Winona of the Camp Fire Part 43

"Thank you," yelled Helen.

They were offered, and took, drinks of water, and went on again.

"I think one of you might have asked some of the questions," said Helen indignantly.

"I'll ask one now!" defied Louise. "Far be it from me not to do my duty." She turned and ran back to where the old dame still rocked on her porch.

"Is it a good victrola?" she shouted.

The old lady shook her head.

"I wouldn't go so far's to say _that_," she answered. "Smart, though-awful smart and clever!"

Louise ran back to the others without asking any more questions.

"She says the talking machine isn't good, but awful smart and clever,"

she panted. "What _do_ you suppose she means?"

"I can't imagine," said Helen. "Anyway, we know how to get there."

The first lane, sure enough, led to a house, but there seemed to be no willows anywhere about it. Still houses often have names that have nothing to do with the facts, so the girls pressed on. The place had a vaguely familiar look to Winona and Louise.

"I'm sure I've come here before, by another way," said Winona.

"I haven't," said Helen. "You must have come by water. I think the river's somewhere back of us. If you ask me, I think one way's enough to come."

They lined up before the door and rang. But the bell, they discovered finally, was badly out of order. A "please knock" sign was blowing about the porch, they discovered still a little later. They knocked vigorously, and the door was finally unfastened by a draggled little girl of about eleven.

"Why-why, how do you do, Vicky!" said Louise in surprise. "Why, of course, Helen, this is Sandy's house. Only this isn't the same door, is it, that we came in by last time, Vicky?"

Vicky, who was as tousled as usual, shook her head.

"What's the matter?" she asked stolidly. "Has Sandy been naughty?"

"No, indeed," said Louise, "she's as good as gold. Can't we come in?"

for Vicky didn't seem to feel specially hospitable-she was holding the door on a crack, and was not her usual sunny self. "Sandy's around here somewhere-at least she's not in camp."

"Oh, yes," she said, and opened it wider. The girls filed in and sat down in the square hall, which was as littered as usual with clothes and paper bags and everything else that places are usually littered with.

"Look at that hole!" whispered Louise, forgetting her politeness as Vicky stood near them, not intending, evidently, to sit down and entertain them if she could help it. "There's more hole than stocking!"

It was quite true, but unfortunately Vicky had sharp ears.

"They're my own stockings," she said crossly, "and I like 'em with holes in."

"Oh, all right!" said Louise dryly. "Only they aren't usually worn that way."

"Can we speak to your uncle?" interposed Helen, for the air was becoming stormy.

"Isn't home," announced Vicky. "He had a cross fit and went out walking."

"Is anybody home?" asked Winona. "We came on business."

"You can do it with me, whatever it is," said Vicky, sitting down with the torn-stockinged leg under her.

Helen plunged straight into the business at hand.

"The old lady down the road said that this was the house where they had a victrola--" she started to say-and stopped in dismay over the effect of her words; Vicky flew into a temper and began to cry.

"I want you to go away from here-coming to make fun of me!" she sobbed, stamping her foot at them. Before they could answer she ran out of the room, leaving them staring at each other in surprise.

"Well, what on earth?" Winona slowly e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"Goodness only knows," said Louise. "Anyway, I seem to feel that she doesn't want to sell it to us."

"Well, no," a.s.sented Helen, and the three of them thoughtfully and slowly let themselves out at the door they had come in by.

They had gone only a little way back when they heard flying feet behind them.

"Wait a minute," panted Vicky, catching up to them. "I guess-perhaps-I'd better explain. I'm sorry I got mad. But-but my _name's_ Victrola!" She flushed painfully. Evidently it was hard for her to tell. "I thought you were just making fun of me, but I thought about it, and I guess you weren't. I know the place you want-it's a little further, up the next lane."

She started to run back, but Winona caught her hand and held her.

"Why, you poor dear!" she said. "I don't see why you mind. It's a very pretty name. But we weren't trying to make fun of you. We really want to buy a phonograph for the camp."

"They laugh at me-everybody does," faltered Vicky. "They were this morning-the boys down by the landing. That's why I was so cross. They pretend to wind me up, and-and I _hate_ it!"

"So would I," comforted Louise. "But you mustn't mind, Vicky. All my life the boys have called me 'Carrots,' and 'Reddy,' and things like that. There's no use caring. Look here, honey, I'll tell you what to do.

See if you haven't got a middle name you can use, or even one you ought to have had. Ask your uncle if there wasn't a middle name somebody almost gave you once, and if there was use it."

"I wonder if I could!" said Vicky, brightening. She reached down and pulled up one of her stockings, as if the prospect of a better name made her want to be tidy.

"Anyhow it's a pretty name," said Louise cheerfully. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"Yes, you would," said Vicky, as she turned back. "There down this lane's the place you can get-it."

It was Louise's turn to detain her this time.

"Vicky! Vicky!" she called. "Won't you and Sandy come down to Camp Karonya and stay overnight, to-morrow night? We're going to do some stunts-just to celebrate. The Scouts are coming over, and one or two of our pet particular friends."

"I don't know the way," said Vicky.

"Sandy does," said Louise and Winona together.

"Thank you," said Vicky sedately. "We'll come. And-please don't tell the others my name. I'll have the real one thought out by that time."

"Of course we won't," they promised.