Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note: This edition had a cover and title page entitled
_A Campfire Girl's First Council Fire_. The title on the first page of
the story and the remainder of the book, however, is _The Camp Fire
Girls In the Woods_.
A Campfire Girl's
First Council Fire
By
JANE L. STEWART
CAMPFIRE GIRLS SERIES
VOLUME I
THE
SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
AKRON, OHIO
NEW YORK
Made in U. S. A.
COPYRIGHT, MCMXIV
BY
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO.
THE CAMPFIRE GIRLS SERIES
[Illustration]
A CAMPFIRE GIRL'S FIRST COUNCIL FIRE
A CAMPFIRE GIRL'S CHUM
A CAMPFIRE GIRL IN SUMMER CAMP
A CAMPFIRE GIRL'S ADVENTURE
A CAMPFIRE GIRL'S TEST OF FRIENDSHIP
A CAMPFIRE GIRL'S HAPPINESS
[Illustration: "We'll take you over to camp and you can have dinner with
us."]
The Camp Fire Girls In the Woods
CHAPTER I
THE ESCAPE
"Now then, you, Bessie, quit your loafin' and get them dishes washed!
An' then you can go out and chop me some wood for the kitchen fire!"
The voice was that of a slatternly woman of middle age, thin and
complaining. She had come suddenly into the kitchen of the Hoover
farmhouse and surprised Bessie King as the girl sat resting for a moment
and reading.
Bessie jumped up alertly at the sound of the voice she knew so well, and
started nervously toward the sink.
"Yes, ma'am," she said. "I was awful tired--an' I wanted to rest for a
few minutes."
"Tired!" scolded the woman. "Land knows _you_ ain't got nothin' to
carry on so about! Ain't you got a good home? Don't we board you and
give you a good bed to sleep in? Didn't Paw Hoover give you a nickel for
yourself only last week?"
"Yes--an' you took it away from me soon's you found it out," Bessie
flashed back. There were tears in her eyes, but she went at her dishes,
and Mrs. Hoover, after a minute in which she glared at Bessie, turned
and left the kitchen, muttering something about ingratitude as she went.
As she worked, Bessie wondered why it was that she must always do the
work about the house when other girls were at school or free to play.
But it had been that way for a long time, and she could think of no way
of escaping to happier conditions. Mrs. Hoover was no relation to her at
all. Bessie had a father and mother, but they had left her with Mrs.
Hoover a long time before, and she could scarcely remember them, but she
heard about them, her father especially, whenever she did something that
Mrs. Hoover didn't like.
"Take after your paw--that's what you do, good-for-nothin' little
hussy!" the farmer's wife would say. "Leavin' you here on our hands when
he went away--an' promisin' to send board money for you. Did, too, for
'bout a year--an' since then never a cent! I've a mind to send you to
the county farm, that I have!"
"Now, maw," Paw Hoover, a kindly, toil-hardened farmer, would say when
he happened to overhear one of these outbursts, "Bessie's a good girl,
an' I reckon she earns her keep, don't she, helpin' you like, round the
place?"
"Earn her keep?" Mrs. Hoover would shrill. "She's so lazy she'd never do
anythin' at all if I didn't stand over her. All she's good fer is to eat
an' sleep--an' to hide off som'ere's so's she can read them trashy books
when she ought to be reddin' up or doin' her chores!"
And Paw Hoover would sigh and retire, beaten in the argument. He knew
his wife too well to argue with her. But he liked Bessie, and he did his
best to comfort her when he had the chance, and thought there was no
danger of starting a dispute with his wife.
Bessie finished her dishes, and then she went out obediently to the wood
pile, and set to work to chop kindling. She had been up since
daylight--and the sun rose early on those summer mornings. Every bone
and muscle in her tired little body ached, but she knew well that Mrs.
Hoover had been listening to the work of washing the dishes, and she
dared not rest lest her taskmistress descend upon her again when the
noise ceased.
Mrs. Hoover came out after she had been chopping wood for a few minutes
and eyed her crossly.
"'Pears to me like you're mighty slow," she said, complainingly. "When
you get that done there's butter to be made. So don't be all day about
it."
But the wood was hard, and though Bessie worked diligently enough, her
progress was slow. She was still at it when Mrs. Hoover, dressed in her
black silk dress and with her best bonnet on her head, appeared again.
"I'm goin' to drive into town," she said. "An' if that butter ain't done
when I get back, I'll--"
She didn't finish her threat in words, but Bessie had plenty of memories
of former punishments. She made no answer, and Mrs. Hoover, still
scowling, finally went off.
As if that had been a signal, another girl appeared suddenly from the
back of the woodshed. She was as dark as Bessie was fair, a mischievous,
black-eyed girl, who danced like a sprite as she approached Bessie. Her
brown legs were bare, her dress was even more worn and far dingier than
Bessie's, which was clean and neat. She was smiling as Bessie saw her.
"Oh, Zara, aren't you afraid to come here?" said Bessie, alarmed,
although Zara was her best and almost her only friend. "You know what
she said she'd do if she ever caught you around here again?"
"Yes, I know," said Zara, seating herself on a stump and swinging her
legs to and fro, after she had kissed Bessie, still laughing. "I'm not
afraid of her, though, Bessie. She'd never catch me--she can't run fast
enough! And if she ever touched me--"
The smile vanished suddenly from Zara's olive skinned face. Her eyes
gleamed.
"She'd better look out for herself!" she said. "She wouldn't do it
again!"
"Oh, Zara, it's wrong to talk that way," said Bessie. "She's been good
to me. She's looked after me all this time--and when I was sick she was
ever so nice to me--"
"Pooh!" said Zara. "Oh, I know I'm not good and sweet like you, Bessie!
The teacher says that's why the nice girls won't play with me. But it
isn't. I know--and it's the same way with you. If we had lots of money
and pretty clothes and things like the rest of them, they wouldn't care.
Look at you! You're nicer than any of them, but they don't have any more
to do with you than with me. It's because we're poor."
"I don't believe it's that, Zara. They know that I haven't got time to
play with them, and that I can't ask them here, or go to their houses if
they ask me. Some time--"
"You're too good, Bessie. You never get angry at all. You act as if you
ought to be grateful to Maw Hoover for looking after you. Don't she make
you work like a hired girl, and pay you nothin' for it? You work all the
time--she'd have to pay a hired girl good wages for what you do, and
treat her decently, beside. You're so nice that everyone picks on you,
just 'cause they know they can do it and you won't hit back."
Glad of a chance to rest a little, Bessie had stopped her work to talk
to Zara, and neither of the two girls heard a stealthy rustling among
the leaves back of the woodshed, nor saw a grinning face that appeared
around the corner. The first warning that they had that they were not
alone came when a long arm reached out suddenly and a skinny, powerful
hand grasped Zara's arm and dragged her from her perch.
"Caught ye this time, ain't I?" said the owner of the hand and arm,
appearing from around the corner of the shed. "My, but Maw'll pickle yer
when she gits hold of yer!"
"Jake Hoover!" exclaimed Bessie, indignantly. "You big sneak, you! Let
her go this instant! Aren't you ashamed of yourself, hurtin' her like
that?"
Zara, caught off her guard, had soon collected herself, and begun to
struggle in his grasp like the wild thing she was. But Jake Hoover only
laughed, leering at the two girls. He was a tall, lanky, overgrown boy
of seventeen, and he was enjoying himself thoroughly. He seemed to have
inherited all his mother's meanness of disposition and readiness to find
fault and to take delight in the unhappiness of others. Now, as Zara
struggled, he twisted her wrist to make her stop, and only laughed at
her cries of pain.
"Let her go! She isn't hurting you!" begged Bessie. "Please, Jake, if
you do, I'll help you do your chores to-night--I will, indeed!"
"You'll have to do 'em anyhow," said Jake, still holding poor Zara.
"I've got a dreadful headache. I'm too sick to do any work to-night."
He made a face that he thought was comical. Zara, realizing that she was
helpless against his greater strength, had stopped struggling, and he
turned on her suddenly with a vicious glare.
"I know why you're hangin' 'round here," he said. "They took that
worthless critter you call your paw off to jail jest now--and you're
tryin' to steal chickens till he comes out."
"That ain't true!" she exclaimed. "My father never stole anything.
They're just picking on him because he's a foreigner and can't talk as
well as some of them--"
"They've locked him up, anyhow," said Jake. "An' now I'm goin' to lock
you up, too, an' keep you here till maw comes home--right here in the
woodshed, where you'll be safe!"
And despite her renewed struggling and Bessie's tearful protests, he
kept his word, thrusting her into the woodshed and locking the great
padlock on the door, while she screamed in futile rage, and kicked
wildly at the door.
Then, with a parting sneer for Bessie, he went off, carrying the key
with him.
"Listen, Zara," said Bessie, sobbing. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes. I'm all right, Bessie. Don't you cry! He didn't hurt me any."
"I'll try and get a key so I can let you out before she comes home. If
she finds you in there, she'll give you a beating, just like she said.
I've got to go churn some milk into butter now, but I'll be back as soon
as ever I can. Don't you worry! I'll get you out of there all right."
"Please try, Bessie! I'm so worried about what he said about my father.
It can't be true--but how would he ever think of such a story? I want to
get home and find out."
"You keep quiet. I'll find some way to get you out," promised Bessie,
loyally.
And, stirred to a greater anger than she had ever felt by Jake Hoover's
bullying of poor Zara, she went off to attend to her churning.
Jake, as a matter of fact, was responsible for a good deal of Bessie's
unhappiness. As a child he had been sickly, and he had continued, long
after he had outgrown his weakness, and sprouted up into a lanky,
raw-boned boy, to trade upon the fears his parents had once felt for
him. Among boys of his own age he was unpopular. He had early become a
bully, abusing smaller and weaker boys.
Bessie he had long made a mark for his sallies of wit. He taunted her
interminably about the way her father and mother had left her; he pulled
her hair, and practiced countless other little tricks that she could not
resent. His father tried to reprove him at times, but his mother always
rushed to his defence, and in her eyes he could do no wrong. She upheld
him against anyone who had a bad word to say concerning him--and, of
course, Bessie got undeserved rebukes for many of his misdeeds.
He soon learned that he could escape punishment by making it seem that
she had done things of which he was accused, and, as his word was always
taken against hers, no matter what the evidence was, he had only
increased his mother's dislike for the orphaned girl.
The whole village shared Maw Hoover's dislike of Zara and her father. He
had settled down two or three years before in an abandoned house, but no
one seemed to understand how he lived. He disappeared for days at a
time, but he seemed always to have money enough to pay his way, although
never any more. And in the village there were dark rumors concerning
him.
Gossip accused him of being a counterfeiter, who made bad money in the
abandoned house he had taken for his own, and that seemed to be the
favorite theory. And whenever chickens were missed, dark looks were cast
at Zara and her father. He looked like a gypsy, and he would never
answer questions about himself. That was enough to condemn him.
Bessie finished her churning quickly, and then went back, hoping either
to make Jake relent or find some way of releasing the prisoner in the
woodshed. But she could see no sign of Jake. The summer afternoon had
become dark. In the west heavy black clouds were forming, and as Bessie
looked about it grew darker and darker. Evidently a thunder shower was
approaching. That meant that Maw Hoover would hurry home. If she was to
help Zara she must make haste.
Jake, it seemed, had the only key that would open the padlock and
Bessie, though she knew that she would be punished for it, determined to
try to break the lock with a stone. She told Zara what she meant to do,
and set to work. It was hard work, but her fingers were willing, and
Zara's frightened pleading, as the thunder began to roar, and flashes of
lightning came to her through the cracks in the woodshed, urged her on.
And then, just as she was on the verge of success, she heard Jake's
coarse laugh in her ear. "Look out!" he shouted.
He stood in the kitchen door, and, as she turned, something fell,
hissing, at her feet. She started back, terrified. Jake laughed, and
threw another burning stick at her. He had taken a shovelful of embers
from the fire, and now he tossed them at her so that she had to dance
about to escape the sparks. It was a dangerous game, but one that Jake
loved to play. He knew that Bessie was afraid of fire, and he had often
teased her in that fashion. But suddenly Bessie shrieked in real terror.
As yet, though the approaching storm blackened the sky, there was no
rain. But the wind was blowing almost a gale, and Bessie saw a little
streamer of flame run up the side of the woodshed.
"The shed's on fire! You've set it on fire!" she shrieked. "Quick--give
me that key!"
Jake, really frightened then, ran toward her with the key in his hand.
"Get some water!" Bessie called to him. "Quick!"
And she unlocked the padlock and let Zara, terrified by the fire, out.
But Jake stood there stupidly, and, fanned by the wind, the flames
spread rapidly.
"Gosh, now you have done it!" he said. "Maw'll just about skin you alive
for that when I tell her you set the shed afire!"
Bessie turned a white face toward him.
"You wouldn't say that!" she exclaimed.
But she saw in his scared face that he would tell any lie that would
save him from the consequences of his recklessness. And with a sob of
fright she turned to Zara.
"Come, Zara!" she cried. "Get away!"
"Come with me!" said Zara. "She'll believe you did it! Come with me!"
And Bessie, too frightened and tired to think much, suddenly yielded to
her fright, and ran with Zara out into the woods.