The Camp Fire Girls at the End of the Trail. Vandercook Margaret

morning. This excellent habit she had never liked as a girl and, of course, later on her stage life had made the custom well nigh impossible. Now, however, within the past few months of outdoor camping, she had changed and become that very doubtful early bird, or early worm, for one never can be sure which one may be – the winner of the morning prize or the victim.

      However, the coming of daylight in this extraordinary land of hills and deserts, of giant cliffs and fairy gardens, was worth a serious effort.

      At any rate this was Mrs. Burton’s impression. Frequently she used to slip out of her tent before any one else had awakened and watch the dawn above the blue San Francisco peaks spread itself slowly over the entire horizon. Afterwards she sometimes returned to bed and to sleep, or else read until the Camp Fire girls were in evidence.

      This morning it was a little before six o’clock when, getting into her clothes, she slipped out of doors. Quiet had to be preserved for, now that Mrs. Webster had arrived, she was sleeping in her sister’s tent, while another smaller tent had been put up not far off which Dan and Billy Webster were occupying together. Now, that Billy was so much better, his brother was able to look after him at night. Moreover their mother, after her siege of nursing, required the rest.

      For two reasons, therefore, Mrs. Burton departed without making the least disturbance. First, she wished her sister to continue sleeping, second, she did not wish her own plan interfered with. One never could be sure when Mollie would not take a stand against what she might consider an unnecessary eccentricity.

      Mrs. Burton’s desire was to see the sun rise above one of the canyons and to see it alone. Not the Grand Canyon itself; one still had a day’s journey down a precipitous trail from the Sunrise Hill camp for the best view of this amazing spectacle. She intended visiting one of the lesser canyons which was within reasonable walking distance.

      The pine forest was as gloomy and quiet as a dim old cathedral when Polly Burton started swiftly through it toward the neighborhood of the cliffs of the day before.

      There was a mist at the top of the trees hiding the first shafts of daylight. No other living human being was about. Only in one of the trees a screech owl, still under the impression that it was night, continued his curious wailing.

      Mrs. Burton was not frightened, but naturally she was a little nervous and keenly alive to every sight and sound. Always enjoying new emotions and new impressions; now the early morning walk alone in so strange a place was unlike any past experience she could recall.

      Not many miles away stood a fashionable hotel filled with tourists, who had come to Arizona to see the Grand Canyon. Yet here in the forest one appeared to be in a primeval world. Not so different could these forests have been in the prehistoric days of the cliff dwellers, whose ancient homes were in the nearby cliffs.

      Following the trail Polly Burton kept glancing from one side of the path to the other. Ridiculous, of course, but all through dinner the evening before Dan Webster had been regaling the girls with stories of the deer and bear supposed to live in the adjacent woods.

      Yet, in spite of her unfaith, there was always enough of the spirit of the adventurer in Mrs. Burton, left over from the one-time Polly O’Neill, to hope for the unexpected.

      Once in a place where the trees grew thicker than elsewhere, she half believed she saw a big, brown figure go lumbering off on all fours in the opposite direction. Nevertheless, without being interrupted in any way, she finally arrived at the ledge of cliffs where she had spent the afternoon before.

      Now, instead of stopping at the same place, she walked slowly along, carefully guarding each step. The morning light was a dull grey – the color of deep shadows. Slowly the sky was growing warmer and breaking into light, coloring the thick mist in the ravine below until it resembled a mammoth, iridescent soap bubble.

      Then the mist began to separate and to float upward like an army of ghostly figures.

      The effect was fascinating – even thrilling – and yet it was eery. To an imaginative person many fantastic ideas would have presented themselves. It was as if the spirits of evil persons having been enchained to do penance for their sins in the world below, and now, having expiated their misdeeds, were allowed to float upward. Sometimes they moved in pairs, gradually drifting apart as they reached the higher air. Now and then a more lonely ghost, appearing as if wrapped about in a cloak of silver mist, would pursue his upward flight alone.

      Mrs. Burton felt more than repaid for her trip, yet regretted that she had not brought one of the girls with her. Bettina would perhaps have enjoyed the spectacle most. The Camp Fire guardian was beginning to understand Bettina Graham better than she had in their past Camp Fire experience. But her desire was not purely unselfish, for she was nervous.

      The scene was almost too beautiful and mysterious to be witnessed by oneself. Besides, in the past few months she had grown so accustomed to being in the society of the Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls that she was almost uncomfortable any great length of time without them.

      Now it would have been pleasant to have heard Bettina’s pretty fancies, or to have had Peggy dispel the mists by a practical suggestion, or to have listened to Alice’s or Ellen’s scientific explanation of clouds, or to have beheld Sally and Gerry giggling irresponsibly over something which had nothing to do with mists or ghosts or canyons.

      Yet Mrs. Burton lingered until the dawn had fully come and all the sky was rose crimson. Then, glancing at her watch, she started toward camp.

      In another half hour the girls would be up and preparing breakfast. As no one knew where she had disappeared it was possible that her Sister Mollie might become uneasy.

      Once in the woods again she walked more hurriedly, not only because she feared being late, but for another more absurd reason. Unexpectedly Mrs. Burton had the sensation of being followed.

      She did not see any one or anything, and was not even sure that she heard distinctly. Nevertheless her impression was vivid.

      Twice she stopped and waited; once she called aloud; the second time, very like the one-time Polly O’Neill, she stamped her foot, crying out:

      “If any one is playing a prank on me, please understand that I am weary of it.”

      There was no answer. However, afterwards she had no longer the sensation of being pursued.

      At camp Sally Ashton and Gerry Williams were busy preparing breakfast. Camp life was at least eventful when these two girls were at work.

      Really, once stirred out of her slothfulness, Sally Ashton, who was essentially feminine, was an extraordinarily good cook. However, she required several persons to wait upon her while she was at work.

      This morning, in honor of Mrs. Webster, she was making a new cornmeal bread from a recipe which the Indian girl, Dawapa, had taught her.

      She had Dan Webster engaged in assisting her. Dan not only brought fresh wood for her fire every few moments, but in between his pilgrimages watched with anxiety the cakes slowly browning in the hot ashes. Sally was never content unless she had at least one man or boy engaged in her active service. As a matter of fact if one were about she did not find this difficult to accomplish.

      She waved a plump little hand toward their guardian when Mrs. Burton strolled into camp. Over the great pan of bacon she was frying Gerry Williams threw her a kiss.

      There was no one else about. A little tired from her walk, Mrs. Burton sat down a short distance from the fire, for the warmth was pleasant, and, embracing her knees, began rocking slowly back and forward just as Polly O’Neill had always done when she wished to work out a problem.

      Mrs. Burton was again considering her group of Camp Fire girls. How pretty Sally looked! Her hair lay in soft brown curls over her white forehead. She did not tan as the other girls. At the moment her big brown eyes were shining with an animation she did not always show. She was wearing a big apron over her Camp Fire dress.

      Deliciously domestic Sally appeared to be working out-of-doors! For, although Sally did belong to the type of women whom we choose to call especially feminine, she had gone far beyond the history of the primitive woman. Sally’s idea was to enslave, certainly not to be enslaved.

      In