“i have not spoken to any human being in more than a month,” the stranger said in dull, even tones as if he were deaf.

“why?” sally ashton inquired in her usual matter-of-fact fashion. “there are many people who come to the adirondack forests and there are towns and villages and cities not many miles away. you must choose not to speak to anyone. are you a hermit?”

the man answered slowly:

“i call myself a hunter and a woodsman. my cabin is a good many miles from any road and in the summer when the mountains are filled with tourists i remain near my own place. but now that the winter is approaching and the woods beginning to be deserted save by those of us who live here i roam about in search of food and change of scene.”

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“have you always lived here?” sally demanded with her accustomed bluntness. “otherwise you must be in hiding because of some trouble or secret you wish to conceal.”

for a moment the man stared in silence, either angry or amazed.

“i have not lived here always,” he replied evasively, “but there are men in these woods who have been here since boyhood. one day you may meet a backwoodsman who is a great preacher here in god’s tabernacle of the outdoors. you have not told me why i find you in the forest when the autumn days are passing?”

sally shrugged her shoulders.

“oh, i am afraid you will not find this portion of your woods deserted for many months. with a number of other girls and some older friends we intend spending the winter in these hills. but good-day.”

stretching forth her hand, sally took hold of the younger girl’s, intending to walk back to their own cabin. if their new acquaintance did not alarm her, there was something in his manner which rendered her uncomfortable.

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for a moment the man stared in silence

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he was not glancing toward her at the present instant, but toward the little english girl.

“who taught you to sing in that fashion?” he inquired. “but there, that was a stupid question! no one could have taught a child like you. you have a great gift and for a little while were able to make me forget what i have not forgotten in many years. some day i may again be your uninvited audience. good-by.”

then the two girls stood watching the figure disappear into a denser portion of the woods, and sally said with a little frown:

“odd! at first i was under the impression that our new acquaintance was a backwoodsman, i mean a man without an education except a knowledge of the outdoors, but now i am uncertain. in fact, i am sure he was once a different character of person and came to the forest to escape some sorrow or wrong doing. however, as i hate mysteries i trust we shall not meet him again; probably we never shall.”

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since the encounter had really been of no importance and there were many other things on her mind, an hour later sally had forgotten the occurrence. in truth, at the time it did not appear to her or to chitty as of sufficient interest to mention to any member of the camp fire.

during the afternoon for several hours sally remained in the study in the smaller cabin working at her french and writing a letter in french to a member of the first camp fire club established in the city of paris. then, at a quarter before four, she disappeared to her own room, where she made a quick toilet and came down to the big living-room in the main cabin.

from four to five o’clock was the pleasantest hour of the day. the habit of afternoon tea so firmly established during the summer in “merrie england” was now continued under different conditions in the heart of the north woods.

nearly all the members of the sunrise camp fire who were together for the winter season, sally found seated in a wide circle before the open fire.

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standing beside the tea wagon, which she had just rolled into the room, was her own sister, alice ashton, who had remained in france with miss patricia lord and vera lagerloff to continue the reconstruction work after the other camp fire girls had crossed to england with their camp fire guardian.

alice ashton was a tall, serious girl with reddish hair and blue eyes, entirely unlike sally in appearance and disposition.

kneeling before the fire at this moment and toasting thin slices of bread to a beautiful brownness was vera lagerloff, who was an american girl notwithstanding her foreign name. this was due to the fact that her parents were russians. vera was born in the united states and was an american enthusiast.

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not far away seated in a low chair, a pile of lavender silk in her lap, was marguerite arnot, her dark head bent over her work. older than the other camp fire girls by a year or more, marguerite arnot was actually a french girl who had been received as a member of the sunrise camp fire under exceptional conditions. brought into their household in “glorious france” as miss patricia lord’s protégée, later she had become one of their number. her presence in the united states was due to the fact that she had yielded to mrs. burton’s and to bettina graham’s persuasion and had decided to make her home in america and to go on with her work. of gentle breeding and education, marguerite arnot and her mother were dressmakers in paris, until her mother’s death during the war had left the girl ill and alone. not long after she had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of miss patricia lord.

at present miss patricia lord was seated behind the rest of the group, reading a lengthy report she recently had received from france, concerning a home for war orphans that she was building in the neighborhood of one of the great french battlegrounds. every now and then, however, her glance wandered from the paper in her hand to the figure of a younger woman, half seated and half reclining in a great chair near the tea table.

mrs. burton, the camp fire guardian, whose figure was more slender than a young girl’s, was wearing a heavy, red-corded silk tea gown; the firelight playing on her dusky hair, on her white face with the long delicate chin and high cheek bones.

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seated on a stool beside her, with her head resting in the palms of her hands, was the youngest member of the household, the small daughter of an english miner. chitty’s hair was even blacker than mrs. burton’s, her skin darker and more sallow, and her eyes large, black and wistful. a peculiarity of the little girl was that she rarely ever talked unless a question were addressed to her directly, expressing herself chiefly through her music.

at a table with her back to the others, mary gilchrist, who recently had requested the camp fire girls to use her father’s name for her, gill, rather than mary, apparently was deeply engaged with a history of the north woods which she seemed to be reading. ordinarily one of the gayest and most animated of the group of camp fire girls, since her reckless action the day before she had been uncommonly silent and subdued.

bettina graham and her mother had not yet entered the room and tea had not been served.

“is that you, sally dear? i have scarcely seen you all day. tell me what you are thinking of while you stand there studying our camp fire circle.”

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the other girls, attracted by mrs. burton’s speech, looked over toward sally, who often was unexpectedly amusing.

coming further into the room, sally stood close beside the camp fire guardian’s chair.

“do you want really to hear what i was thinking, tante? i was considering the fact that our sunrise camp fire at present was smaller in number than i ever have known it to be and that i am sorry. yvonne fleury has returned to live with her brother at the chateau yvonne, gerry is married and she and felix in california, and now peggy is no longer with us. naturally, as she is planning to marry after christmas, she wishes to be with her mother and father. well, thank goodness we shall have her for a visit at christmas time!”

sally’s reply was so unexpected that there was a short silence in the big room, broken only by the crackling of the wood fire.

the loss of peggy webster as a member of the sunrise camp fire group was perhaps more keenly felt than that of any other girl.

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the daughter of mrs. burton’s twin sister, mollie o’neill, who afterwards became mrs. daniel webster, peggy had been particularly devoted to her aunt and, as mrs. burton had no children of her own, was more like her own daughter. moreover, peggy and bettina graham, sally and alice ashton had been intimate friends since they were tiny children, long before they had any acquaintance with the later members of their camp fire group. peggy possessed a singularly vital personality and was generous, ardent and sweet.

“sally, if you love me do not speak of peggy’s absence or of her approaching marriage. she is too absurdly young! and yet i presume i must have given my consent as peggy declared she would not marry without it, although she and ralph merritt already feel they have waited a long time. sally, i feel as you do that our camp fire circle is becoming too small. perhaps we shall grow too centered in one another and not so helpful as we wish to be. what would you suggest as a remedy?”

there was no immediate reply, the other girls as well as sally ashton pondering the question.

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“why, i presume we ought to invite other girls to join our sunrise club,” sally answered a moment later. and although her reply was neither original nor startling, it was received with unsympathetic silence.

“you have the most unfortunate fashion, sally, of saying things other people would prefer not to hear,” alice ashton remarked with sisterly severeness. then, before any one else had an opportunity to speak, the living-room door opened and mrs. graham and bettina entered.

“glad you have arrived at last, betty, we have been waiting tea for you and bettina. i was just about to send one of the girls to find out what had become of you. vera has made a wonderful lot of toast and we don’t wish it to grow cold.”

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“sorry to have delayed you,” mrs. graham replied, “but the most extraordinary thing has occurred. i am glad to find all of you gathered together here at the same time. this morning the young fellow, allen drain, who had dinner with us, brought me a collection of his unpublished poems which he wished to have me read. they were in a black leather portfolio about a foot square. when i drove to saranac this morning i left the portfolio on a small table in bettina’s and my bedroom. since my return bettina and i have searched for more than an hour and can find no sign of it. did you, polly, or any of the girls take possession of it? i cannot believe aunt patricia would be interested. some one of course must have moved it. i don’t mean to be cross, but i think i should have been told. bettina and i have had an uncomfortable hour of searching. yet, whoever loved the poems better than i shall be forgiven as soon as they are restored to me.”

there was no immediate reply, mrs. burton, aunt patricia and the girls glancing at one another, each expecting the other to plead guilty.

“well, confess, please, won’t some one? i am sure the poet would be flattered if he learned what has occurred,” mrs. burton added. “i am sorry, betty. you should have come at once and asked, rather than tired yourself by searching.”

“never a sign of the poet’s manuscript have i beheld!” alice ashton returned.

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“i am guiltless, mrs. graham, but why did you not let me know so that i might have helped you look?” marguerite arnot answered.

one by one each separate member of the little circle announced an utter lack of information with regard to the lost portfolio, save mary gilchrist, who had gone on with her reading after bettina and her mother’s entrance into the living-room.

“mary, i wonder if by any chance you noticed the manuscript of the poems in mrs. graham’s room when i asked you to find a magazine for me this morning?” mrs. burton inquired.

mary gilchrist glanced up from the pages of her book, flushing slightly.

“no, i don’t recall seeing the manuscript, but really i cannot appreciate why mrs. graham should be so concerned. i have an idea the poems were of no value; probably some one thought they were waste paper and they were thrown into the fire.”

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“but, gill, i don’t believe you understand the situation,” bettina graham remonstrated. “whether or not the poems were of value they must represent years of work and thought to mr. drain. i have no doubt they mean more to him than we can well imagine. besides, the poems were entrusted to mother’s keeping and it would be simply too dreadful if they could not be found!”

shrugging her shoulders slightly, mary gilchrist resumed her reading, while mrs. graham sat down beside the camp fire guardian.

“don’t trouble, betty dear, i am distressed that you have been uneasy, but let’s have tea and then begin a more thorough search of the entire house. the manuscript of course is only tucked away somewhere out of sight and will soon be found. poor young poet, nothing so tragic could have happened as that his verse should be lost!”

“you don’t suppose, polly, that by any unlucky chance, if the portfolio is not discovered the boy has no copies of his verses? i scarcely dare face him unless the original manuscript which he gave to me this morning with such pride and pleasure, is restored. i cannot even face the idea that the effort of the boy’s lifetime may be destroyed.”

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“nonsense, mother, drink your tea and afterwards we will return to the search! nothing else has disappeared save the manuscript, which would scarcely attract an ordinary thief.”

“perhaps the poet himself returned mysteriously and bore off his own handiwork, unable to be so long without it,” mary gilchrist suggested. no one made a reply.