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When Sadie arrived at Camp Cataract it was raining hard.

“This shingled building is the main lodge,” the hack driver said to her. “The ceiling in there is three times higher than average, if you like that style. Go up on the porch and just walk in. You’ll get a kick out of it.”

Sadie reached into her pocketbook for some money.

“My wife and I come here to drink beer when we’re in the mood,” he continued, getting out his change. “If there’s nobody much inside, don’t get panicky; the whole camp goes to the movies on Thursday nights. The wagon takes them and brings them back. They’ll be along soon.”

After thanking him she got out of the cab and climbed the wooden steps on to the porch. Without hesitating she opened the door. The driver had not exaggerated; the room was indeed so enormous that it suggested a gymnasium. Wicker chairs and settees were scattered from one end of the floor to the other and numberless sawed-off tree stumps had been set down to serve as little tables.

Sadie glanced around her and then headed automatically for a giant fireplace, difficult to reach because of the accumulation of chairs and settees that surrounded it. She threaded her way between these and stepped across the hearth into the cold vault of the chimney, high enough to shelter a person of average stature. The andirons, which reached to her waist, had been wrought in the shape of witches. She fingered their pointed iron hats. “Novelties,” she murmured to herself without enthusiasm. “They must have been especially made.” Then, peering out of the fireplace, she noticed for the first time that she was not alone. Some fifty feet away a fat woman sat reading by the light of an electric bulb.

“She doesn’t even know I’m in the fireplace,” she said to herself. “Because the rain’s so loud, she probably didn’t hear me come in.” She waited patiently for a while and then, suspecting that the woman might remain oblivious to her presence indefinitely, she called over to her. “Do you have anything to do with managing Camp Cataract?” she asked, speaking loudly so that she could be heard above the rain.

The woman ceased reading and switched her big light off at once, since the strong glare prevented her seeing beyond the radius of the bulb.

“No, I don’t,” she answered in a booming voice. “Why?”

Sadie, finding no answer to this question, remained silent.

“Do you think I look like a manager?” the woman pursued, and since Sadie had obviously no intention of answering, she continued the conversation by herself.

“I suppose you might think I was manager here, because I’m stout, and stout people have that look; also I’m about the right age for it. But I’m not the manager … I don’t manage anything, anywhere. I have a domineering cranium all right, but I’m more the French type. I’d rather enjoy myself than give orders.”

“French…” Sadie repeated hesitantly.

“Not French,” the woman corrected her. “French type, with a little of the actual blood.” Her voice was cold and severe.

For a while neither of them spoke, and Sadie hoped the conversation had drawn to a definite close.

“Individuality is my god,” the woman announced abruptly, much to Sadie’s disappointment. “That’s partly why I didn’t go to the picture show tonight. I don’t like doing what the groups do, and I’ve seen the film.” She dragged her chair forward so as to be heard more clearly. “The steadies here—we call the ones who stay more than a fortnight steadies—are all crazy to get into birds-of-a-feather-flock-together arrangements. If you look around, you can see for yourself how clubby the furniture is fixed. Well, they can go in for it, if they want, but I won’t. I keep my chair out in the open here, and when I feel like it I take myself over to one circle or another … there’s about ten or twelve circles. Don’t you object to the confinement of a group?”

“We haven’t got a group back home,” Sadie answered briefly.

“I don’t go in for group worship either,” the woman continued, “any more than I do for the heavy social mixing. I don’t even go in for individual worship, for that matter. Most likely I was born to such a vigorous happy nature I don’t feel the need to worry about what’s up there over my head. I get the full flavor out of all my days whether anyone’s up there or not. The groups don’t allow for that kind of zip … never. You know what rotten apples in a barrel can do to the healthy ones.”

Sadie, who had never before met an agnostic, was profoundly shocked by the woman’s blasphemous attitude. “I’ll bet she slept with a lot of men she wasn’t married to when she was younger,” she said to herself.

“Most of the humanity you bump into is unhealthy and nervous,” the woman concluded, looking at Sadie with a cold eye, and then without further remarks she struggled out of her chair and began to walk toward a side door at the other end of the room. Just as she approached it the door was flung open from the other side by Beryl, whom the woman immediately warned of the new arrival. Beryl, without ceasing to spoon some beans out of a can she was holding, walked over to Sadie and offered to be of some assistance. “I can show you rooms,” she suggested. “Unless you’d rather wait till the manager comes back from the movies.”

When she realized, however, after a short conversation with Sadie, that she was speaking to Harriet’s sister, a malevolent scowl darkened her countenance, and she spooned her beans more slowly.

“Harriet didn’t tell me you were coming,” she said at length; her tone was unmistakably disagreeable.

Sadie’s heart commenced to beat very fast as she in turn realized that this woman in plus-fours was the waitress, Beryl, of whom Harriet had often spoken in her letters and at home.

“It’s a surprise,” Sadie told her. “I meant to come here before. I’ve been promising Harriet I’d visit her in camp for a long time now, but I couldn’t come until I got a neighbor in to cook for Evy and Bert. They’re a husband and wife … my sister Evy and her husband Bert.”

“I know about those two,” Beryl remarked sullenly. “Harriet’s told me all about them.”

“Will you please take me to my sister’s cabin?” Sadie asked, picking up her valise and stepping forward.

Beryl continued to stir her beans around without moving.

“I thought you folks had some kind of arrangement,” she said. She had recorded in her mind entire passages of Harriet’s monologues out of love for her friend, although she felt no curiosity concerning the material she had gathered. “I thought you folks were supposed to stay in the apartment while she was away at camp.”

“Bert Hoffer and Evy have never visited Camp Cataract,” Sadie answered in a tone that was innocent of any subterfuge.

“You bet they haven’t,” Beryl pronounced triumphantly. “That’s part of the arrangement. They’re supposed to stay in the apartment while she’s here at camp; the doctor said so.”

“They’re not coming up,” Sadie repeated, and she still wore, not the foxy look that Beryl expected would betray itself at any moment, but the look of a person who is attentive though being addressed in a foreign language. The waitress sensed that all her attempts at starting a scrap had been successfully blocked for the present and she whistled carefully, dragging some chairs into line with a rough hand. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, ceasing her activities as suddenly as she had begun them. “Instead of taking you down there to the Pine Cones—that’s the name of the grove where her cabin is—I’ll go myself and tell her to come up here to the lodge. She’s got some nifty rain equipment so she won’t get wet coming through the groves like you would … lots of pine trees out there.”

Sadie nodded in silence and walked over to a fantasy chair, where she sat down.

“They get a lot of fun out of that chair. When they’re drunk,” said Beryl pointing to its back, made of a giant straw disc. “Well … so long.…” She strode away. “Dear Valley…” Sadie heard her sing as she went out the door.

Sadie lifted the top off the chair’s left arm and pulled two books out of its woven hamper. The larger volume was entitled The Growth and Development of the Texas Oil Companies, and the smaller, Stories from Other Climes. Hastily she replaced them and closed the lid.

*  *  *  *  *

Harriet opened the door for Beryl and quickly shut it again, but even in that instant the wooden flooring of the threshold was thoroughly soaked with rain. She was wearing a lavender kimono with a deep ruffle at the neckline; above it her face shone pale with dismay at Beryl’s late and unexpected visit. She feared that perhaps the waitress was drunk. “I’m certainly not hacking out a free place for myself in this world just in order to cope with drunks,” she said to herself with bitter verve. Her loose hair was hanging to her shoulders and Beryl looked at it for a moment in mute admiration before making her announcement.

“Your sister Sadie’s up at the lodge,” she said, recovering herself; then, feeling embarrassed, she shuffled over to her usual seat in the darkest corner of the room.

“What are you saying?” Harriet questioned her sharply.

“Your sister Sadie’s up at the lodge,” she repeated, not daring to look at her. “Your sister Sadie who wrote you the letter about the apartment.”

“But she can’t be!” Harriet screeched. “She can’t be! It was all arranged that no one was to visit me here.”

“That’s what I told her,” Beryl put in.

Harriet began pacing up and down the floor. Her pupils were dilated and she looked as if she were about to lose all control of herself. Abruptly she flopped down on the edge of the bed and began gulping in great draughts of air. She was actually practicing a system which she believed had often saved her from complete hysteria, but Beryl, who knew nothing about her method, was horrified and utterly bewildered. “Take it easy,” she implored Harriet. “Take it easy!”

“Dash some water in my face,” said Harriet in a strange voice, but horror and astonishment anchored Beryl securely to her chair, so that Harriet was forced to stagger over to the basin and manage by herself. After five minutes of steady dousing she wiped her face and chest with a towel and resumed her pacing. At each instant the expression on her face was more indignant and a trifle less distraught. “It’s the boorishness of it that I find so appalling,” she complained, a suggestion of theatricality in her tone which a moment before had not been present. “If she’s determined to wreck my schemes, why doesn’t she do it with some style, a little slight bit of cunning? I can’t picture anything more boorish than hauling oneself onto a train and simply chugging straight up here. She has no sense of scheming, of intrigue in the grand manner … none whatever. Anyone meeting only Sadie would think the family raised potatoes for a living. Evy doesn’t make a much better impression, I must say. If they met her they’d decide we were all clerks! But at least she goes to business.… She doesn’t sit around thinking about how to mess my life up all day. She thinks about Bert Hoffer. Ugh!” She made a wry face.

“When did you and Sadie start fighting?” Beryl asked her.

“I don’t fight with Sadie,” Harriet answered, lifting her head proudly. “I wouldn’t dream of fighting like a common fishwife. Everything that goes on between us goes on undercover. It’s always been that way. I’ve always hidden everything from her ever since I was a little girl. She’s perfectly aware that I know she’s trying to hold me a prisoner in the apartment out of plain jealousy and she knows too that I’m afraid of being considered a bum, and that makes matters simpler for her. She pretends to be worried that I might forget myself if I left the apartment and commit a folly with some man I wasn’t married to, but actually she knows perfectly well that I’m as cold as ice. I haven’t the slightest interest in men … nor in women either for that matter; still if I stormed out of the apartment dramatically the way some do, they might think I was a bum on my way to a man … and I won’t give Sadie that satisfaction, ever. As for marriage, of course I admit I’m peculiar and there’s a bit wrong with me, but even so I shouldn’t want to marry: I think the whole system of going through life with a partner is repulsive in every way.” She paused, but only for a second. “Don’t you imagine, however,” she added severely, looking directly at Beryl, “don’t you imagine that just because I’m a bit peculiar and different from the others, that I’m not fussy about my life. I am fussy about it, and I hate a scandal.”

“To hell with sisters!” Beryl exclaimed happily. “Give ’em all a good swift kick in the pants.” She had regained her own composure watching the color return to Harriet’s cheeks and she was just beginning to think with pleasure that perhaps Sadie’s arrival would serve to strengthen the bond of intimacy between herself and Harriet, when this latter buried her head in her lap and burst into tears. Beryl’s face fell and she blushed at her own frivolousness.

“I can’t any more,” Harriet sobbed in anguished tones. “I can’t … I’m old … I’m much too old.” Here she collapsed and sobbed so pitifully that Beryl, wringing her hands in grief, sprang to her side, for she was a most tenderhearted person toward those whom she loved. “You are not old … you are beautiful,” she said, blushing again, and in her heart she was thankful that Providence had granted her the occasion to console her friend in a grief-stricken moment, and to compliment her at the same time.

After a bit, Harriet’s sobbing subsided, and jumping up from the bed, she grabbed the waitress. “Beryl,” she gasped, “you must run back to the lodge right away.” There was a beam of cunning in her tear-filled eyes.

“Sure will,” Beryl answered.

“Go back to the lodge and see if there’s a room left up there, and if there is, take her grip into it so that there will be no question of her staying in my cabin. I can’t have her staying in my cabin. It’s the only place I have in the whole wide world.” The beam of cunning disappeared again and she looked at Beryl with wide, frightened eyes. “… And if there’s no room?” she asked.

“Then I’ll put her in my place,” Beryl reassured her. “I’ve got a neat little cabin all to myself that she can have and I’ll go bunk in with some dopey waitress.”

“Well, then,” said Harriet, “go, and hurry! Take her grip to a room in the upper lodge annex or to your own cabin before she has a chance to say anything, and then come straight back here for me. I can’t get through these pine groves alone … now … I know I can’t.” It did not occur to her to thank Beryl for the kind offer she had made.

“All right,” said the waitress, “I’ll be back in a jiffy and don’t you worry about a thing.” A second later she was lumbering through the drenched pine groves with shining eyes.

*  *  *  *  *

When Beryl came into the lodge and snatched Sadie’s grip up without a word of explanation, Sadie did not protest. Opposite her there was an open staircase which led to a narrow gallery hanging halfway between the ceiling and the floor. She watched the waitress climbing the stairs, but once she had passed the landing Sadie did not trouble to look up and follow her progress around the wooden balcony overhead.

A deep chill had settled into her bones, and she was like a person benumbed. Exactly when this present state had succeeded the earlier one Sadie could not tell, nor did she think to ask herself such a question, but a feeling of dread now lay like a stone in her breast where before there had been stirring such powerful sensations of excitement and suspense. “I’m so low,” she said to herself. “I feel like I was sitting at my own funeral.” She did not say this in the spirit of hyperbolic gloom which some people nurture to work themselves out of a bad mood, but in all seriousness and with her customary attitude of passivity; in fact, she wore the humble look so often visible on the faces of sufferers who are being treated in a free clinic. It did not occur to her that a connection might exist between her present dismal state and the mission she had come to fulfill at Camp Cataract, nor did she take any notice of the fact that the words which were to enchant Harriet and accomplish her return were no longer welling up in her throat as they had done all the past week. She feared that something dreadful might happen, but whatever it was, this disaster was as remotely connected with her as a possible train wreck. “I hope nothing bad happens…” she thought, but she didn’t have much hope in her.

Harriet slammed the front door and Sadie looked up. For the first second or two she did not recognize the woman who stood on the threshold in her dripping rubber coat and hood. Beryl was beside her; puddles were forming around the feet of the two women. Harriet had rouged her cheeks rather more highly than usual in order to hide all traces of her crying spell. Her eyes were bright and she wore a smile that was fixed and hard.

“Not a night fit for man or beast,” she shouted across to Sadie, using a voice that she thought sounded hearty and yet fashionable at the same time; she did this, not in order to impress her sister, but to keep her at a safe distance.

Sadie, instead of rushing to the door, stared at her with an air of perplexity. To her Harriet appeared more robust and coarse-featured than she had five weeks ago at the apartment, and yet she knew that such a rapid change of physiognomy was scarcely possible. Recovering, she rose and went to embrace her sister. The embrace failed to reassure her because of Harriet’s wet rubber coat, and her feeling of estrangement became more defined. She backed away.

Upon hearing her own voice ring out in such hearty and fashionable tones, Harriet had felt crazily confident that she might, by continuing to affect this manner, hold her sister at bay for the duration of her visit. To increase her chances of success she had determined right then not to ask Sadie why she had come, but to treat the visit in the most casual and natural way possible.

“Have you put on fat?” Sadie asked, at a loss for anything else to say.

“I’ll never be fat,” Harriet replied quickly. “I’m a fruit lover, not a lover of starches.”

“Yes, you love fruit,” Sadie said nervously. “Do you want some? I have an apple left from my lunch.”

Harriet looked aghast. “Now!” she exclaimed. “Beryl can tell you that I never eat at night; in fact I never come up to the lodge at night, never. I stay in my cabin. I’ve written you all about how early I get up … I don’t know anything about the lodge at night,” she added almost angrily, as though her sister had accused her of being festive.

“You don’t?” Sadie looked at her stupidly.

“No, I don’t. Are you hungry, by the way?”

“If she’s hungry,” put in Beryl, “we can go into the Grotto Room and I’ll bring her the food there. The tables in the main dining room are all set up for tomorrow morning’s breakfast.”

“I despise the Grotto,” said Harriet with surprising bitterness. Her voice was getting quite an edge to it, and although it still sounded fashionable it was no longer hearty.

“I’m not hungry,” Sadie assured them both. “I’m sleepy.”

“Well, then,” Harriet replied quickly, jumping at the opportunity, “we’ll sit here for a few minutes and then you must go to bed.”

The three of them settled in wicker chairs close to the cold hearth. Sadie was seated opposite the other two, who both remained in their rubber coats.

“I really do despise the Grotto,” Harriet went on. “Actually I don’t hang around the lodge at all. This is not the part of Camp Cataract that interests me. I’m interested in the pine groves, my cabin, the rocks, the streams, the bridge, and all the surrounding natural beauty … the sky also.”

Although the rain still continued its drumming on the roof above them, to Sadie, Harriet’s voice sounded intolerably loud, and she could not rid herself of the impression that her sister’s face had grown fatter. “Now,” she heard Harriet saying in her loud voice, “tell me about the apartment.… What’s new, how are the dinners coming along, how are Evy and Bert?”

Fortunately, while Sadie was struggling to answer these questions, which unaccountably she found it difficult to do, the stout agnostic reappeared, and Harriet was immediately distracted.

“Rover,” she called gaily across the room, “come and sit with us. My sister Sadie’s here.”

The woman joined them, seating herself beside Beryl, so that Sadie was now facing all three.

“It’s a surprise to see you up at the lodge at night, Hermit,” she remarked to Harriet without a spark of mischief in her voice.

“You see!” Harriet nodded at Sadie with immense satisfaction, “I was not fibbing, was I? How are Evy and Bert?” she asked again, her face twitching a bit. “Is the apartment hot?”

Sadie nodded.

“I don’t know how long you plan to stay,” Harriet rattled on, feeling increasingly powerful and therefore reckless, “but I’m going on a canoe trip the day after tomorrow for five days. We’re going up the river to Pocahontas Falls.… I leave at four in the morning, too, which rather ruins tomorrow as well. I’ve been looking forward to this trip ever since last spring when I applied for my seat, back at the apartment. The canoes are limited, and the guides.… I’m devoted to canoe trips, as you know, and can fancy myself a red-skin all the way to the Falls and back, easily.”

Sadie did not answer.

“There’s nothing weird about it,” Harriet argued. “It’s in keeping with my hatred of industrialization. In any case, you can see what a chopped-up day tomorrow’s going to be. I have to make my pack in the morning and I must be in bed by eight-thirty at night, the latest, so that I can get up at four. I’ll have only one real meal, at two in the afternoon. I suggest we meet at two behind the souvenir booth; you’ll notice it tomorrow.” Harriet waited expectantly for Sadie to answer in agreement to this suggestion, but her sister remained silent.

“Speaking of the booth,” said Rover, “I’m not taking home a single souvenir this year. They’re expensive and they don’t last.”

“You can buy salt-water taffy at Gerald’s Store in town,” Beryl told her. “I saw some there last week. It’s a little stale but very cheap.”

“Why would they sell salt-water taffy in the mountains?” Rover asked irritably.

Sadie was half listening to the conversation; as she sat watching them, all three women were suddenly unrecognizable; it was as if she had flung open the door to some dentist’s office and seen three strangers seated there. She sprang to her feet in terror.

Harriet was horrified. “What is it?” she yelled at her sister. “Why do you look like that? Are you mad?”

Sadie was pale and beads of sweat were forming under her felt hat, but the women opposite her had already regained their correct relation to herself and the present moment. Her face relaxed, and although her legs were trembling as a result of her brief but shocking experience, she felt immensely relieved that it was all over.

“Why did you jump up?” Harriet screeched at her. “Is it because you are at Camp Cataract and not at the apartment?”

“It must have been the long train trip and no food…” Sadie told herself, “only one sandwich.”

“Is it because you are at Camp Cataract and not at the apartment?” Harriet insisted. She was really very frightened and wished to establish Sadie’s fit as a purposeful one and not as an involuntary seizure similar to one of hers.

“It was a long and dirty train trip,” Sadie said in a weary voice. “I had only one sandwich all day long, with no mustard or butter … just the processed meat. I didn’t even eat my fruit.”

“Beryl offered to serve you food in the Grotto!” Harriet ranted. “Do you want some now or not? For heaven’s sake, speak up!”

“No … no.” Sadie shook her head sorrowfully. “I think I’d best go to bed. Take me to your cabin … I’ve got my slippers and my kimono and my nightgown in my satchel,” she added, looking around her vaguely, for the fact that Beryl had carried her grip off had never really impressed itself upon her consciousness.

Harriet glanced at Beryl with an air of complicity and managed to give her a quick pinch. “Beryl’s got you fixed up in one of the upper lodge annex rooms,” she told Sadie in a false, chatterbox voice. “You’ll be much more comfortable up here than you would be down in my cabin. We all use oil lamps in the grove and you know how dependent you are on electricity.”

Sadie didn’t know whether she was dependent on electricity or not since she had never really lived without it, but she was so tired that she said nothing.

“I get up terribly early and my cabin’s drafty, besides,” Harriet went on. “You’ll be much more comfortable here. You’d hate the Boulder Dam wigwams as well. Anyway, the wigwams are really for boys and they’re always full. There’s a covered bridge leading from this building to the annex on the upper floor, so that’s an advantage.”

“O.K., folks,” Beryl cut in, judging that she could best help Harriet by spurring them on to action. “Let’s get going.”

“Yes,” Harriet agreed, “if we don’t get out of the lodge soon the crowd will come back from the movies and we certainly want to avoid them.”

They bade good night to Rover and started up the stairs.

“This balustrade is made of young birch limbs,” Harriet told Sadie as they walked along the narrow gallery overhead. “I think it’s very much in keeping with the lodge, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” Sadie answered.

Beryl opened the door leading from the balcony onto a covered bridge and stepped through it, motioning to the others. “Here we go onto the bridge,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “You’ve never visited the annex, have you?” she asked Harriet.

“I’ve never had any reason to,” Harriet answered in a huffy tone. “You know how I feel about my cabin.”

They walked along the imperfectly fitted boards in the darkness. Gusts of wind blew about their ankles and they were constantly spattered with rain in spite of the wooden roofing. They reached the door at the other end very quickly, however, where they descended two steps leading into a short, brightly lit hall. Beryl closed the door to the bridge behind them. The smell of fresh plaster and cement thickened the damp air.

“This is the annex,” said Beryl. “We put old ladies here mostly, because they can get back and forth to the dining room without going outdoors … and they’ve got the toilet right here, too.” She flung open the door and showed it to them. “Then also,” she added, “we don’t like the old ladies dealing with oil lamps and here they’ve got electricity.” She led them into a little room just at their left and switched on the light. “Pretty smart, isn’t it?” she remarked, looking around her with evident satisfaction, as if she herself had designed the room; then, sauntering over to a modernistic wardrobe-bureau combination, she polished a corner of it with her pocket handkerchief. This piece was made of shiny brown wood and fitted with a rimless circular mirror. “Strong and good-looking,” Beryl said, rapping on the wood with her knuckles. “Every room’s got one.”

Sadie sank down on the edge of the bed without removing her outer garments. Here, too, the smell of plaster and cement permeated the air, and the wind still blew about their ankles, this time from under the badly constructed doorsill.

“The cabins are much draftier than this,” Harriet assured Sadie once again. “You’ll be more comfortable here in the annex.” She felt confident that establishing her sister in the annex would facilitate her plan, which was still to prevent her from saying whatever she had come to say.

Sadie was terribly tired. Her hat, dampened by the rain, pressed uncomfortably against her temples, but she did not attempt to remove it. “I think I’ve got to go to sleep,” she muttered. “I can’t stay awake any more.”

“All right,” said Harriet, “but don’t forget tomorrow at two by the souvenir booth … you can’t miss it. I don’t want to see anyone in the morning because I can make my canoe pack better by myself … it’s frightfully complicated.… But if I hurried I could meet you at one-thirty; would you prefer that?”

Sadie nodded.

“Then I’ll do my best.… You see, in the morning I always practice imagination for an hour or two. It does me lots of good, but tomorrow I’ll cut it short.” She kissed Sadie lightly on the crown of her felt hat. “Good night,” she said. “Is there anything I forgot to ask you about the apartment?”

“No,” Sadie assured her. “You asked everything.”

“Well, good night,” said Harriet once again, and followed by Beryl, she left the room.