Ten minutes elapsed before Bettina rejoined her companion. She then discovered Mary Gilchrist seated upon an overturned log, her gun and game on the ground beside her, her hat in her lap, while she shook bits of brushwood, twigs and leaves from her hair and removed them from her apparel. The autumn sun shone through an arch of branches overhead on the red-brown of her hair, on her eyes so nearly the same color, on her healthy, lightly freckled skin, and her full, irregular lips. “I am glad the turn in the trail concealed the latter part of my prowess as a mountaineer, Bettina. I certainly came down swiftly enough toward the end. In fact, I had hard work holding on to my rifle,” Gill announced, shaking her head a second time so that a bronze leaf slid on to the earth. “But if I lost my dignity I did not lose my gun or game.” “You are not hurt, are you, Gill?” Bettina asked, looking with admiration and amusement at her companion. Then as she shook her head: “Do you know, Gill, it has been a curious fact in our Camp Fire life together, living as we have for the past few years in different places and under such a variety of conditions, to find here and there one of us discover the environment for which she must have been intended. Vera Lagerloff and Alice Ashton, for instance, were at their best when doing reconstruction work in France. You, Gill, were very busy and useful over there, and yet no one has known the real _you_ until these past few weeks in the mountains. Yet why should this be true when you lived all your past life in the western prairie country until your desire to drive a motor in France led you to join our Camp Fire and help with the relief work?” “I sometimes feel that I have not yet found my true environment. Do you remember the wonderful new play Tante read aloud the other evening, ‘Beyond the Horizon’, whose theme is that each human being must live in harmony with his own nature, else he will never find happiness or success?” Mary Gilchrist smiled.