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Updated: June 12, 2025
"I think I would rather stay with you, Aunt Phoebe," she said simply. And in the Desert of Waiting there blossomed a fragrant rose! The deferred celebration for Hinpoha's return into the Winnebago fold was held the following week.
Leaving her work unfinished, she hastened to Hinpoha's house. The news had just been learned there. Aunt Grace had fainted and was being revived with salts. Hinpoha flung herself on Nyoda and clung to her like a drowning person. Between neighbors and friends coming to sympathize and reporters from the newspapers seeking interviews the house was a pandemonium.
Hinpoha's most prominent trait in times past had not been neatness. Nyoda, who had been called in to make a final inspection before Hinpoha was satisfied, wondered if all the girls were "seeking beauty" as earnestly as Hinpoha was. She envied Hinpoha the homecoming of her mother from the bottom of her heart.
"What's that?" came in a startled tone from Hinpoha's room. "The doorbell," answered Sahwah, jumping out of bed and putting on her slippers. The other girls were awake by this time, calling to each other. The bell pealed again. "Don't you go to the door!" cried Hinpoha hoarsely, as she saw Sahwah preparing to go down. "It may be the artist coming back to kill us. I've heard of such things.
For instance, she left a bottle of bees standing on the table in her room, and Aunt Phoebe's dog Silky, who had been in the habit of going into the room and chewing Hinpoha's painted paddle, knocked the bottle over and let the bees out, getting badly stung in the process. Then there was a scene with Aunt Phoebe because she had brought the bees in.
"I laid her on Hinpoha's bed, because I think it's the softest, and, anyhow, it's the only one that doesn't sag in the middle. You don't mind, do you, Hinpoha?" "I mind?" asked Hinpoha reproachfully. "I'm only too glad to let her have it, the poor thing." "Are you perfectly sure we won't disturb her by going in?" asked Gladys again, at the door of the tent. The flaps were down all around.
The artist finally looked up, saw the four eager pairs of eyes fastened on him, and nodding in a friendly way, handed his sketch-book across the aisle. "Would you like to see them?" he asked genially, his eye lingering on Hinpoha's glory-crowned head with artistic appreciation. He himself looked like the typical artist one sees in pictures.
It gave her no small thrill of pleasure to write that note and tuck it under Hinpoha's hairbrush on the table: "Gone on a long hike with Mary Sylvester; won't be back until bed time." How delightfully important and prominent that sounded! The others admired Mary, too, but none of them had been invited to go on a long hike with her.
It was a girl's locket, heart-shaped, with a monogram engraved on the outside. Impulsively Sahwah opened it. Then she uttered an exclamation of surprise and gazed in round-eyed wonder at the picture inside. It was her own picture! The little snapshot she had given Hinpoha to wear in her locket! Why, it was Hinpoha's locket!
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