history.
With wagons and their burros the girls, Mrs. Burton, and their guide had followed a trail leading from the old site near the Painted Desert to the new. They had preferred the long trek, although the nearby railroad would have covered the distance in a few hours.
Yet in this part of the country how easy it is to forget modern civilization if one will, since half a century ago the Grand Canyon itself was still unexplored.
Here their tents were pitched in a portion of the world’s garden, while only a short distance away was the most gigantic wonder in stone.
In less than three-quarters of an hour the little party of seven, who had been drinking tea, arrived at their present home, involuntarily stopping a few yards from the tents for the purpose of enjoying the picture before them. They had come through half a mile of pine forest after leaving the neighborhood of the cliffs and now found themselves encircled by pines on all sides. In only a few places was there a clearing through which one could get a vista of the far horizon, but in one of these clearings the new Sunrise camp had pitched their white tents.
In front of the tents the grass was soft and thick and of a deep bluish green. To the left a miniature hill was broken by a narrow fissure down which a tiny, clear stream trickled into a small lake below that was only a little larger than a big circular mirror. As a matter of course the pool had been christened the “Wishing Well.” The name is indeed time honored, but then wishing is perhaps the oldest and at the same time the youngest occupation in the world.
A few scrub trees and bushes grew along the ground between the pines, yet the air was altogether filled with the pine tang and fragrance. In many nearby places there were the brilliant early autumn flowers of the western plateaus.
As a beacon light to the home-comers, as well as for domestic reasons, a large fire was burning at a safe distance from the tents. Through the trees the sunset colors turned the scene to rose and gold.
For the moment there chanced to be no one in sight save Marie Papin, Mrs. Burton’s maid, and Mr. Jefferson Simpson, the Camp Fire guide.
So near the fire were they standing and so absorbed in their conversation that, although they must have noticed the return of the little party, neither turned to speak to any one of them.
In the reflection of the firelight the two figures made an interesting and not an ordinary picture. The contrast between them was striking. For once Marie had discarded her conventional maid’s costume of black and was wearing a white muslin dress as only a French woman can wear white, changing it from simplicity to coquetry.
Moreover, the rough-and-ready outdoor costume, ordinarily adhered to by Mr. Simpson, had been set aside for a conventional attire, or possibly this was his impression. Yet Mr. Simpson did not appear conventional.
As they reached their own tents Polly Burton nodded significantly to Peggy and Bettina. Then she waited outside when they disappeared inside.
“I wonder if Tante’s surprise, which we were to hear on our return, had anything to do with Marie and Mr. Simpson?” Peggy demanded, as she began changing her costume for the more ceremonial one worn at dinner. She was looking reflective and at the same time a little annoyed – an expression characteristic of Peggy Webster under some conditions. She did not enjoy romantic problems.
Bettina laughed. She knew that Peggy had an instinctive prejudice against the romantic in any and all its forms. Not only Bettina, but Peggy’s family and many of her friends often wondered why Peggy should be so different in this from other girls. Moreover, how would she ever meet her own romance when her hour came, if she had so intense a shyness at its very suggestion among other people?
A number of times Bettina had been aware that their Camp Fire guide felt more than an ordinary interest in Marie. Yet the thought of an affair between the young French woman with her ideas of life and the big uncultured miner had seemed impossible. They were farther apart than the two poles, since, in the end, the poles being reached bear many resemblances. If Mr. Simpson had been rich, there might have been another story. However, some theory had to be worked out to explain Mr. Simpson’s wish to continue as the Sunrise Camp Fire guide.
True, he was a soldier of fortune who, according to his own story, had played many parts. However, each member of the Camp Fire club appreciated his superiority to the task he had undertaken of being their courier, guide, man of all work, doing a hundred and one tasks for a group of something less than a dozen women. Even if he had fallen upon evil days and accepted the work as a temporary occupation or amusement – for he appeared to consider his tasks more amusing than laborious – there were many other more dignified and lucrative occupations in which he could have engaged.
So Bettina reflected, as she followed Peggy’s example in getting dressed.
They had not finished when a slim figure slipped in to their tent uninvited.
Her expression was slightly apologetic as she seated herself upon the edge of a cot, drawing one foot up under her and flinging her hat aside, as a girl frequently does when beginning a confidence.
However, the newcomer was not a girl. Instead she was the Camp Fire guardian and hostess of the Sunrise club in Arizona at the present time, and also in their recent camping experience upon the edge of the Painted Desert, Mrs. Richard Burton, the famous actress, known to the public as Polly O’Neill Burton.
“Sorry my surprise for this evening has not developed, or rather that it has developed in an unexpected fashion,” she began, speaking enigmatically and shrugging her shoulders, half chagrined and half pleased.
“Perhaps you girls know from experience that I am more nervous over playing chaperon than any other Camp Fire guardian duty. But I must confess I never expected to be troubled by Marie! She and I have traveled together for years without Marie’s having a single love affair so far as I have been told. And then appears Mr. Simpson, the last person to be suspected in the light of a lover.”
Mrs. Burton’s lips twitched and her eyes shone with an amused light.
“I like Mr. Simpson very much. Really I am afraid Marie is not good enough for him as she is behaving so absurdly,” she ended inconclusively.
“Tante, what are you talking about? Certainly you never betray your point at the beginning of a story as so many people do,” Peggy demanded, still frowning, but approaching nearer the lady on the cot.
Mrs. Burton laughed.
“Sorry, Peg, but, perhaps, remembering your prejudice against love affairs, I forbore to tell you several days ago that Marie and Mr. Simpson became engaged on the last night of our journey to camp. You may recall that Mr. Simpson took a number of you girls out for a walk after we had pitched tents for the night and after Marie had me safely stored away in bed. I was surprised at the time at her wishing to go with you, as Marie and outdoor exercise are not enamored of each other. Then Marie came in late, after you girls had gone to bed, and told me her news. We were planning to have a party tonight and announce the engagement. I sent hundreds of miles for a cake and white roses,” Mrs. Burton concluded mournfully.
Bettina Graham was twisting her yellow-brown hair into a single braid about her small head – a difficult performance before a six-inch hand mirror which she held in one hand while twisting with the other.
Nevertheless she stopped.
“Well,” she inquired, “didn’t the roses arrive?”
Mrs. Burton nodded. “Oh yes, but Marie has broken her engagement. Mr. Simpson confided to me that he thinks it is on account of his new clothes. He insists
