“Neither did I,” replied the other.
They looked at each other and laughed heartily at the remembrance of the ludicrous episode.
All this while Sahwah was trying to recollect her companion’s name, but was unable to do so. It was impossible to remember which girls had answered to which names at the general roll call on that first night in Mateka.
Just then the other said, “I don’t believe I recall your name—I’m very stupid about remembering things.”
“That’s just what I was going to say to you!” exclaimed Sahwah, with a merry laugh. “It’s impossible to remember so many new names at once. I think we all ought to be labeled for the first week or so. I’m Sarah Ann Brewster, only they call me Sahwah.”
“What a queer nickname! It’s very interesting. Is it a contraction of Sarah Ann?”
“No, it’s my Camp Fire name.”
“Oh, are you a Camp Fire girl?”
“How splendid! I’ve always wished I could be one. What does the name mean?”
“Sunfish!” replied Sahwah. “The sun part means that I like sunshine and the fish part means that I like the water.”
“Oh-h!” replied the other with an interested face. Then she began to introduce herself. “I haven’t any nice symbolic name like yours,” she said, “but mine is sort of queer, too.”
“What is it?” asked Sahwah.
“Undine!” repeated Sahwah. “How lovely! I’ve always been perfectly crazy about Undine since I got the book on my tenth birthday. Undine was fond of water, like I was. What’s the rest of your name?”
“Girelle,” replied Undine.
“Do you live in the east or in the west?” asked Sahwah. “You don’t speak like the Easterners, and yet you don’t speak like us Westerners, either. What part of the country are you from?”
“No part at all,” answered Undine. “My home is in Honolulu.”
“Not really?” said Sahwah in astonishment.
“Really,” replied Undine, smiling at Sahwah’s look of surprise. “I was born in Hawaii, and I have lived there most of my life.”
“Oh,” said Sahwah, “I thought only Hawaiians lived in Hawaii—I didn’t know anyone else was ever born there.”
“Lots of white people are born there,” replied Undine, politely checking the smile that wreathed her lips at Sahwah’s ingenuous remark. “But,” she added, “most of the people in the States seem to think no one lives in Hawaii but natives, and that they wear wreaths of flowers around their necks all the time and do nothing but play on ukuleles.”
Sahwah laughed and made up her mind that she was going to like Undine very much. “I suppose you swim?” she asked, presently.
Undine nodded emphatically. “It’s the thing I like to do best of anything in the world. Do you like it? Oh, yes, of course you do. You call yourself the Sunfish on that account.”