their heads and a moment later the man drops despairingly down on the frozen ground burying his face in his hands, the child hiding between his parents for warmth. However the woman does not cover her face and by and by, picking up two dry twigs from the ground, she begins in an idle fashion to rub them together. Suddenly there is a tiny spark of light and then darkness.

It was a wise selection on the part of the Sunrise club girls to have chosen Polly O’Neill to represent the mother of all the Camp Fire women, for though she had when needful the Irish gift of expression, she had also a face so vivid and so emotional that to Polly’s own chagrin it was seldom possible for her to hide from other people what was going on in her mind. Now, however, this characteristic was of excellent service, for there was not a member of her little audience who did not in this instant guess the inspiration that had just been born in the woman.

In a seat toward the back of the living room, in as inconspicuous a spot as possible, a fragile looking woman, an unknown member of the small Woodford audience, turned suddenly to the companion beside her, nodding her head quickly. She had a plain, yet remarkably youthful looking face illumined by a pair of wonderful gray eyes with an indescribably wistful and yet understanding expression. And from now on she watched the girl on the stage more attentively.

Rising quietly, Polly seemed almost to be holding her breath. Then with eager fingers she can be seen searching along the ground until by and by she has gathered together a few twigs, and now kneeling before them appears to be uttering a silent prayer. A moment later and she picks up her former sticks, again repeating the rubbing of them together. For a while Polly seemed to be unsuccessful in making them ignite, so that in the background and well out of sight the other Camp Fire girls hold their breath with a kind of sick horror, fearing that she is going to fail here and so make a fiasco of the entire scene. But the little waiting has only made the final result more dramatic. There is a tiny flare of light, and then bending over her pile of twigs the woman lights the first Camp Fire. She guards it with her hands until there is a crackle and many spurts of yellow flame and the instant after is across the stage shaking the man by the shoulder and drawing the child toward the blaze. Together then they heap on more fuel until a really splendid fire is a-light. (And for fear any one may think that this fire in the middle of the wooden platform would probably have put an end to Sunrise cabin it must be explained that a sheet of iron had been fastened on the floor that the fire might be built with entire safety.)

Like a flame herself the woman then flies from one home duty to the other, making a bed of pine branches for the child near the fire, appearing to roast the game for her husband. Far better by her actions than by any possible words Polly told her story, until the curtain at last goes down on the beginning of the first home with the woman as its genius and inspiration.

But before the curtain has finally descended, for a moment Polly’s attention, as though drawn by an invisible magnet, centered upon the face of a stranger in the back of the living room beyond the more familiar ranks of her friends; and with a quick intake of her breath and a feeling of thankfulness that her first trial is over and that she is not obliged to speak, the young girl recognizes the famous actress. She is glad then that she had not known of her presence sooner and also that her first appearance before her has been made in pantomime, for she guesses it to be a surer test of dramatic ability than any recitation an untrained girl might be able to repeat. If she had the necessary temperament somehow in the scene just past it must have revealed itself.

But now an intermission of twenty minutes passes and the second act represents a scene wholly different from the first, for now the stage is intended to present as nearly as possible the picture of an ideal home. It was difficult to portray, of course, but then the bigger things must always be trusted to the imagination, for this home was not intended to suggest merely a single home but a kind of universal and representative one. There were beautiful pictures in it and soft rugs and many books and windows everywhere, supposedly letting in all the possible sunlight, while over in the corner the solitary pine tree still stood, but now covered with many white candles, although none of them were yet a-light.

Then the door opens and the first spirit of the home enters. This is Esther Clark wearing a kind of blue tunic with a silver band about her unloosened red hair. With swift steps and busy fingers she moves about, bringing a bunch of winter roses to a table, putting fresh logs on the fire, drawing chairs nearer to the inspiring blaze, which is now no longer a primitive camp fire but a great, hospitable open hearth.

Then Esther goes to the front of the stage and waits there for a moment in silence before beginning her speech, and there are but few persons watching her who have yet guessed what spirit she is illustrating.

Esther is awkward and not handsome; nevertheless, because she has a clear and beautiful speaking as well as singing voice she had been chosen for this particular part. Now she is plainly heard throughout the room.