"I certainly am," said Hinpoha energetically, "and it isn't foolishness,
either. I've learned more since I have been a Camp Fire Girl than I did
in all the years before."

"Well, you may consider yourself graduated, then," said Aunt Phoebe,
drily, "for I'll have no such nonsense about me. I can teach you all you
need to know outside of what you learn in school."

"Camp Fire always had mother's fullest approval," said Hinpoha darkly.

"I dare say," returned her aunt. "But I want you to understand once for
all that I won't have any girls holding 'meetings' here, to upset the
house and break valuable ornaments."

"But you don't care if I go to them at other girls' houses, do you?"
asked Hinpoha, the fear gripping her that she was to be denied the
consolation of these weekly gatherings with the Winnebagos.

"I don't want you to have anything to do with that Camp Fire business,"
said Aunt Phoebe in a tone of finality, and Hinpoha left the room, her
heart swelling with bitterness. She was too wise to argue the point with
Aunt Phoebe, and resolved to depend on Nyoda to show her the way. She
dried her tears and went down to the living room and began to play
softly on the piano. It had been her mother's piano, the wedding gift of
her father, and it seemed that her mother's spirit hovered over it. It
was the first time she had touched the keys since that awful Wednesday
when the world had been turned into chaos; she had had no heart to play,
but to-day the sound of the music comforted her and her bitter resentment
against her aunt lost some of its sting. She played on, lost in