AN UNINVITED GUEST
Rain fell in torrents on the roof of the hospitable House of the Open
Door, and the wind howled dismally around its friendly gables. Inside the
"lofty loft" of the Winnebagos the fire shone brightly on the hearth and
the rafters rang with merriment. Sahwah had a new hobby, and was riding
it to death. This was a Hawaiian guitar, known as a "ukelele," from which
she was producing a series of hair-raising noises.
"Sounds like a cat in its last agony," remarked Hinpoha.
"Well, that just suits me," replied Sahwah, undisturbed, drawing a long
shivering wail from the strings. "I am the cat that walks by himself----"
"And all racket is alike to you," finished Hinpoha. "Who's getting supper
tonight, Nyoda? I'm nearly starving."
"I appointed Gladys and Veronica," answered Nyoda. "The combination of
blonde and brunette ought to produce something pretty good."
Gladys promptly laid down the bit of leather in which she was cutting a
pattern and moved toward the "kitchen end" of the Lodge. "Come on,
Veronica," she said, "let's make a carload of scones for these hungry
wolves."
Veronica looked up at her without moving. On her face was an expression
of surprise; almost amazement. "What, _I_ cook?" she asked scornfully.
"That is for servants to do!"
Then it was the Winnebagos' turn to look amazed. Sahwah dropped her
instrument on the floor with a clatter, and the rest sat silent, not
knowing what to say to Veronica. Nyoda bridged over the embarrassing
situation as best she could. "I'll be cook tonight," she said quietly. As
she moved about helping Gladys she thought and thought how this new
problem must be met. "It's the fault of her training," she told herself,
"and she really isn't a snob at heart. She'll be all right when she has
been with the girls awhile and watched them. It won't do to insist on her
doing the things she considers beneath her. She must be made to want to
do them first. But we'll make a real Winnebago of her in time!" And her
eyes strayed thoughtfully over to the corner of the hearth where Veronica
sat, a little apart from the rest, her brooding eyes on the fire, her
sensitive lip twisting into involuntary shivers of disgust when Sahwah
produced a particularly ear-splitting yowl.
"Hear and attend and listen, everybody," said Nyoda when the buttered
scones had been reduced to crumbs. "I have been doing some important
research work lately and am now ready to present the result of my
investigations."
"What are you talking about?" asked Hinpoha curiously.
"Two weeks ago tonight," continued Nyoda, "our meeting was broken up by a
band of young braves bearing the appetizing title of 'The Sandwich Club,'
who implored us to let them come and play with us in our Lodge and be
lodgers--kindly overlook the pun; it was quite unintentional--providing
we weighed them in the balance and found them not wanting."
"Is there any scale on which 'Slim' would be found wanting?" giggled
Sahwah,
"I have spent the last two weeks obtaining information," resumed Nyoda,
"which I am happy to report is of a highly satisfactory nature. So, all
things considered, and in spite of the informality of the request, I
humbly recommend that the aforesaid braves be allowed to lodge in the
bottom half of our Lodge at any and all times they may so desire. I might
add that I have already obtained the consent of our Bountiful Benefactor,
Gladys' papa. All in favor of letting in the Sandwich Club say 'Aye.'"
There was a perfect shout of "Ayes," followed by a ringing cheer.
"When are they going to take possession?" Sahwah wanted to know.
"I'm to tell them tomorrow what your decision was," replied Nyoda. "It
being Saturday, I suppose they will be down in a body to fix up according
to their own ideas."
"What will the interior of a Sandwich Club look like, I wonder?" said
Gladys.
"Hark, what was that noise?" asked Nyoda abruptly. The girls listened
intently. From the lower floor of the barn there came a thumping noise,
followed by a subdued crash.
"Somebody's in the barn," said Hinpoha in a frightened whisper.
The sound came again, thump, thump, and a noise as of a box being shoved
aside. "It's a burglar!" said Sahwah, and Nakwisi gave a frightened
squeak which Sahwah stifled with a sofa cushion.
"There's nothing in here to steal," said Nyoda. "Perhaps it's a tramp."
Again came the noise from below. Leaving the curtain drawn over the
opening, Nyoda went to the top of the ladder and called down, "Who's
there?" There was no answer but another thump. "We have a gun," said
Nyoda coolly, taking Sahwah's little rifle down from the wall, "and if
you put one foot on the ladder I'll shoot." Still no answer.
"I'm going down to investigate," said Nyoda. "This is growing uncanny."
"Don't go down," begged the girls, clinging to her, "something dreadful
will happen to you."
"If you go I'm going with you," declared Sahwah when Nyoda appeared
determined to rush into the jaws of danger. Nyoda threw aside the curtain
and flashed her bug light on the floor below. Nothing was visible within
the radius of the light, but over in the far corner where the old horse
stall was something was moving and thumping about and a sound like a
groan came from the darkness.
"Somebody's hurt," said Nyoda, hastening down the ladder. "Bring a
lantern with you, Sahwah."
Together they moved toward the corner while the girls above crowded
around the opening and watched in breathless suspense. The light revealed
a small donkey lying on the floor of the stall. He was kicking out with
his hind feet against the partition wall and it was this sound that had
frightened the girls above. At Sahwah's shout the others came hurrying
down to behold the find. The donkey made no effort to rise and looked at
the faces around him with an imploring look in his eyes as if to say,
"Help me, I'm in trouble."
"What's the matter, old chap?" asked Nyoda, kneeling down beside him. The
donkey answered with a distressed bray that was more like a groan and
pawed the air with his front feet, which seemed to be fastened together
in some manner. Nyoda turned the lantern around so the light fell
directly on him and then they saw what the matter was. A length of barbed
wire had become tangled around his front legs, binding them together, and
his frantic efforts to get it off had resulted in its becoming deeply
imbedded in the flesh, lacerating it badly. The girls shuddered when they
saw it and drew back.
"This won't do, girls," said Nyoda firmly; "we've got to get that wire
off the poor animal's leg. Medmangi, have you the nerve to do it? I'm
afraid I can't."
"His hind legs would have to be tied together first, so he can't kick,"
said Medmangi. The girls looked at each other and all drew back. All but
Veronica. She came forward quietly and took the rope which the others
were afraid to use and skilfully slipped a noose over the tiny heels and
fastened them down to a ring in the floor.
"I have done it before, when a horse was sick," she explained in response
to the girls' expressions of amazement at the neat performance. The
girls' liking for her, which had suffered a sudden chill at the cooking
episode, warmed again, and they were inclined to overlook that now that
she had stepped so neatly into the breach when they were helpless.
Then Medmangi, the Medicine Man Girl who was going to be a doctor, and
had no horror of surgery, bent calmly to her task while the others held
the lantern for her. Quickly and skilfully she worked, removing the cruel
points as gently as possible. Then she washed the wounds with an
antiseptic solution from the First Aid Cabinet upstairs and bound them up
with clean bandages. Then Veronica took the rope from the donkey's hind
legs and he struggled to his feet, plainly delighted to find his front
legs in working order again in spite of the pain. He looked at the girls
with a dog-like devotion in his intelligent eyes and when Medmangi patted
him soothingly he laid his head on her shoulder affectionately. "My first
lover--a donkey!" she said laughingly.
"Poor little mule," said Hinpoha, stroking him from the other side. "He
knew the right place to come to all right. 'Whose house is bare and dark
and cold, whose house is cold, this is his own,'" she quoted
dramatically. "We certainly have succeeded in creating the right
atmosphere of hospitality if even a lonely donkey can feel it and come
straight to our 'Open Portals!'"
"Now that he has come," said Nyoda, rather puzzled, "the question is what
to do with him. If he goes wandering off again he'll have those bandages
off in no time--he probably will anyhow--and his legs will get so sore he
will have to be shot. He undoubtedly belongs to somebody--very likely
some children's pet--and I think we had better keep him right here in the
barn until we find the owner. The boys will have to postpone their taking
possession in favor of the other donkey if his presence interferes with
their activities." Here the "other donkey" leaned against the wall in
such a pathetic attitude, as if his weight were too much for his sore
legs, that if they had had any intentions of turning him out into the
rain they would have speedily relented.
"It's a good thing this old stall is still here," said Gladys. "There
isn't any straw, but there is a box of excelsior and we can spread that
out and cover it with a blanket and make him a soft bed. We can give him
water tonight and bring food in the morning."
"And I'll telephone the Sandwiches about him," said Nyoda, "so if they
are coming over tomorrow they won't turn him out."
But that telephone message was unnecessary, for at that moment a number
of dark figures appeared in the doorway and after a moment of hesitation,
entered.
"Why, here are the Sandwiches," exclaimed Nyoda cordially, advancing with
extended hand. "We were just talking about you. Speaking of angels--you
know the rest."
"We were just going by," said the Captain (it was likely that they were
"just going by" that out of the way place in the rain!) "and saw your
light now you've left the windows uncovered, and thought we'd just step
in and inquire our fate. We just couldn't wait until tomorrow," he
finished in a boyish outburst. "Is it going to be the Open Door for us?"
"Bless you, yes," said Nyoda, smiling reassuringly at this manly lad who
was already her favorite, "there wasn't a dissenting vote in the jury
box. We----" but the remainder of her sentence was drowned in an
ear-splitting cheer that was decidedly less musical than the Winnebago
cheers, but none the less hearty.
"Pedigrees satisfactory, and all that?" inquired the Captain.
"Perfect," answered Nyoda with twinkling eyes. "I've dug up more facts
about you than you know yourselves. So," she added demurely, "if you're
still minded to 'know us better,' as you flatteringly remarked on the
occasion of our first meeting, why, we're perfectly willing to be known.
"But you can't take immediate possession of your club room because we've
rented it temporarily to another don--another fellow," she said
mischievously, turning the light of the lantern away from the stall where
the donkey was. The boys' eager faces fell a trifle.
"Of course," they answered politely, "that's your privilege."
"He's a very nice chap," pursued Nyoda, with a warning glance at the
girls behind her, who were stuffing their handkerchiefs into their mouths
in an effort not to laugh.
"Yes," assented the boys without enthusiasm.
"Is it anyone we know?" asked the Captain politely, trying to make
conversation after a moment of silence.
"Maybe you do know him," answered Nyoda. "He's here tonight. Would you
like to meet him?"
She led the way to the stall and turned the light on the donkey. There
was a moment of surprised silence, followed by a perfect explosion of
laughter. "Where'd you get the donkey with the trousers on?" squeaked
Slim in his high thin voice. In the dim light of the lantern the bandages
on the donkey's front legs looked like a pair of trousers. Then the
girls, after their laugh was out, explained about the visitor who had
come to them from out of the vast, and the Sandwiches declared that they
did not in the least mind sharing their club room with a needy donkey,
and offered to relieve the girls of the entire care of him, besides
trying to find the owner.
They were as good as their word about taking care of him, but the weeks
slipped by and no amount of advertising produced anything in the shape of
an owner.
"We'll have to adopt him," the Winnebagos decided. "A Camp Fire Donkey
sounds thrilling to me," said Sahwah. "Think of all the fun we'll have
with him. As long as the boys don't mind, we can keep him right here in
the stall."
"What shall we name him?" asked Gladys.
"Call him 'Wohelo,'" advised Hinpoha. "It was the spirit of Wohelo that
led him to us. From now on he'll be a symbolic donkey."
"But where do we come in on this?" inquired the Captain. "We take care of
him and he lives in our house."
"That's right," said Hinpoha. "Then let's call him 'Sandwich-Wohelo,'
contracted to 'Sandhelo.'" And "Sandhelo" he was until the end of the
chapter. His sore legs became very stiff until they were healed and he
hobbled painfully when he walked at all, which was very seldom. But the
scratches healed at last and the day came when Medmangi took off the
bandages for good, and led him around the barn for exercise.
Then an amazing thing happened. Sahwah was upstairs in the Lodge, amusing
herself with a mouth organ she had just discovered in the depths of her
bed. But she had no sooner blown half a dozen notes when Sandhelo jerked
up his head, pulling the bridle out of Medmangi's hands, and rose up on
his hind legs. Then he walked on his hind legs over to a box, climbed up
on it and sat there with his feet in the air, like a dog sitting up.
Medmangi screamed and brought the Winnebagos flying from all directions,
to behold the marvel in open-mouthed astonishment.
"He's a trick mule!" shouted Sahwah, tumbling down the ladder in her
excitement and never stopping to pick herself up. "Now I know where he
came from. He was with that dog and pony show that was in town a few
weeks ago. He must have strayed from the show and got left behind. Hats
off to the newest member of the Winnebago group! We certainly do have a
way of attracting all the best talent in town to our ranks!"