HONORS AND SPIES.
“Why couldn’t this expedition be arranged so that we girls could all win
some honors out of it?” Ruth Hazelton inquired, after the details of
Mrs. Hutchins’ plan had been discussed thoroughly and the vote had been
taken.
“That is a good suggestion,” said Miss Ladd. “What kind of honors would
you propose Ruth?”
The latter was silent for some minutes. She was going over in her mind
the list of home-craft, health-craft, camp-craft, hand-craft,
nature-lore, business and patriotism honors provided for by the
organization, but none of them seemed to fit in with the program of the
proposed secret investigation.
“I don’t think of any,” she said at last. “There aren’t any, are there?”
“No, there are not,” the Guardian replied. “But now is the time for the
exercise of a little ingenuity. Who speaks first with an idea?”
“I have one,” announced Ethel Zimmerman eagerly.
“Well, what is it, Ethel?” Miss Ladd inquired.
“Local honors,” replied the girl with the first idea. “Each Camp Fire is
authorized to create local honors and award special beads and other
emblems to those who make the requirements.”
“Under what circumstances is such a proceeding authorized?” was Miss
Ladd’s next question.
“When it is found that local conditions call for the awarding of honors
not provided for in the elective list.”
“Do such honors count for anything in the qualifications for higher
rank?”
“They do not,” Ethel answered like a pupil who had learned her lesson
very well and felt no hesitancy in making her recitation.
“What kind of honor would you confer on me if I exhibited great skill in
spying on someone else?” asked Helen Nash in her usual cool and
deliberate manner.
A problematical smile lit up the faces of several of the girls who
caught the significance of this suggestion. Miss Ladd smiled, too, but
not so problematically.
“You mean to point out the incongruity of honors and spies, I presume,”
the Guardian interpreted, addressing Helen.
“Not very seriously,” the latter replied with an expression of dry
humor. “I couldn’t resist the temptation to ask the question and,
moreover, it occurred to me that a little discussion on the subject of
honors and spies might help to complete our study of the problem before
us.”
“Do you mean that we are going to be spies?” Violet Munday questioned.
“Why, of course we are,” Helen replied, with a half-twinkle in her eyes.
“I don’t like the idea of spying on anybody and would rather call it
something else,” said Marie Crismore. “First someone calls us detectives
and then somebody calls us spies. What next? Ugh!”
“Why don’t you like to spy on anybody?” asked Harriet Newcomb.
“Well,” Marie answered hesitatingly; “you know that there are thousands
of foreign spies in this country trying to help our enemies in Europe,
and I don’t like to be classed with them.”
“That’s patriotic,” said Helen, the twinkle in her eyes becoming
brighter. “But you must remember that there are spies and spies, good
spies and bad spies. All of our law-enforcement officials are spies in
their attempts to crush crime. Your mother was a spy when she watched
you as a little tot stealing into the pantry to poke your fist into the
jam. That is what Mrs. Hutchins suspects is taking place now. Someone
has got his or her fist in the jam. We must go and peek in through the
pantry door.”
“Oh, if you put it that way, it’ll be lots of fun,” Marie exclaimed
eagerly. “I’d just like to catch ’em with their fists all—all—smeared!”
She brought the last word out so ecstatically that everybody laughed.
“I’m afraid you have fallen into the pit that I warned you against,”
Miss Ladd said, addressing Marie. “You mustn’t start out eager to prove
the persons, under suspicion, guilty.”
“Then we must drive out of our minds the picture of the fists smeared
with jam,” deplored Marie with a playful pout.
“I fear that you must,” was the smiling concurrence of the Guardian.
“Very well; I’m a good soldier,” said Marie, straightening up as if
ready to “shoulder arms.” “I won’t imagine any jam until I see it.”
“Here comes Hazel,” cried Julietta, and everybody looked in the
direction indicated.
Hazel Edwards had taken advantage of this occasion to go to her aunt’s
house and thence to the city Red Cross headquarters for a new supply of
yarn for their army and navy knitting. As she emerged from the timber
and continued along the edge of the woods toward the site of the camp,
the assembled campers could see that she carried a good-sized bundle
under one arm.
“She’s got some more yarn, and we can now take up our knitting again,”
said Ethel Zimmerman, who had proved herself to be the most rapid of all
the members of the Camp Fire with the needles.
Although the business of the meeting was finished, by tacit agreement
those present decided not to adjourn until Hazel arrived and received
official notice of what had been done.
“I’m delighted with your decision,” Hazel said eagerly. “And, do you
know, I believe we are going to have some adventure. I’ve been talking
the matter over with Aunt Hannah and she has told me a lot of very
interesting things. But when do you want to go?”
“We haven’t discussed that yet,” Miss Ladd replied. “I suppose we could
go almost any time.”
“Let’s go at once,” proposed Marion Stanlock. “We haven’t anything to
keep us here and we can come back as soon as—as soon as we find the jam
on somebody’s fist.”
This figure of speech called for an explanation for Hazel’s benefit.
Then Ruth Hazelton moved that the Camp Fire place itself at Mrs.
Hutchins’ service to leave for Twin Lakes as soon as she thought best,
and this motion was carried unanimously.
“I move that Katherine Crane be appointed a committee of one to notify
Mrs. Hutchins of our action and get instructions from her for our next
move,” said Violet Munday.
“Second the motion,” said Azalia Atwood.
“Question!” shouted Harriet Newcomb.
“Those in favor say aye,” said Miss Ladd.
A hearty chorus of “ayes” was the response.
“Contrary minded, no.”
Silence.
“The ayes have it.”
The meeting adjourned.
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