“Why Did You Think I Had Ever Heard of Your Friend?”
Keeping her finger in a volume of Tennyson’s poems which she had been supposed to be reading, the older girl gazed thoughtfully and yet almost unseeingly into the dark eyes of her companion. “I don’t know exactly,” she replied thoughtfully, “only for some strange reason since our earliest acquaintance you have always made me think of Polly. You don’t look like her, of course, though there is just a suggestion in your expression now and then. Perhaps because you were so interested in her when I began telling of our Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls. I don’t believe you would ever have been able to endure me you know, Angel dear, if you had not liked hearing me talk of Polly; then think of what good times we should both have missed!”
Across the little French girl’s face a warm flush spread.
“It is like you to say ‘we’ should have missed,” she replied softly. “But I never hated you, you were always mistaken in believing that. From the morning you first came to the hospital and ever afterwards I thought you the prettiest person I had ever seen in my life and one of the sweetest. It was only that in those early days I was too miserable to speak to any one. Always I was afraid I should break down if I tried to talk, so when the other girls attempted being nice to me I pretended I was sullen and hateful when in reality I was a coward. It was just the same when you started the ‘Shut-In Camp Fire’ among the girls. I would not join, I would not take the slightest interest in the beginning for much the same reason. But you were always so patient and agreeable to me and so was Miss Mollie. Then there was always Cricket!” Smiling, she paused for a moment listening.
Inside Sunrise cabin both girls could hear the noise of several persons moving about as though deeply engaged in some important business.
“I suppose I ought to go in and help,” Betty remarked in a slightly conscience-smitten tone, “but Mollie does so enjoy fussing about getting things ready. And in spite of all my efforts and stern Camp Fire training I shall never be so good a cook as she is. Besides, both Mollie and Cricket informed me politely, after I finished cleaning our rooms and had set the luncheon table, that I was somewhat in the way. I suppose I had best go in, though. Is there anything I can do for you first, Angel? Cricket is beating that cake batter so hard it sounds like a drum.”
Betty had half risen from her chair when the expression in her companion’s face made her sit down again. “What is it?” she asked.