WINONA OF THE
CAMP FIRE
By MARGARET WIDDEMER
Author of
“Winona of Camp Karonya,” “Winona’s War
Farm,” “Winona’s Way.”
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers—New York
Published by arrangement with J. B. Lippincott Company
Printed in U. S. A.
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
WINONA OF THE CAMP FIRE
7CHAPTER ONE
The room they called the Den in Winnie Merriam’shouse was dark, except for the leaping wood-fire inthe big stone fireplace. Around the fire sat and lay fivegirls. They had been toasting marshmallows, but theywere past the point where you eat the toasted ones withpleasure, or even steal the raw ones—which don’t tasteburnt—to eat surreptitiously.
“Helen Bryan, you’ve been feeding Puppums allyour marshmallows for the last ten minutes,” accusedWinnie, sitting up. She had been draping herselfalong a pile of cushions for the last fifteen minutes—thinking,evidently, for she had been quiet—a veryunusual thing for chattering Winnie.
Winnie Merriam was fourteen, but people usuallytook her for a year older, because of her slim height.She had big blue eyes in a face that was not regularlypretty, perhaps, but so gay and pink-cheeked and quick-smilingthat people always said she was pretty—whichdoes quite as well.
Her chum, Helen, defiantly fed a last marshmallowto the fat near-fox-terrier in the centre of the circle,who didn’t particularly seem to want it.
“I’ve got to be polite to my hostess’s dog, haven’t8I?” she retorted. “And he asked for them so pathetically!”
“I expect the poor old pup will look more patheticthis time to-morrow,” said Winnie. “He’ll probablylook like Buster Brown’s Tige in the last pictures—bothpaws up over his aching head. Then you’ll haveto come back here and hold ice on his fevered brow,won’t she, Puppums?”
“Or yours, maybe,” suggested Marie Hunter, thequiet brown girl in the corner. “What’s the matter,Win? You haven’t said a word for ages. I’ve beenwatching you.”
“I’ve been thinking!” explained Winnie, noddingher curly brown head with dignity.
“For the first time?” suggested Helen. “Don’tdo it if it hurts, honey.”
“No,” said Winnie placidly