Let them believe that she had gone down after the dog. That
settled the matter once for all.

The stretcher arrived and she was carried to her tent, where Dr. Grayson
made a thorough examination of her injuries.

"Not serious," was his verdict, to everybody's immense relief. "Painful
bump on the head, but no real damage done, and back strained a little,
that's all."

Once more Agony was the camp heroine, and her tent was crowded all day
long with admirers. Miss Amesbury sat and read to her by the hour; the
camp cook made up special dishes and sent them out on a tray trimmed
with wild flowers; the camp orchestra serenaded her daily and nightly,
and half a dozen clever camp poets made up songs in her honor. Fame
comes easily in camps, and enthusiasm runs high while it lasts.

Agony reflected, in a grimly humorous way, that in the matter of fame
she had a sort of Midas touch; everything she did rebounded to her
glory, now that the ball was once started rolling. And worst of all was
the book that Edwin Langham had left for her, a beautiful copy of "The
Desert Garden," bound in limp leather with gold edged leaves. Inside the
cover was written in a flowing, beautiful hand:

"To A.C.W., in memory of a certain day in the woods.
From one who rejoices in a brave and noble deed.
Sincerely, Edwin Langham."

On the opposite page was written a quotation which Agony had been
familiar with ever since she had become a Winnebago:

"Love is the joy of service so deep that self is
forgotten."

She put the book away where she could not see it, but the words had
burned themselves into her brain.

"To A.C.W. From one who rejoices in a brave and noble
deed."

They mocked her in the dead of night, they taunted her in the light of
day. But, like the boy with the fox gnawing at his vitals, Agony
continued to smile and make herself agreeable, and no one ever suspected
that her gayety was not genuine.

CHAPTER XII

THE STUNT'S THE THING

"Where would a shipwreck look best, right by the dock, or farther up the
shore?" Sahwah's forehead puckered up with the force of her reflection.

"Oh, not right by the dock," said Jo Severance decidely. "That would be
too modern and--commonplace. It's lots more epic to be dashed against a
rocky cliff. All the shipwrecks in the books happen on stern and
rockbound coasts and things like that."

"It might be more epic for those who are looking on, but for the on