“Nonsense, Polly! You will not be able to be rid of me so promptly. And why should I be lonely with you and my own Bettina here? Certainly I have seen but little of either of you in these past years when you have been living and working in Europe. So long as my husband remains in the West and my son at college I shall stay with you until you, or more probably Aunt Patricia, drive me away. Do you know, Polly, actually I need to make my own daughter’s acquaintance, to earn her affection and confidence as you possess it. It is true, although I do not enjoy the confession, that I do seem to understand boys better than girls and more easily make friends with them. Tony and I have always been more intimate than I have ever managed to be with Bettina. The Slim Princess, as Andrew calls her, has been her father’s daughter more than mine. Polly dear, how have you managed to be so successful a Camp Fire guardian so many years? Frankly, I did not think it was in you! You were more reserved as a girl, more self-centered than the rest of us, because of course you were a genius, dear, and that means one must lead a more introspective life. Yet you have managed to be an artist and a wonderful Camp Fire guardian as well. How many different temperaments you have seen unfolded, how many girls you have helped through an infinite variety of experiences! I wonder if the other mothers are as jealous of you as I am?” “Don’t be ridiculous, Betty,” Mrs. Burton answered, none too amiably, since as a matter of fact amiability was not one of her ruling traits of character. “I have simply had a good time with my Sunrise Camp Fire girls, been as much of a friend to them as I have known how to be. And they have borne with my bad health and bad tempers with amazing sweetness and understanding. In truth, you realize, Betty, that this winter in the Adirondacks is not what I had hoped and planned for this winter. With all my heart I wished to go back to my stage work! I had discovered a wonderful new play and was intending to begin rehearsals as soon as I reached New York. Then this abominable illness of mine returned while we were in Ireland. I took a severe cold over there amid the Irish mists. So between my husband and Aunt Patricia Lord and half a dozen doctors, no choice was left me. The Camp Fire girls are here in the mountains with me for my consolation more than for their pleasure, I am afraid. We will have a shut-in winter together in this fairy land. I sometimes wonder what may happen to us after a time when the snows begin and this place is a great ice palace. But surely it is too lovely for me to complain! Look, dear, the evening star is just going down beyond the farthest hill: