The Camp Fire Girls at School | Page 8

it from cover to cover. When she finished there was
a song in her heart again and a light in her eyes. Resolutely she turned
her face to the East and began her long sojourn in the Desert of
Waiting.
Nyoda pondered the problem for a long while that night, and the next
day she went to call on Gladys's mother. Mrs. Evans had taken a great
liking to the popular young teacher of whom Gladys was so fond, and
cordially invited her to spend as much time as she could at the house
with the family. It was to her, then, that Nyoda appealed for advice in
regard to Hinpoha. Mrs. Evans made a slight grimace when the facts
were laid before her.
"If that isn't just like Phoebe Bradford," she exclaimed indignantly.
"Trying to shut up that poor girl like a nun to conform to some
moth-eaten ideas of hers! If the Judge were alive that house wouldn't
look as if there was a perpetual funeral going on! I certainly will call
and see if I can do anything to change her mind, although I doubt very
much if that could be accomplished by human means."

The next day Aunt Phoebe was agreeably surprised to receive a call
from Mrs. Evans, "All the best people in the neighborhood are making
haste to call on the sister of Judge Bradford," she reflected
complacently. Mrs. Evans made herself very agreeable, speaking of
many friends they had in common, and finally led the conversation
around to Hinpoha.
"The child looks very pale," she said. "I presume the death of her
parents was a terrible shock to her?"
Aunt Phoebe dabbed her eyes with her black-bordered handkerchief.
"The hand of misfortune has fallen heavily upon this house," she said
mournfully.
"It has indeed!" thought Mrs. Evans. Aloud she said, "You must not let
the girl grieve herself sick. Cheerful company is what she needs at this
time. Make her go out with the Camp Fire Girls as much as possible."
Aunt Phoebe drew herself up rather stiffly. "I do not approve of the
Camp Fire Girls," she said.
"Not approve of the Camp Fire Girls!" echoed Mrs. Evans in
well-feigned astonishment; "why, what's wrong with them?"
Just what the great objection was Aunt Phoebe was not prepared to say,
but she remarked that such nonsense had never been thought of in her
day. "And, of course," she added, hiding behind her usual argument,
"while we are in mourning my grandniece will not go out to any
gatherings."
"Why, I wouldn't think of keeping Gladys home for that reason," said
Mrs. Evans, seeing the subterfuge. "She went to a Camp Fire meeting
the day after her grandfather's funeral. It's not like going to a social
function, you know."
Aunt Phoebe shook her head, but her policy of seclusion for Hinpoha
was getting shaky. Mrs. Homer Evans was a power in the community,
and what she did set the fashion in a good many directions. Aunt

Phoebe was very anxious to keep her as a permanent acquaintance, and
if Mrs. Evans gave her sanction to this Camp Fire business, she
wondered if she had not better swallow her prejudice--outwardly at
least, for she declared inwardly that she had never heard of such
foolishness in all her born days. When Mrs. Evans went home Aunt
Phoebe had actually promised that after three months Hinpoha might
attend the meetings as before. Those three months of mourning,
however, were sacred to her, and on no account would she have
consented to allow a single ray of cheer to enter the house during that
period.
CHAPTER III.
SOME TRIALS OF GENIUS.
"The sum of the angles of a triangle is equal to two right angles."
Migwan drew the construction lines as indicated in the book and
labored valiantly to understand why the Angle A was equal to its
alternate, DBA, her brow puckered into a studious frown. Geometry
was not her long suit, her talents running to literature and languages.
Outside the October sun was shining on the crimson and yellow maples,
making the long street a scene of dazzling splendor. The carpet of dry
leaves on the walk and sidewalk tantalized Migwan with their crisp
dryness; she longed to be out swishing and crackling through them. She
sighed and stirred impatiently in her chair, wishing heartily that Euclid
had died in his cradle.
"I can't study with all this noise going on!" she groaned, flinging her
pencil and compass down in despair. Indeed, it would have taken a
much more keenly interested person than Migwan to have concentrated
on a geometry lesson just then. From somewhere upstairs there came an
ear-splitting din. It sounded like an earthquake in a tin shop, mingled
with the noise of the sky falling