The Camp Fire Girls at School | Page 7

she herself had been brought up by a maiden aunt, not
taking into account that this was another day and age. In her time it was
considered the proper thing to shut down on all lightheartedness after a
death in the family, and she was adhering steadfastly to the old
principles. She was yet to learn that she could not force obsolete
customs upon a girl who had lived for sixteen years in the sunlight of
modern ideas.
All Hinpoha's troubles were confided to Nyoda, who sympathized with
her entirely, but bade her be of good cheer and hope for the time when
Aunt Phoebe would see for herself that the new way was best; and
above all to win the respect and liking of her aunt the first thing, as
more could be accomplished in this way than by being antagonistic. "I
don't suppose you could go for a long walk with me Sunday
afternoon?" said Nyoda.
Hinpoha shook her head sadly. "We don't do anything like that on
Sunday," she answered, with resentment flaming in her eye. "We go to
church morning and evening and in the afternoon I am supposed to read
the Bible or a book by a man named Thomas à Kempis." Nyoda turned
her eyes inward with such a comical expression that Hinpoha forgot her
troubles for a moment and laughed.
"The Bible and Thomas à Kempis," said Nyoda musingly; "where did I
hear those two mentioned before? Oh, I have it! Did you ever read this
anywhere, 'Commit to memory one hundred verses of the Bible or an

equal amount of sacred literature, such as Thomas à Kempis'?"
Hinpoha hung her head, still smiling. "Why, Nyoda," she said, "there's
a chance to earn an honor bead that I probably wouldn't have thought of
otherwise!"
"Right-o," said Nyoda. "'It's an ill wind,' you know. And while you are
doing so much Bible reading you will undoubtedly come across
something about 'in the wilderness a cedar,' and will learn that most
waste places can be turned into blooming gardens if we only know
how."
"Thank you," said Hinpoha, "I always feel less forlorn after a talk with
you." Her face brightened, but immediately fell again. "But what good
will it do me to work for honors?" she said sadly. "Aunt Phoebe won't
let me come to the meetings."
"Won't she really?" asked Nyoda in surprise. Hinpoha nodded, near to
tears. "I must see about that," said Nyoda resolutely. "I think if I
explain the mission and activities of Camp Fire she will not object to
your belonging. She probably has a wrong idea of what it means."
Accordingly Nyoda came a-calling on Aunt Phoebe that very night. In
addition to being very pretty Nyoda had a great deal of dignity, and
when she put on her formal manner she looked very impressive indeed.
She did not act as if she had come to see Hinpoha at all, but asked for
"Miss Bradford," and said she had come to pay her respects to her new
neighbor. She listened politely to Aunt Phoebe's account of her last
siege of rheumatism, admired her crochet work, and hoped she liked
this street as well as her former neighborhood. She said she had often
seen Miss Bradford's name in the papers in connection with various
charitable organizations and was very glad to have the honor of
meeting the sister of the prominent Judge. Aunt Phoebe was pleased
and flattered at the deference paid her. But when Nyoda announced
herself as the leader of the club to which Hinpoha belonged and asked
permission for her to attend the meetings, she refused. She was
perfectly polite about it, and did not mention her antipathy to Camp
Fire, and taking refuge behind her favorite excuse, that of being in

mourning, stated that she did not wish Hinpoha to go out in society.
"But this isn't 'society'," broke in Hinpoha desperately.
"A meeting of a club partakes of a social nature," returned her aunt,
"and is not to be thought of." And there the matter rested.
So Nyoda had to depart without accomplishing her mission. Hinpoha,
utterly crushed, followed her to the door, and Nyoda gave her hand a
reassuring squeeze. "Don't despair, dear," she whispered hopefully;
"she will come around to it eventually, but it will take time. Be patient.
And in the meantime read this," and she slipped into her hand a tiny
copy of "The Desert of Waiting." "Just be true to the Law, and see if
you cannot find the roses among the thorns and from them distil the
precious ointment that will open the door of the City of Your Desire
later on."
Hinpoha thrust the little book into her blouse, and when she was safe in
her own room read