The Camp Fire Girls in the Maine Woods; Or, The Winnebagos Go Camping

Sahwah the Sunfish sat on top of the diving tower squinting through Nakwisi's spy-glass at the distant horizon. "Sister Anne, sister Anne," called Migwan from the rocks below, "do you see any one coming?" Sahwah lowered her glass and shook her head. "No sign of the Bluebird yet," she answered. "If Gladys doesn't come pretty soon I shall die of impatience. Oh, what do you suppose she'll be like, anyway?" "Beautiful beyond compare," answered Migwan promptly, "and skilled in every art we ever thought or dreamed of. She is going to be my affinity, I feel it in my bones." Sahwah looked rather pensive. "Nobody in her right mind would choose me for an affinity," she said with a sigh, squinting sidewise down her nose and mentally counting the freckles thereon, "I'm not interesting enough looking." "Goosie," said Migwan, laughing, "affinities aren't chosen, they just happen. You see somebody for the first time and you don't know a thing about her, perhaps not even her name, and yet something tells you that you two belong together. That's an affinity."