“Well, you may now broaden your conceptions! I have been hunting since I was a little girl, was taught by my father a good many years ago. Do you know I have an idea, that were we to invite you to have dinner with us to-night, no one would enjoy the game I have just killed more than you. There are so many people in this world who like to sentimentalize and leave the hard work to others, while they enjoy the results. You were quite willing to remain on your couch of balsam needles this afternoon while we scoured the woods in search of you. Your plan is an excellent one, so long as it is successful. Never do the difficult or disagreeable tasks; always find some one to do them for you.” Ordinarily gay and sweet tempered, Bettina glanced at the younger girl in surprise. If Gill were wounded by the stranger’s speech, her revenge had been swift and sure. Evidently her point had struck home, since, although he appeared angry, he made no reply. By this time they had reached a spot so near their camp that Bettina herself recognized the environment. A white birch tree stood alone in a small clearing, rising thirty feet in the air; on this autumn afternoon the foliage was still so dense that one could barely see the light between the thick branches. Their path led past this tree only a few yards away. The three of them paused. Issuing from between the leaves came the note of an animal, or bird, wild and plaintive, yet unfamiliar. In an instant Mary Gilchrist loaded her rifle, lifted it and fired. The same instant Bettina gave a quick cry of warning. The next a small figure fell from the tree, limp and headlong as a wounded bird. CHAPTER II Half Moon Lake Bettina had the little figure stretched out with the head sloping downward and was opening her first aid kit with trembling fingers when the others reached her. Blood was staining the little girl’s Camp Fire dress and bright crimson sweater. “Get me some water at once, I don’t believe the wound is serious. You can trust me, I am studying surgery.” Bettina was gone for several moments. On her return she saw that the little victim’s eyes were open and that she was attempting to talk. The wound had proved only a flesh wound and the shot had not lodged in her arm, notwithstanding, their new acquaintance was making a careful investigation. A few feet away Mary Gilchrist stood, never having moved, or offered a word of apology, or of fear, or remorse. The face was an odd one, animated, filled with color and life; it was charming, yet once the color and animation departed, except for the fine eyes, the face was plain, the features were so irregular, the nose sky tipped, the lips too full, the chin revealing more character than beauty. Extremely pale, her expression at present was more sullen than sorrowful.