Gill had been silent for a few moments afterwards, seated on the floor beside her Camp Fire guardian in her bed-room.
“Nevertheless, I think it would be best for me to return home,” she said finally, “although the girls also have been kind enough to urge me to remain. Beside my own feeling that I have in a measure betrayed the trust of the Camp Fire, of late I have received several letters from my father telling me that he was lonely and needed me. I have been too long away, but some day perhaps I shall be able to return and once more be a member of the Sunrise Camp Fire. Until then I hope you will not forget me.”
So early in the new year Gill vanished from the household at Half Moon Lake and a month later Mrs. Graham departed. Afterwards the winter closed in about Tahawus cabin.
The thermometer fell to ten, then twenty, then thirty degrees below zero. Very rarely now did the snow ever fall, only the ice packed thicker and deeper, the limbs of the trees laden with winter’s burdens now and then breaking, fell stiffly to the earth. The wind rarely blew with any fierceness and the cold was extraordinarily still.
Actually the household felt the coldness less than any one of them anticipated. Rarely a day passed by but the greater number of them were out walking or skating or skiing. Frequently David Murray or one of the girls drove the sleigh to Saranac for provisions and mail. And as she grew stronger, Mrs. Burton was able to accompany them on their shorter excursions.
Nevertheless, it was the long evenings at Half Moon Lake that the Sunrise Camp Fire ever hereafter was to recall as adding a peculiar value and interest to their winter in the Adirondacks.
The darkness fell between half-past four and five o’clock, by six the final afterglow had departed from the crown of hills, and above them hung the stars or the pale winter moon.
Inside Tahawus cabin at this hour there was added warmth and cheerfulness. More logs were piled on the open fires, David Murray heaped the furnace with a fresh supply of coal, lamps were lighted and one by one the girls, their daily tasks accomplished, wandered into the big living-room.
Elspeth had continued to live with them, utterly declining to return to the loneliness and lack of comfort in her brother’s bachelor establishment. Owing to her presence the daily program had been changed.
Afternoon tea was no longer a feature of the day, but instead, as Elspeth expressed it, high tea was served at six o’clock. This was a custom among Scotch and English country people and admirably suited to the girls at present, since it afforded them long, uninterrupted evenings, when they were able to read, write letters, sew, or play games, or entertain themselves in a variety of fashions.