WO-HE-LO
Two or three miles further along the road, Bessie spied the landmark she
had been looking for.
"We'll turn off here," she said, "Cheer up, Zara. It won't be long now
before we can go to sleep."
The full moon made it easy to pick their way along the wood path that
Bessie followed, and before long they came to a small lake. On its far
side, among the trees near the shore, a fire was burning, flickering up
from time to time, and sending dancing shadows on the beach.
"There's someone over there, Bessie," said Zara, frightened at the sign
of human habitation.
"They won't hurt us, Zara," said Bessie, stoutly. "Probably they won't
even know that we're around, if we don't make any noise, or any fire of
our own. Here we are--here's the hut! See? Isn't it nice and
comfortable? Hurry now and help me to pick up some of these branches of
pine trees. They'll make a comfortable bed for us, and well sleep just
as well as if we were at home--or a lot better, because there'll be no
one to be cross and make trouble for us in the morning."
Bessie arranged the branches, and in a few moments they were asleep,
lying close together. Pine branches make an ideal bed, but, even had
their couch been uncomfortable, the two girls would have slept well that
night; they were too tired to do anything else. It was long after
midnight, and both had been through enough to exhaust them. The sense of
peace and safety that they found in this refuge in the woods more than
made up for the strangeness of their surroundings, and when they awoke
the sun was high. It was the sound of singing in the sweet, fresh voices
of girls that aroused them in the end. And Bessie, the first to wake up,
aroused Zara, and then peeped from the door of the cabin.
There on the beach, their hair spread out in the sun, were half a dozen
girls in bathing dresses. Beside them were a couple of canoes, drawn up
on the beach, and they were laughing and singing merrily as they dried
their hair. Looking over across the lake, in the direction of the fire
she had seen the night before, Bessie saw that it was still burning. A
pillar of smoke rose straight in the still air, and beyond it, gleaming
among the trees, Bessie saw the white sides of three or four tents.
Astonished, she called Zara.
"They're not from around here, Zara," she whispered, not ready yet for
the strangers to discover her. "Girls around here don't swim--it's only
the boys who do that."
"I'll bet they're from the city and here on a vacation," said Zara.
"They look awful happy, Zara. Isn't that lady with the brown hair
pretty? And she's older than the rest, too. You can see that, can't
you?"
"Listen, Bessie! She just called one of the girls. And did you hear
what she called her? Minnehaha--that's a funny name, isn't it?"
"It's an Indian name, Zara. It means Laughing Water. That's the name of
the girl that Hiawatha loved, in the poem. I've read that, haven't you?"
"I've never been able to read very much, Bessie. But that girl isn't an
Indian. She's ever so much lighter than I am--she's as fair as you. And
Indians are red, aren't they?"
"She's not an Indian, Zara. That's right enough. It must be some sort of
a game. Oh, listen!"
For the older girl, the one Zara had pointed out, had spied Bessie's
peeping face suddenly.
"Look, girls!" she cried, pointing.
And then, without a word of signal all the girls suddenly broke out into
a song--a song Bessie had never heard before.
"Wohelo for aye, Wohelo for aye,
Wohelo, Wohelo, Wohelo for aye;
Wohelo for work, Wohelo for health,
Wohelo, Wohelo, Wohelo for love!"
As they ended the song, all the girls, with laughing faces, followed the
eyes of their leader and looked at Bessie, who, frightened at first when
she saw that she had been discovered, now returned the look shyly. There
was something so kind, so friendly, about the manner of these strange
girls that her fear had vanished.
"Won't you come out and talk to us?" asked the leader of the crowd.
She came forward alone toward the door of the cabin, looking at Bessie
with interest.
"My name is Wanaka--that is, my Camp Fire name," said the stranger. "We
are Manasquan Camp Fire Girls, you know, and we've been camping out by
this lake. Do you live here?"
"No--not exactly, ma'am," said Bessie, still a little shy.
"Then you must be camping out, too? It's fun, isn't it? But you're not
alone, are you? Didn't I see another head peeping out?"
"That's Zara. She's my friend, and she's with me," said Bessie. "And my
name's Bessie King."
She looked curiously at Wanaka. Bessie had never heard of the Camp Fire
Girls, and the great movement they had begun, meant to do for American
girls what the Boy Scout movement had begun so well for their brothers.
"Well, won't you and Zara spend the day with us, if you are by
yourselves?" asked Wanaka. "We'll take you over to camp in the canoes,
and you can have dinner with us. We're going back now to cook it. The
other girls have begun to prepare it already."
"Oh, we'd like to!" cried Bessie. "I'm awfully hungry--and I'm sure Zara
is, too."
Bessie hadn't meant to say that. But the thought of a real meal had been
too much for her.
"Hungry!" cried Wanaka. "Why, haven't you had breakfast? Did you
oversleep?"
She looked about curiously. And Bessie saw that she could not deceive
this tall, slim girl, with the wise eyes that seemed to see everything.
"We--we haven't anything to eat," she said. And suddenly she was
overcome with the thought of how hard things were going to be,
especially for Zara, and tears filled her eyes.
"You shall tell me all about it afterwards," said Wanaka, with decision.
"Just now you've got to come over with us and have something to eat,
right away. Girls, launch the canoes! We have two guests here who
haven't had any breakfast, and they're simply starving to death."
Any girls Bessie had ever known would have rushed toward her at once,
overwhelming her with questions, fussing around, and getting nothing
done. But these girls were different. They didn't talk; they did things.
In a moment, as it seemed, the canoes were in the water, and Bessie and
Zara had been taken into different boats. Then, at a word from Wanaka,
the paddles rose and dipped into the water, and with two girls paddling
each canoe, one at the stern and one at the bow, they were soon speeding
across the lake, which, at this point, was not more than a quarter of a
mile wide.
Once ashore, Wanaka said a few words to other girls who were busy about
the fire, and in less than a minute the savory odor of frying bacon and
steaming coffee rose from the fire. Zara gave a little sigh of perfect
content.
"Oh, doesn't that smell good?" she said.
Bessie smiled.
"It certainly does, and it's going to taste even better than it smells,"
she answered, happily.
They sat down, cross-legged, near the fire, and the girls of the camp,
quiet and competent, and asking them no questions, waited on them.
Bessie and Zara weren't used to that. They had always had to wait on
others, and do things for other people; no one had ever done much for
them. It was a new experience, and a delightful one. But Bessie, seeing
Wanaka's quiet eyes fixed upon her, realized that the time for
explanations would come when their meal was over.
And, sure enough, after Bessie and Zara had eaten until they could eat
no more, Wanaka came to her, gently, and took her by the hand. She
seemed to recognize that Bessie must speak for Zara as well as for
herself.
"Now suppose we go off by ourselves and have a little talk, Bessie," she
suggested. "I'm sure you have something to tell me, haven't you?"
"Yea, indeed, Miss Wanaka," said Bessie. She knew that in Wanaka she had
found, by a lucky chance, a friend she could trust and one who could
give her good advice.
Wanaka smiled at her as she led the way to the largest of the tents.
"Just call me Wanaka, not Miss Wanaka," she said. "My name is Eleanor
Mercer, but here in the camp and wherever the Camp Fire Girls meet we
often call one another by our ceremonial names. Some of us--most of
us--like the old Indian names, and take them, but not always."
"Now," she said, when they were alone together in the tent, "tell me all
about it, Bessie. Haven't you any parents? Or did they let you go out to
spend the night all alone in the woods that way?"
Then Bessie told her the whole story. Wanaka watched her closely as
Bessie told of her life with the Hoovers, of her hard work and drudgery,
and of Jake's persecution. Her eyes narrowed slightly as Bessie
described the scene at the woodshed, and told of how Jake had locked
Zara in to wait for her mother's return, and of his cruel and dangerous
trick with the burning embers.
"Did he really tell his father that you had set the shed on fire--and on
purpose?" asked Wanaka, rather sternly.
"He was afraid of what would happen to him if they knew he'd done it,"
said Bessie. "I guess he didn't stop to think about what they'd do to
me. He was just frightened, and wanted to save himself."
Wanaka looked at her very kindly.
"These people aren't related to you at all, are they?" she asked. "You
weren't bound to them--they didn't agree to keep you any length of time
and have you work for them in return for your board?"
"No," said Bessie.
"Then, if that's so, you had a right to leave them whenever you liked,"
said Wanaka, thoughtfully. "And tell me about Zara. Who is her father?
What does he do for a living?"
"I don't believe she even knows that herself. They used to live in the
city, but they came out here two or three years ago, and he's never gone
around with the other men, because he can't speak English very well.
He's some sort of a foreigner, you see. And when they took him off to
prison Zara was left all alone. He used to stay around the cabin all the
time, and Zara says he would work late at night and most of the day,
too, making things she never saw. Then he'd go off for two or three days
at a time, and Zara thought he went to the city, because when he came
back he always had money--not very much, but enough to buy food and
clothes for them. And she said he always seemed to be disappointed and
unhappy when he came back."
"And the people in the village thought he was a counterfeiter--that he
made bad money?"
"That's what Maw Hoover and Jake said. _They_ thought so, I know."
"People think they know a lot when they're only guessing, sometimes,
Bessie. A man has a right to keep his business to himself if he wants
to, as long as he doesn't do anything that's wrong. But why didn't Zara
stay? If her father was cleared and came back, they couldn't keep her at
the poor-farm or make her go to work for this Farmer Weeks you speak
of."
"I don't know. She was afraid, and so was I. They call her a gypsy
because she's so dark. And people say she steals chickens. I know she
doesn't, because once or twice when they said she'd done that, she'd
been in the woods with me, walking about. And another time I saw a hawk
swoop down and take one of Maw Hoover's hens, and she was always sure
that Zara'd done that."
Wanaka had watched Bessie very closely while she told her story.
Bessie's clear, frank eyes that never fell, no matter how Wanaka stared
into them, seemed to the older girl a sure sign that Bessie was telling
the truth.
"It sounds as if you'd had a pretty hard time, and as if you hadn't had
much chance," she said, gravely. "It's strange about your parents."
Bessie's eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, something must have happened to them--something dreadful," she
said. "Or else I'm sure they would never have left me that way. And I
don't believe what Maw Hoover was always saying--that they were glad to
get rid of me, and didn't care anything about me."
"Neither do I," said Wanaka. "Bessie, I want to help you and Zara. And I
think I can--that we all can, we Camp Fire Girls. You know that's what
we live for--to help people, and to love them and serve them. You heard
us singing the Wohelo cheer when we first saw you. Wohelo means work,
and health, and love. You see, it's a word we made up by taking the
first two letters of each of those words. I tell you what I'm going to
do. You and Zara must stay with us here to-day. The girls will look
after you. And I'm going into the village and while I'm there I'll see
how things are."
"You won't tell Maw Hoover where we are; or Farmer Weeks?" cried Bessie.
"I'll do the right thing, Bessie," said Wanaka, smiling. "You may be
sure of that. I believe what you've told me--I believe every word of it.
But you'd rather have me find out from others, too, I'm sure. You see,
it would be very wrong for us to help girls to run away from home. But
neither you nor Zara have done that, if your story is right. And I think
it is our duty to help you both, just as it is our pleasure."