THE SPIRIT OF WO-HE-LO
Bessie stole along silently behind Dolly. She wanted very much to say
something, but she was afraid of what might happen if she let Dolly
know that she was spying on her. And she had made up her mind, anyhow,
that she would do more harm than good by interfering at this time.
Whatever it was she was doing might be wrong, but, after all, she had a
good deal of provocation, and she had been far more patient already
than anyone who knew her would have expected her to be.
"I bet they're just trying to work her up to trying to get even,"
Bessie reflected to herself. "Gladys Cooper knows her, so she must
know what a temper Dolly has, and she must be surprised to think that
she hasn't managed to arouse her yet."
That thought made Bessie gladder than ever that she had decided to
follow Dolly. While she was not in the plot herself, she meant to be
in it if Dolly got into trouble, or if, as Bessie half feared, it
turned out that her chum was walking into a trap. Moreover, she was
entirely ready to take her share of the blame, if there was to be any
blame, and to let others believe that she had shared Dolly's secret
from the first and had deliberately taken part in the plot.
Dolly's movements were puzzling. Bessie had expected her to go to the
back of the camp, and when she heard laughter and the sound of loud
talking coming from the boathouse, which was, of course, on the very
shore of the lake, Bessie breathed a sigh of relief, since it seemed to
her that the fact that the other girls were there would greatly
increase Dolly's chance of escaping detection.
But instead of taking advantage of what Bessie regarded as a great
piece of luck, Dolly paused to listen to the sounds from the boathouse,
and then turned calmly and walked in its direction.
For a moment an unworthy suspicion crossed Bessie's mind.
"I wonder if she can be going to see them--to make up with them?"
Bessie asked herself.
But she answered her own question with an emphatic no almost as soon as
she had asked it. Dolly's anger the night before and that afternoon
had not been feigned.
As she neared the boathouse, Dolly moved very cautiously. Even though
she could see her, Bessie could not hear her, and she even had
difficulty in following Dolly's movements, for she had put on a dark
coat, and was an inconspicuous object in the darkness.
From the boathouse there now came the sound of music; a phonograph had
been started, and it was plain from the shuffling of feet that the
girls inside were dancing. Dolly crept closer and closer, until she
reached one of the windows. Even as she did it a sharp, shrill voice
cried out, and Bessie saw someone rush toward her from the darkness of
a clump of trees near the boathouse. It was a trap, after all! Bessie
rushed forward, but before she had taken more than a couple of steps,
and before, indeed, her assailant could reach her, Dolly had
accomplished her purpose.
Still running, Bessie saw her lift the basket she carried, and throw it
point-blank through the window, first taking off the cover. And then
the noise of the phonograph, the shout of Dolly's assailant, and all
the noises about the place were drowned in a chorus of shrill screams
of terror from inside the boathouse.
Bessie had never heard such a din. For the life of her she could not
guess what Dolly had done to produce such an effect, and she did not
stop to try. For the girl who had seen Dolly and rushed toward her,
although too late to stop her, had caught hold of Dolly and was
struggling to hold her.
Bessie rushed at her, however, and, so unexpected was her coming, that
the other girl let go of Dolly and turned to grapple with the rescuer.
That was just what Bessie wanted. With a quick, twisting motion she
slipped out of the other girl's grip, and the next moment she was
running as hard as she could to the back of the camp, where, if she
could only get a good start, she would find herself in thick woods and
so safe from pursuit.
She knew Dolly had recognized her at once. But neither had called the
other's name, since that would enable whoever heard them to know which
of the Camp Fire Girls was responsible for this sudden attack.
As she ran Bessie could bear Dolly in front of her, and she knew that
Dolly must be able to hear her. Otherwise she was sure her chum would
have turned back to rescue her. Behind her the screams of the
frightened girls from the boathouse were still rising, but when Bessie
stopped in ten minutes, she could hear no signs of pursuit.
"Dolly!" she cried. "It's all right to stop now. They're not chasing
us any more."
Dolly stopped and waited for her, and when she came up Bessie saw at
once that Dolly was angry--and at her.
"Much good it did you to try to stop me, didn't it?" said Dolly,
viciously. "You got there too late!"
"I didn't try to stop you, and I was right behind you all the time!"
said Bessie, angrily. "I was behind you so that if you got into any
trouble I'd be there to help you--and I was. You're very grateful,
aren't you?"
"Oh, Bessie, I am sorry! I might have known you wouldn't do anything
sneaky. And you certainly did help me! I was going to thank you for
that anyhow, as soon as I'd scolded you. But I knew you didn't want to
try to get even with them, and I supposed, of course, that you were
there to stop me."
Suddenly she began to laugh, and sat down weakly on the ground.
"Did you hear them yell?" she gasped. "Listen to them! They're still
at it!"
"Whatever did you do to them, Dolly? I never heard such a noise in my
life! You'd think they really had something to be afraid of."
"Yes, wouldn't you? Instead of just a basket full of poor, innocent
little mice that were a lot more frightened than they were!"
"Dolly Ransom!" gasped Bessie. "Do you mean to say that's what you
did?"
Bessie tried hard to be shocked, but the fun of it overcame her of a
sudden, and she joined Dolly on the ground, while they clung to one
another and rocked with laughter.
"I wasn't able to stop and watch them. That's all I'm sorry for now,"
said Dolly, weakly. "But hearing them was pretty nearly as fine,
wasn't it?"
"Never heard of such a thing to do!" panted Bessie. "However did you
manage it, Dolly? Where did you get the mice?"
"Promise not to tell, Bessie? I can't get anyone else into trouble,
you know."
Bessie nodded.
"It was the guide--the Worcester's guide. He's just as mad at them as
we are. It seems they've bothered him a lot, anyhow, and he didn't
like them even before we came. He suggested the whole thing, and he
was willing to do it. But I told him it was our quarrel, and that it
was up to one of us to do it if he would get the mice. So he did, and
put them in that basket for me. The rest of it was easy."
"They'll be perfectly wild, Dolly. I bet they'll be over at the camp
complaining when we get back."
"Let them complain! It won't do them much good! Miss Eleanor is going
to give me beans for doing it, but she won't let them know it! I know
her, and she won't really be half as angry as she'll pretend to be."
"It was a wild thing to do, Dolly."
"I suppose it was, but did you think I was going to let Gladys Cooper
tell all over town how they treated us? She'll have something to tell
this time."
"Well, you got even, Dolly. There's no doubt of that. We'd better
hurry back now, don't you think? They're quieter down there."
"I'm going to tell Miss Eleanor what I did just as soon as I see her,"
said Dolly. "She'd find out that it happened sooner or later, and I'm
not ashamed of having done it, either. I'd do the same thing to-morrow
if I had as good a reason!"
And, sure enough, as soon as they reached the camp, Dolly marched up to
Miss Eleanor, who was sitting by herself on the porch, and told her the
whole story.
"And was Bessie in this too?" asked Eleanor, trying to look stern, but
failing.
"No, she was not. She didn't know what I was going to do at all. She
just followed to see that I didn't get into any trouble. And I'd have
been caught if she hadn't been there."
"I--I'm sorry you did it, Dolly," said Eleanor, almost hysterically.
She was trying to suppress the laughter that she was shaking with, but
it was hard work. "Still, I don't believe I'll scold you very much.
Now you've got even with them for all the things they've done--more
than even, if the screams I heard mean anything. We didn't know what
was up."
"Not exactly _what_ was up," said Margery, who had overheard part of
the conversation, "but we knew who was up as soon as we found you were
gone, Dolly."
Margery looked at Miss Eleanor, then she choked, and left the porch
hurriedly. And the next moment roars of laughter came from the other
girls, as Margery told them the story.
"But I'm glad you've told me all about it, Dolly," said Eleanor. "I
don't mind saying that I think you had a good deal of excuse--but do
try to let things work out by themselves after this. The chances are
you've only made them hate us more than ever, and they will feel that
it's a point of honor now to get even with us for this. All the girls
will have to suffer for what you did."
Even as she spoke, Bessie saw two or three figures approaching from the
direction of the other camp, and a shrill voice was raised.
"There she is, Miss Brown. She's the one who's supposed to look after
them."
Gladys Cooper was the speaker, but as soon as she saw Eleanor look
around she dropped back, leaving a woman whose manner was timid and
nervous, and whose voice showed that she had little spirit, to advance
alone.
"Miss Mercer?" she said, inquiringly, to Eleanor. "I am Miss Brown,
and I have been left in charge of Miss Halsted's Camp this summer while
she is away. She is ill. I am one of the teachers in her school--"
"Sit down, Miss Brown," said Eleanor, kindly. One look at poor Miss
Brown explained the conduct of the girls in her care. She was one of
those timid, nervous women who can never be expected to control anyone,
much less a group of healthy, mischievous girls in need of a strong,
restraining hand.
"I'm--really very sorry--I don't like--but I feel it is my duty--to
speak to you, Miss Mercer," stammered Miss Brown. "The fact is--the
young ladies seem to think it was one of your Camp Fire Girls who let
loose a--number of mice in our boathouse this evening."
"I'm afraid it was, Miss Brown," said Eleanor, gravely. "And I need
hardly say that I regret it. I naturally do not approve of anything of
the sort. But your girls have themselves to blame to a certain extent."
"Why, I don't see how that can be!" said Miss Brown, looking bewildered.
"Now, Miss Brown, honestly, and just between us, haven't they made your
life a burden for you ever since you've been here with them alone? Let
me tell you what they've done since we've been here."
And calmly and without anger, Eleanor told the teacher of the various
methods of making themselves unpleasant that the girls in the camp had
adopted since the coming of the Camp Fire Girls. She raised her voice
purposely when she came to the end.
"Now, mind, I don't approve of this joke with the mice," she said.
"But I do think it would be more plucky if your girls, after starting
all the trouble and making themselves as hateful as they possibly
could, had kept quiet when the tables were turned. When they worried
us, we didn't go over to make a complaint about them. I must say I am
disappointed in those of your girls whom I happen to know, like Gladys
Cooper. I thought she was a lady."
There was a furious cry from the darkness beyond the porch, and the
next instant Gladys herself was in front of Eleanor, with tears of rage
in her eyes.
"You shan't say I'm not a lady," she cried. "I don't care if you are
Miss Mercer! We don't want your horrid charity girls up here, and we
tried to make them understand it--"
"Stop!" said Eleanor, sternly. "Listen to me, Gladys! I like your
mother, and I'm sorry to see you acting in such a way. What do you
mean by charity girls?"
"They haven't got the money to come up here," stammered Gladys.
"It hasn't been given to them, if you mean that," said Eleanor. "We
don't believe in idle, useless girls in the Camp Fire. And every girl
here, even those like Dolly Ransom, who could have got the money at
home very easily, have earned all their expenses for this vacation,
except two who didn't have time, and are here as my guests. Don't talk
about charity. They have a better right to be here than you have. Now
go away, and if you don't want to have unpleasant things happen to you,
don't do unpleasant things to other people."
Quite cowed by the sudden anger in Eleanor's voice, Gladys didn't
hesitate. And Miss Brown, before she left the porch, looked wistfully
at Eleanor.
"I wish I had your courage, my dear," she whispered. "That served
Gladys right, but if I spoke so to her, I should lose my position."
"Well, I suppose it wasn't a nice thing to do," said Dolly, as she and
Bessie prepared for bed that night. "But I really do think we won't
have any more trouble. I think Gladys and the rest of them have
learned a lesson."
"I hope so, Dolly," said Bessie. "I wouldn't have done it myself, but
I really am beginning to think that maybe it was the best thing that
could have happened. Thunderstorms clear the air sometimes; perhaps
this will have the same effect."
It was well after midnight when the girls were awakened by loud
knocking below.
"Oh, that's some trick of theirs," said Dolly, sleepily, and turned
over again.
But a few minutes later Eleanor's voice, calling them, took them
downstairs in a hurry. They found her talking to Miss Brown, who was
in tears.
"Girls," said Eleanor, "Gladys Cooper and another girl are lost, and
they must be out on the mountain. It's turned very cold. Shall we
help find them? We haven't been friends, but remember what Wo-he-lo
means!"