THE HIKE.
Although Marjorie knew that her project was a success as far as it had
gone, she was nevertheless deeply worried about the future. How would
she ever be able to keep such girls amused? They would certainly be
bored by such activities as knot-tying and first-aid, yet they were
not equipped to enter the more exciting scout contests or prepared to
engage in camping trips. One dull meeting, she felt, would kill what
ambition they had.
Accordingly, she spent a great deal of time upon her preparations
for the second meeting, and hit upon a program that she was sure
would appeal to the girls. Her brother had a friend who had for many
years been interested in scouting, first as a member himself, then
as a scout-master, and now as District Manager. Not only was Walter
Richards an authority on the subject, but he possessed a splendid
personality, was a forceful speaker—and, what would appeal most to the
girls—he was unmarried. She resolved to write to ask him to give the
troop a fifteen minute talk on the meaning and the ideals of the twin
organizations.
As she had anticipated, she found that with the exception of Queenie
and one or two others, the girls had scarcely looked into their
handbooks. If, however, they expected to be scolded, they received a
surprise.
“I hoped you would,” she said, as she removed her hat, “but I didn’t
count on it. So I have invited a young man, who is a Boy Scout leader,
to come and tell you about it.”
The inevitable question followed. It was Aggie who voiced it.
“Is he married?”
“No.”
“Engaged?”
“I think not.”
“Keep steady company?”
“I think that scouting is his ‘steady company.’ If you want to make a
hit with him, show yourselves in earnest about passing your tests.”
At this moment the door was opened, and Miss Winthrop preceded a
tall, splendid looking man in a khaki uniform into the room. A sense
of triumph came over Marjorie as she realized that here was the very
human embodiment of the great scout ideal; the sound mind and the sound
body. Although over six feet tall, he was as straight as an arrow;
his clothing showed all the neatness of an army officer’s; his blue
eyes looked fearlessly into the girls’, proclaiming his honesty, his
good-will, his kindliness. Marjorie felt indeed that she had made a
wise choice.
Nor was she the least disappointed; for the first time perhaps in their
lives the girls listened to a serious talk with rapt attention. Mr.
Richards seemed to know just when to joke and when to get back to his
theme, when to generalize, and when to go into detail; when to dip into
slang, and when to return to the purest English. He was wise enough,
too, to stop while they still wanted more.
“I am sorry that I must go, Miss Wilkinson,” he concluded. “But first
let me congratulate you all on your fine enthusiasm and interest. It
has been more than a pleasure to meet you.”
Queenie could not restrain a deep sigh; it literally pained her to see
him go.
“When will you come again?” she demanded eagerly.
“When Miss Wilkinson tells me that you are all ready for your
tenderfoot test. Then, if it is agreeable to her, I will be glad to
come and give it.”
“I’d be delighted!” exclaimed Marjorie, only too grateful for the
assistance.
“Next week, then!” urged Queenie.
Mr. Richards shook his head smilingly.
“You won’t be ready by next week,” he said. “But suppose we make it a
month from today. I’ll put it down on my calendar.”
As he departed, Marjorie saw from the interested expressions on the
girls’ faces that they were in earnest, for the time being, at least.
She had scored one point towards ultimate success.
Yet when they actually got down to work, she found that the time was
dragging. The girls thought the questions about the flag silly, and
believed they were too old to bother with tying pieces of string
together. Finally Marjorie suggested that they hold their meeting in
the afternoon the following week, and have a hike.
“Sure!” they all cried enthusiastically, and Aggie Smithers added, “Can
we bring our fellers?”
“Not this time, Aggie,” returned Marjorie. “Maybe next, if this hike is
a success.”
“Let’s talk over what we’ll bring,” suggested Queenie.
“All right,” agreed their captain, “but let’s make it something we can
cook. We might as well learn outdoor cooking while we’re about it.”
“Cooking makes me sick!” yawned Clara. “Ma’s always after me to help
her with it, and I just hate it. What’s the use, when you can get such
good stuff at the delicatessen?”
“But that sort of thing isn’t good for you to eat often,” objected
Marjorie; “and besides, when we go camping, we won’t have any stores
handy, and then we’ll have to depend upon ourselves.”
“We should worry!” laughed Gertie Reed.
“Then let’s make it dogs, if we have to cook,” said Queenie.
“All right,” approved Marjorie. “Hot dogs——”
“Hot dog!” snickered Clara, laughing at what she chose to consider
Marjorie’s slang. The latter, however, paid no attention to the
interruption.
“Cocoa and rolls, too—and apples or bananas for dessert?”
“Apples!” repeated Queenie, in disgust. “That sounds more like a fast
than a feast!”
“Well, then, what?”
“Pie—or chocolate layer-cake!” ventured Aggie.
“Or cream puffs——” said another.
“Fudge and lady-locks,” offered a third.
“How about everybody bringing what they want?” asked Queenie.
“All right,” answered Marjorie. “Bring your own dessert, and I’ll
supply the substantials.”
The selection of a place for the hike was another subject for
contention. Most of the girls wanted to turn the hike into a boat-ride
and go up the river on a steamer, and dance during the ride. Some of
them desired to sojourn to one of the nearby amusement parks. It was
only after the greatest persuasion that they were finally won over to
the Wissahickon.
“But what can we do there?” demanded Aggie, in a grieved tone.
“Hike!” exclaimed Marjorie. “The scenery’s beautiful.”
Gertie and Clara groaned.
“All right, we’ll do just as you want this time,” concluded Queenie.
And whatever Queenie decided was always adopted.
But Marjorie left the settlement house that night with anything but
pleasurable anticipation for the event of the coming week. In the eyes
of these experienced girls a mere hike into the woods was insipid. They
knew nothing of birds or flowers; beautiful scenery had no attraction
for them if the opposite sex were not present, and cooking of any sort
was a bore. They were missing so much of the best of life, Marjorie
thought, yet she had no idea how she was to open their eyes. However,
she decided not to worry; perhaps the affair would turn out far better
than she dared hope.
The weather itself proved in her favor; the sun shone brightly, the
sky was a clear, deep blue, and the colors of the autumn leaves the
most brilliant imaginable. The air was bracing, but not cold. How
the members of Pansy troop had revelled in such weather, and such
excursions; Marjorie experienced a little pang of homesickness as she
left the girls of her own class at college on their way to a picnic,
and hastened off to meet her new troop.
She was disappointed at the outset to find only four of the girls at
the appointed place. Aggie and Clara had succumbed to “dates”; Gertie
had pronounced the undertaking too strenuous; and Mame had gone to
the movies. So only the four remained—the languid Annie Marshall,
bright-eyed Stella Cox, attractive little Dottie Williams, and
Queenie. Marjorie felt her spirits suddenly sink; numbers were almost
always indicative of success on these outdoor excursions, and it would
be hard to arouse the lively spirit of adventure she so desired.
She had brought enough food for nine, so her basket was heavy; yet no
one offered to relieve her. Indeed, the girls grumbled about the weight
of their own packages and hand-bags, the latter of which they had
deemed indispensable.
“Where do we go from here, girls?” asked Queenie, as the small party
alighted from the trolley car.
“Through this big arch, up the drive till we come to a path,” replied
Marjorie shifting her load.
“Look at all them cars!” exclaimed Stella enviously. “What do you say
we git a lift?”
“Wait till some fellows come along,” advised Annie.
“Nothin’ doin’!” squelched Queenie, noting the look of disapproval in
Marjorie’s countenance. “We’re hikin’, kids—don’t you fergit it!”
“My feet ain’t likely to, anyway,” sighed Annie, glancing down at her
high-heeled slippers.
Marjorie shot a grateful look at the patrol leader, and Queenie,
appreciating it, started up a song, to make the way seem shorter.
But in spite of both their efforts, interest flagged, the girls
grumbled, jealously watching the motorists that passed, and wishing
aloud that they had been as sensible as Mame, and were comfortably
watching the pictures. In vain Marjorie tried to interest them in
conversation—about themselves, their work, their families, and their
friends, but the girls only giggled and answered her questions in a
perfunctory manner. By the time they arrived at the bridle path, where
the hiking was really to begin, they one and all flung themselves upon
a bench and announced that they were exhausted.
“Let’s eat!” suggested Queenie.
Marjorie would have been only too glad to comply with the request, even
though it was only a little after four, but they were within the park
limits, and fires were forbidden.
“We’ll have to cross over above the hills,” she explained, “and find a
spot where we are allowed to make a fire. It’s against the law here.”
“What do we want a fire for?” demanded Stella.
“To cook our supper,” responded Marjorie wearily.
“I’ve got half a dozen doughnuts and a chocolate éclair,” remarked
Annie. “That ought to see me through.”
“But we must have something substantial,” protested Marjorie. “And
sausages aren’t good cold.”
“Sure, we can eat ’em, anyhow!” put in Queenie more cheerfully.
“But I wanted to teach you something about making a fire in the open,”
sighed Marjorie.
“Oh, that’ll keep. Let’s eat and get home!”
A sense of the futility of her effort seized Marjorie, and she
resolved desperately that she would give it all up. Lily was right; she
was wasting her time, when she might be doing something worth while.
Far better to turn in and help her classmates in their round of social
and class duties, than to strive for something she could never attain.
For she felt now absolutely certain that she could never reach these
girls to influence them in any way.
“All right,” she agreed listlessly. “Let’s eat—and go.”
“Hike too much for you, too, Miss Wilkinson?” inquired Queenie.
“I guess so,” murmured Marjorie, beginning to unpack her basket.
The supper was a dismal affair, in no way resembling the happy campfire
meals of her old troop. The girls ate little of Marjorie’s food and
talked not at all. But they all consumed their bag of sweets.
“Oh, for a drink!” exclaimed Queenie, a few minutes later.
“Let’s go and get one,” suggested Marjorie. “There’s a spring back
there on the drive.”
“You stay here, Miss Wilkinson, and we’ll bring you one. Tell us which
way.”
Marjorie indicated the direction and began to pack the remains of
the food into a basket, to leave for some wanderer less fortunately
supplied. Then she gave her attention to picking up the papers which
the girls had carelessly scattered, for she was too discouraged to
insist upon their doing it. Finally she sat down to wait for their
return.
Half an hour passed and they did not come; finally an hour. She began
to be very cold. Could they be lost? A feeling of uneasiness took
possession of her and she resolved to go in search of them. She hurried
along the road which led back to the main driveway and found her way to
the spring. But they were nowhere in sight.
“I’ll go ask the park guard,” she decided. “They’re always so noisy,
one couldn’t miss them.”
When he was not occupied with the traffic, she ventured her inquiry.
“Yes, I do recall them,” he replied, “for they stopped and joked with
me. And then they went over and got a drink, and stood around, watching
the cars for awhile. First thing I knew they were making friends with a
couple of fellows in a big Packard and evidently picked up a ride. They
haven’t passed back yet.”
“Oh, thank you!” murmured Marjorie, her eyes swimming with tears.
Tired and disconsolate, she trudged home to Mrs. Hadley.