thing which made the girls realize that their amazing adventures of the first week in September had been a reality and not a dream.

“In a village in eastern Hungary,” began Nyoda, “there lived a girl about your age. Her father was a very wealthy man, and lived on a great estate. Veronica—that was the girl’s name—was the only child, and had everything that her heart desired. The thing she loved to do the best was ride horse-back and she had a beautiful horse for her very own. She showed great talent on the violin and had the best masters. Veronica grew to be seventeen as happy as a girl could be, with an indulgent father and a beautiful, sweet mother. Then a dreadful thing happened. War was declared in the country and the village where they lived was taken by the enemy. Her father was killed, their home was burned and her mother died. Veronica, with the rest of the people in the village, ran away toward the mountains when the village burned. But Veronica became separated from her friends and fell, and could not get up again, for her leg was broken. She lay there a long time, and gave herself up for lost, when she heard a whinny beside her and there was her pet horse, who had been following her all the way. She managed to swing herself up on his back and he galloped away to the safety of the mountains. They found their way across the border into another country where some kind people took care of the orphan girl. The faithful horse fell after he had brought her to safety and hurt himself so badly that he had to be shot. The people who took care of Veronica sent her across the ocean to her aunt and uncle. So, sad and lonesome, she came to this country to be an American.”

Here Nyoda paused for breath, and Hinpoha burst out quickly, “Oh, how I wish this had happened in our time and that poor lonely girl had come to this city and we had met her and made her happy. Wouldn’t we be kind to her, though, if we had a chance?”

Nyoda proceeded quietly. “All this has happened in your time, and this lonesome girl has come to our city, and you are going to have a chance to be kind to her often.”

“Nyoda!” shrieked all the girls at once. “You mean she lives in our city, and you actually know her?” “Where does she live?” “When will we see her?” “What is her whole name?” “How old did you say she was?”

“Have mercy!” exclaimed Nyoda, putting her hands over her ears. “I can only answer ten questions at once. Veronica’s uncle is Mr. Lehar, the conductor of the Temple Theatre orchestra. I live next door to them, you know, and am well acquainted with Mrs. Lehar. She told me about Veronica some time ago and last week she went to New York to get her. I immediately asked her to allow her niece to join the Winnebago group, if you girls were willing to take her, that she might not be lonely here. Will you take her in, girls?”

“We certainly will!” cried Gladys and Hinpoha in a breath, and Sahwah sprang to her feet exclaiming vehemently, “Well, I guess so!”

“When is she coming?” they wanted to know next.

“I’ll bring her to the next meeting,” promised Nyoda, “and I want you girls to—”

What it was she wanted them to do they never found out, for just at that minute there was a terrific thump on the floor below followed by the hurried clatter of heavy footsteps, then the scraping of feet on the ladder, a great waving and billowing of the curtain at the top and then it was wrenched aside, and into the Council Chamber there burst the fattest boy they had ever seen. His great cheeks hung down over his collar; his eyes were nearly buried. His face was purple from violent exertion and he sat limply against the bearskin bed, panting heavily. The girls stared open-mouthed at the intruder. Before they had recovered sufficiently from their astonishment to utter a single word, the barn below was filled with the noise of many footsteps and the shouting of many voices, and the next minute the sacred Council Chamber of the Winnebagos was filled to overflowing with boys.

At the sight of the lighted chamber and the girls in Indian costumes the intruders stopped and stared in speechless surprise. Then with one accord seven hats were snatched from as many heads and seven voices exclaimed as one, “Beg pardon, we didn’t know anyone was here.”

It was so funny to hear them all saying the same thing at once that the Winnebagos could not help laughing aloud. The confusion of the boys was so painful that the girls actually felt sorry for them.

“There are only seven of you,” said Sahwah, as usual breaking the silence first. “I thought at first there were hundreds.”

Here one of the boys found his voice to speak. He was a tall boy with curly brown hair and nice eyes, and his face was suffused with blushes of embarrassment. “Sorry to disturb you girls,” he said soberly, but with a twinkle in his eye. “We were chasing him”—and he pointed to the fat boy still puffing away for dear life on the floor—“and we couldn’t see any light from the outside and we didn’t know anybody was up here and when Slim ran in we just followed him. We’ll go right away again, and let you go on with your meeting.”

Nyoda looked from one face to the other—nice refined boys they were, she decided, and it would do no hurt to show them courtesy. “You needn’t be in such a great hurry to go,” she said cordially. “You may at least stay until you have recovered your breath.” And she looked quizzically at the fat boy leaning against the bearskins who did not seem ever to be going to breathe again.

He tried to show his appreciation of her hospitality by getting up and making a bow, which threw him into such an advanced stage of breathlessness that he sank down again directly and had to be fanned. This caused another general laugh and the boys and girls rubbed elbows so closely trying to revive him that all feeling of embarrassment vanished and it suddenly seemed as if they were old friends, in spite of the fact that none of them knew the others’ names. Nyoda came to herself with a start.

“Excuse us, boys,” she said, “for not introducing ourselves. I am Miss Kent, Guardian of the Winnebago Camp Fire Girls, and these are the Winnebagos,” and she named them in order. “We were having a rather doleful time when you arrived. You broke up the spell of gloom and we are deeply grateful.”

The tall boy spoke again, this time smiling broadly. “We’re the ones who ought to apologize for not introducing ourselves,” he said in a pleasant voice, “since we have caused so much disturbance. We’re the Sandwich Club,” he continued, including all the boys in a sweeping gesture of his hand. “We go to Carnegie Mechanic. That’s Slim over there,” he said, pointing to the fat one, while all the girls laughed. “His real name’s Lewis Carlton, but it’s so long since anyone has called him that that he’s forgotten what it is himself. We chase him all over the country to reduce him, but sometimes he gives us the slip and hides and it takes us so long to find him that in the meantime he gains more than he lost while we were chasing him.”

The girls fairly shouted at this and Slim doubled up a cushion-like fist and declared in a choking voice that if the fellows didn’t leave him in peace he’d sit down on them some day and that would be the end of them. The tall boy who was doing the introducing smiled sweetly at Slim and went on with the introductions.

“This one,” he said, indicating an extremely thin, hungry-looking, gaunt-featured lad with sombre brown eyes and a grave mouth, “is Bill Pitt. ‘Bottomless Pitt,’ we call him, because it’s