Bessie wasn’t afraid of what Wanaka would find out in Hedgeville.  Wanaka wouldn’t take Jake Hoover’s word against hers, that much was sure.  And she guessed that Wanaka would have her own ways of discovering the truth.  So, as Wanaka changed from her bathing suit to a costume better suited to the trip to the village, Bessie went out with a light heart to find Zara.  Already she thought that she saw the way clear before them.  With friends, there was no reason why they should not reach the city and make their own way there, as plenty of other girls had done.  And it seemed to Bessie that Wanaka meant to be a good friend.

“Oh, Bessie, have you been hearing all about the Camp Fire, too?” asked Zara, when she espied her friend, “It’s wonderful!  They do all sorts of things.  And Minnehaha is going to teach me to swim this afternoon.  She’ll teach you, too, if you like.”

But Bessie only smiled in answer.  She could swim already, but she said nothing about it, since no one asked her, seeming to take it for granted that, like Zara, she was unused to the water.  Moreover, while she could swim well enough, she was afraid that she would look clumsy and awkward in comparison to the Camp Fire Girls.  Most of them had changed their clothes now, before dinner.

Some wore short skirts and white blouses; one or two were in a costume that Bessie recognized at once as that of Indian maidens, from the pictures she had seen in the books she had managed to get at the Hoover farmhouse.  She noticed, too, that many of them now wore strings of beads, and that all wore rings.  Two or three of the girls, too, wore bracelets, strangely marked, and all had curious badges on their right sleeves.

“We’ve got to wash the dishes, now,” said Minnehaha, who bore out her name by laughing and smiling most of the time.  She had already told Zara that her real name was Margery Burton.  “You sit down and rest, and when we’ve done, we’ll talk to you and tell you more about the Camp Fire Girls and all the things we do.”

“No, indeed,” said Bessie, laughing back.  “That won’t do at all.  You cooked our meal; now we’ll certainly help to clean up.  That’s something I can do, and I’m going to help.”

Zara, too, insisted on doing her share, and the time passed quickly as the girls worked.  Then, when the things were cleaned and put away, and some preparations had been made for the evening meal, Zara begged to have her first swimming lesson at once.

“No, we’ll have to wait a little while for that,” said Minnehaha.  “We must wait until Wanaka comes back.  She’s our Guardian, you see, and it’s a rule that we mustn’t go into the water unless she’s here, no matter how well we swim, unless, of course, we have to, to help someone who is drowning.  And it’s too soon after dinner, too.  It’s bad for you to go into the water less than two hours after a meal.  We’re always careful about that, because we have to be healthy.  That’s one of the chief reasons we have the Camp Fire.”

“Tell us about it,” begged Zara, sitting down.

“You see this ring?” said Minnehaha, proudly.

She pointed to her ring, a silver band with an emblem,-seven fagots.

“We get a ring like that when we join,” she explained.  “That’s the Wood-Gatherer’s ring, and the National Council gives it to us.  Those seven fagots each stand for one of the seven points of the law of the fire.”

“What are they, Minnehaha?”

“They’re easy to remember:  ’Seek Beauty; Give Service; Pursue Knowledge; Be Trustworthy; Hold on to Health; Glorify Work; Be Happy.’  If you want to do all those things-and I guess everyone does-you can be a Wood-Gatherer.  Then, later on, you get to be a Fire-Maker, and, after that, a Torch-Bearer.  And when you get older, if you do well, you can be a Guardian, and be in charge of a Camp Fire yourself.  You see, there are Camp Fires all over.  There are a lot of them in our city, and in every city.  And there are more and more all the time.  The movement hasn’t been going on very long, but it’s getting stronger all the time.”

“Are you a Fire-Maker?”

“Not yet.  If I were, I’d wear a bracelet, like Ayu.  And instead of just having a bunch of fagots on my sleeve, there’d be a flame coming from them.  And then, when I get to be a Torch-Bearer, I’ll have a pin, as well as the ring and the bracelet, and there’ll be smoke on my badge, as well as fire and wood.  But you have to work hard before you can stop being a Wood-Gatherer and get to the higher ranks.  We all have to work all the time, you see.”

“I’ve had to work, too,” said Bessie.  “But this seems different because you enjoy your work.”

“That’s because we like to work.  We work because we want to do it, not because someone makes us.”

“Yes, I was thinking of that.  I always worked because I had to-Maw Hoover made me.”

“Who’s Maw Hoover, Bessie?”

So Bessie told her story, or most of it, all over again, and the other girls, seeing that she was telling a story, crowded around and listened.

“I think it’s a shame you were treated so badly,” said Minnehaha.  “But don’t you worry-Miss Eleanor will know what to do.  She won’t let them treat you unfairly.  Is she going to find out about things in the village?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you needn’t worry any more, then.  Why, one of the first things she did in the city, when she started this Camp Fire, was to get us all to work to get better milk for the babies in the poor parts, where the tenement houses are.  We all helped, but she did most of it.  And now all the milk is good and pure, and the babies don’t die any more in the hot weather in summer.”

“That’s fine.  I’d like to be a Camp Fire Girl.”

“Why shouldn’t you be one, then?”

“But-”

Bessie hesitated.

After all, why not?  Maw Hoover would never have let her do anything like that-but Maw Hoover couldn’t stop her from doing anything she liked now.  Wanaka had told her what Zara had always said, that Maw Hoover couldn’t make her stay, couldn’t make her keep on working hard every day for nothing but her board.  She had read about girls who had gone to the city and earned money, lots of money, without working any harder than she had always done.  Perhaps could do that, too.

“You talk to Wanaka about that when she comes back,” said Minnehaha, who guessed what Bessie was thinking.  “You see her.  She’ll explain it to you.  And you’re going to be happy, Bessie.  I’m sure of that.  When people do right, and still aren’t happy for a while, it’s always made up to them some way.  And usually when they do wrong they have to pay for it, some way or another.  That’s one of the things we learn in the Camp Fire.”

“Here comes Wanaka now,” said one of the other girls.  “There’s someone with her.”

Bessie looked frightened.

“I don’t want anyone from Hedgeville to see me,” she said.  “Do you suppose they’re coming here?”

“Wanaka will come first.  See, she’s staying on the other side of the lake.  It’s a man.  He’s carrying her things.  I’ll paddle over for her in a canoe.  I don’t think the man will come with her, but you and Zara go into the tent there.  Then you’ll be all right.  No one would ever think of your being here, or asking any questions.”

But Bessie watched anxiously.  She couldn’t make out the face of the man with Wanaka, as she peered from the door of the tent, but if he was from Hedgeville he would know her.  Everyone knew the girl at Hoovers’, whose father and mother had deserted her.  Bessie had long been one of the most interesting people in town to the farmers and the villagers, who had little to distract or amuse them.

“Stay quiet, Bessie,” warned Minnehaha, as she stepped into the canoe.  “You’ll be all right if you’re not seen.  I’ll bring Wanaka back right away.”

With swift, sure strokes, Minnehaha sent the canoe skimming over the water.  The other girls were busy in various ways.  Some were in the tents, changing their clothes for bathing suits; some had gone into the woods to get fresh water from a spring.  For the moment no one was in sight.  And suddenly, out of a clear sky, as it seemed, disaster threatened.  Clouds had been gathering for some time but the sun was still out, and there seemed no reason to fear any storm.

But now there was a sudden roughening of the smooth surface of the water; white caps were lashed up by a squall that broke with no warning at all.  And Bessie, filled with horror, saw the canoe overturned by the wind.  She saw, too, what eyes less quick would have missed-that the paddle, released from Minnehaha’s grasp as the boat upset, struck her on the head.

For a moment Bessie stood rooted to the spot in terror.  And then, when Minnehaha did not appear, swimming, Bessie acted.  Forgotten was the danger that she would be discovered-her fear of the man on the other side of the lake.  Wanaka might not have seen, and there was no time to lose.  The accident had occurred in the middle of the lake, and Bessie, rushing to the beach, pushed off a canoe and began to drive it toward the other canoe, floating quietly now, bottom up.  The squall had passed already.

Bessie had never been in a canoe before that day.  She made clumsy work of the paddling.  But fear for Minnehaha and the need of reaching her at once made up for any lack of skill.  Somehow she reached the spot.  By that time the other girls had seen what was going on, and help was coming quickly.  Some swam and some were in one of the other canoes.  But Bessie, catching a one of the most interesting people in town to the farmers and the villagers, who had little to distract or amuse them.

“Stay quiet, Bessie,” warned Minnehaha, as she stepped into the canoe.  “You’ll be all right if you’re not seen.  I’ll bring Wanaka back right away.”

With swift, sure strokes, Minnehaha sent the canoe skimming over the water.  The other girls were busy in various ways.  Some were in the tents, changing their clothes for bathing suits; some had gone into the woods to get fresh water from a spring.  For the moment no one was in sight.  And suddenly, out of a clear sky, as it seemed, disaster threatened.  Clouds had been gathering for some time but the sun was still out, and there seemed no reason to fear any storm.

But now there was a sudden roughening of the smooth surface of the water; white caps were lashed up by a squall that broke with no warning at all.  And Bessie, filled with horror, saw the canoe overturned by the wind.  She saw, too, what busy with Minnehaha, who soon showed signs of returning consciousness.  So Bessie did not see or hear what was going on outside.

For the man who had been standing with Wanaka on the other shore had seen Bessie, and he had known her.  No wonder, since it was Paw Hoover himself, from whom Wanaka had bought fresh vegetables for the camp.  He had insisted on helping her to carry them out, although Wanaka, thinking of Bessie and Zara, had told him she needed no help.  But she could not shake him off, and on the way he had told her about the exciting happenings of the previous day, of which, she told him, she had already heard in the village.

“By Godfrey!” said Paw Hoover, as he saw the rescue of Minnehaha, “that young one’s got pluck, so she has!  And, what’s more, Miss, I’ve a suspicion I’ve seen her before!”

Wanaka said nothing, but smiled.  What Paw Hoover had told her had done more to confirm the truth of Bessie’s story than all the talk she had heard in Hedgeville.  She liked the old farmer-and she wondered what he meant to do.  He didn’t leave her long in doubt.

“I’ll just go over with you,” he said, “if you’ll make out to ferry me back here again.”

And Wanaka dared not refuse.

“Had an idea you was askin’ a lot of questions,” said Paw Hoover, with a chuckle.  “Got lots of ideas I keep to myself-’specially at home.  An’ say, if that’s Bessie, I want to see her.”

Wanaka saw that there was some plan in his mind, and she knew that to try to ward him off would be dangerous.  There was nothing to prevent him from returning, later, with Weeks or anyone else.

“Bessie!” she called.  “Can you come out here a minute?”

And Bessie, coming out, came face to face with Paw Hoover!  She stared at him, frightened and astonished, but she held her ground.  And Paw Hoover’s astonishment was as great as her own.  This was a new Bessie he had never seen before.  She was neatly dressed now in one of Ayu’s blue skirts and white blouses, and one of the girls had done up her hair in a new way.

“Well, I swan!” he said.  “You’ve struck it rich, ain’t you, Bessie?  Aimin’ to run away and leave us?”

Bessie couldn’t answer, but Wanaka spoke up.

“You haven’t any real hold on her, Mr. Hoover,” she said.

“That’s right, that’s right!” said Paw Hoover.  “I cal’late you’ve had a hard time once in a while, Bessie.  An’ I don’t believe you ever set that shed afire on purpose.  If you hadn’t jumped into the water after that other girl I’d never have suspicioned you was here, Bessie.  You stay right with these young ladies, if they’ll have you.  I’ll not say a word.  An’ if you ever get into trouble, you write to me-see?”

He looked at her, and sighed.  Then he beckoned to her, and took her aside.

“Maw’s right set on havin’ her own way, Bessie,” he said.  “But she’s my wife, an’ she’s a good one, an’ if she makes mistakes, I’ve got to let her have her way.  Reckon I’ve made enough on ’em myself.  Here, you take this.  I guess you’ve earned it, right enough.  That fire didn’t do no real damage-nothin’ we can’t fix up in a day or two.”

Bessie’s eyes filled with tears.  Paw Hoover was simply proving again what she had always known-that he was a really good and kindly man.  She longed to tell him that she hadn’t set the barn on fire, that it had been Jake.  But she knew he would find it hard to believe that of his son, and that, even if he took her word for it, the knowledge would be a blow.  And it would do her no good, so she said nothing of that.

“Thank you, Paw,” she said.  “You always were good to me.  I’ll never forget you, and sometime I’ll come back to see you and all the others.  Good-bye!”

“Good-bye, Bessie,” he said.  “You be a good girl and you’ll get along all right.  And you stick to Miss Mercer there.  She’ll see that you get along.”

Not until he had gone did Bessie open her hand and look at the crumpled bill that Paw Hoover had left in it.  And then, to her amazed delight, she saw that it was a five-dollar note-more money than she had ever had.  She showed it to Wanaka.

“I oughtn’t to take it,” she said.  “He thinks I burned his woodshed and-”

“But you know you didn’t, and I think maybe he knows it, too,” said Wanaka, “You needn’t think anything of taking that money.  You’ve worked hard enough to earn a lot more than that.  Now I’ve found out that what you told me was just right.  I knew it all the time, but I made sure.  Bessie, how would you and Zara like to stay with us, and come back to the city when we go?  I’ll be able to find some way to look after you.  You can find work to do that won’t be so hard, and you can study, too.”

“Oh, I’d love that, Wanaka,” For the first time Bessie used the name freely.  “And can we be Camp Fire Girls?”

“You certainly can,” said Wanaka.