Part 7 (1/2)
Agony was talking animatedly about the coming drill contest and Mr. Wing was listening with smiling approval. ”Good for you!” he exclaimed to the Winnebagos. ”So the honor of Oakwood is to be vindicated at last! Camp Fire Girls to the rescue! Hurrah! I tell you, girls,” he said enthusiastically, ”if you can put it over and beat Hillsdale I'll give you each----” Here he paused and cast about in his mind for a suitable reward for such a distinguished service--”I'll give you each--no, I'll take you all on a trip to Was.h.i.+ngton, and personally conduct you into all the places where you never could get in by yourselves!”
”Oh!” shrieked Agony and Oh-Pshaw simultaneously, and ”Oh!” echoed the Winnebagos in rapture.
”Sing a cheer to Mr. Wing!” cried Sahwah, and the others complied with a vigor that made the dishes ring:
”You're the B-E-S-T, best, Of all the R-E-S-T, rest, Oh, I love you, I love you all the T-I-M-E, time!
If you'll be M-I-N-E, mine, I'll be T-H-I-N-E, thine, Oh, I love you, I love you all the T-I-M-E, time!”
Mr. Wing bowed in acknowledgment of the cheer and his smile showed how much it had pleased him.
”Great time you'll have drilling, with those heels of yours,” he said teasingly. ”I wish I could be there to see.”
”Father!” exclaimed Agony reproachfully, ”do you think for a minute we'd do military drill with these shoes on?”
”But, Father,” said Oh-Pshaw eagerly, ”don't you really wish you _could_ be there to see? I wish you could stay home awhile and play with us as you used to. Can't you? Do you _have_ to go back to Philadelphia?”
Mr. Wing looked a little wistful, but he answered chafingly, ”Wouldn't that be a great thing to do just now in the middle of one of the greatest cases in my career?”
”Oh, tell us about it,” cried Agony eagerly. Agony was perfectly well aware of the fact that her father would never tell anything at home that was not also given out to the newspapers, but she liked to hear him tell that little in his own way.
”It's the Arnold Atterbury case,--you've read about it in the newspapers--the man who has been organizing strikes in the big munition plants,” replied Mr. Wing. ”We know he was only a tool in the hands of some powerful German agency, but who or what it is we do not know. But we mean to find out!” he added in a tone which gave a hint of the stern determination of his character. ”We will track down those enemy influences like foxes to their holes!” His voice thundered out like the voice of judgment.
”Amen to that!” exclaimed the artist fervently, and, seizing his water gla.s.s from beside his plate, he sprang to his feet and raised it high in the air.
”Let's have a toast!” he cried. ”Drink success to our cause and defeat to the enemy!”
The rest were on their feet in an instant, clinking Grandmother Wing's etched tumblers across the table and drinking the toast with all their hearts. That little incident put patriotic fervor into all of them and the evening was filled with animated discussions and hearty singing of war songs.
Migwan declared on the way home that Mr. Wing was the most charming man she had ever met. Hinpoha thought the artist was even more charming and hoped they would meet him often. Sahwah said nothing. She could not forget that the artist had seemed to doubt Veronica's sincerity, and it made her angry and she refused to acknowledge his fascinations. She walked close beside Veronica and linked arms with her as she walked.
Sahwah's feelings toward Veronica were crystallizing daily into a deep affection. In the old days she had not been moved by any great feeling of affection for her; she pitied her along with the rest and enjoyed her society after a fas.h.i.+on, but she stood not a little in awe of her mercurial temperament and her aristocratic ways, and much preferred the friends.h.i.+p of the simple, dispa.s.sionate Winnebagos. But now that she and Veronica had met after a year's separation, Sahwah suddenly realized that the dark-eyed, temperamental little Hungarian girl had an irresistible fascination for her; that her heart had gone out to her completely. Sahwah was by nature cool and unemotional, and not given to those sudden flares of friends.h.i.+p with which so many girls are constantly being consumed, which burn brilliantly for a short season and them go out of their own accord; it usually took a long time to kindle a friends.h.i.+p with her. Sahwah herself could not understand her sudden, fierce, almost motherly love for Veronica. It had not been of gradual growth like her other friends.h.i.+ps; it had been born all in an instant that first night of her arrival at Carver House, when Veronica had played and through Sahwah's heart there had gone a strange thrill of sadness, a yearning for something which she could not understand.
From that time on Sahwah could hardly bear to have Veronica out of her sight; she wanted to be with her all day long; she was filled with a desire to protect her, to mother her, to caress her, to make her great dark eyes light with laughter, to go off alone with her, to discuss with her in private confidences the momentous affairs of girlhood.
Sahwah's soul was being strangely stirred in many ways these last few days. A queer restlessness had taken possession of her, totally foreign to her old tranquil, composed state of mind. Unexplainedly she found herself growing moody and dreamy; at times she had a curious feeling of having just experienced something, but what it was she could not remember; her mind went groping in its subconscious self for something which constantly eluded it, her heart--
”Went crooning a low song it could not learn, But wandered over it, as one who gropes For a forgotten chord upon a lyre.”
At times she was filled with a great sadness, a poignant world-sorrow; at times with an indescribable exaltation, a longing to burst forth into triumphant song and tell the whole world of her gladness. Without knowing why or wherefore, she was vaguely conscious that in some way she was different from what she was before she came to Carver House, and she also knew that things would never be just as they were before. Somehow or other the focus had changed, a corner had been turned.
Equally unexplainable was the way in which these strange moods, these dim flashes, were subtly bound up with Veronica. It was Veronica that seemed to inspire these feelings, and similarly, it was these feelings that seemed to draw her to Veronica. Sahwah had never bothered her head about Destiny, that strange power that moves us about at will, like chessmen, and who, laying her hand upon us, makes our ways cross and intertwine themselves to work out her purposes; she only knew that in some way she was changing, and that her heart had gone out in a great flood of affection for Veronica Lehar.
Her very dreams, too, were filled with this strange new unrest, and she was continually wakeful at night--she who in former days fell asleep the instant her head touched the pillow, and enjoyed eight hours'
dreamless slumber as regularly as clock-work.
It was the same again to-night. After several hours of fitful dreaming, Sahwah wakened, and in her half-consciousness there lingered an impression of eyes staring intently at her and a dream of being back in the railway train on the way to Nyoda's. The spell of the dream left her and she lay awake a long time, unaccountably happy, mysteriously sad, and with no desire to sleep.