Produced by Juliet Sutherland, David Garcia and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: She turned--and looked up into the evil eyes of Farmer
Weeks.]
CAMP FIRE GIRLS SERIES, VOLUME II
The Camp Fire Girls On the Farm
or
Bessie King's New Chum
by
JANE L. STEWART
* * * * *
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Chicago AKRON, OHIO New York
MADE IN U.S.A.
COPYRIGHT, MCMXIV
BY
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO.
* * * * *
The Camp Fire Girls On the Farm
CHAPTER I
IN THE CITY
"I never dreamed of such a lovely room, Zara, did you?"
Bessie King, her eyes open with admiration and wonder, asked her chum
the question in a room in the home of Eleanor Mercer, Guardian of the
Manasquan Camp Fire, of the Camp Fire Girls. Both the girls were new
members of the organization, and Bessie, who had lived all her life in
the country, and had known nothing of the luxuries and comforts that
girls in the city, or the luckier ones of them, at least, take almost as
a matter of course, had found something new to astonish her in almost
every hour since they had come to the city.
"I've dreamed of it--yes," said Zara. "You see I've been in the city
before, Bessie; and I've seen houses like this, and I've guessed that
the rooms inside must be something like this, though I never lived in
one. It's beautiful."
"I almost wish we were going to stay here, Zara. But I suppose it will
be nice when we go to the farm."
Eleanor Mercer, who had been standing for a moment in the doorway, came
in then, laughing merrily. She had overheard the remark, and Bessie was
greatly distressed when she discovered it.
"Oh, Miss Eleanor!" she exclaimed. "Please, please don't think I'm
ungrateful. I want to do whatever you think is right--"
"I know that, Bessie, and I know just what you were thinking, too. Well,
you're going to have a surprise--I can promise you that. This farm isn't
a bit like the farm you know about. I guess you know too much about one
sort of farm to want ever to see another, don't you?"
"Maybe there are different sorts of farms," admitted Bessie. "I don't
like Paw Hoover's kind."
Eleanor laughed again. She was a fresh, bright-cheeked girl, not so many
years older than Bessie herself. One might guess, indeed, that she, as
Guardian of her Camp Fire, didn't much more than manage to fulfill the
requirement that Guardians, like Scoutmasters among the Boy Scouts, must
be over twenty-one years of age.
"Indeed there are different sorts of farms from that one, Bessie," she
said. "You'll see a farm where everything is done the way it should be,
and, while I think Paw Hoover's a mighty nice man, I've got an idea that
on his farm everything is done just about opposite to the proper
fashion."
"When are we going, Miss Eleanor?"
Zara asked that question. In the last few days a hunted look had left
Zara's eyes, for with relief from certain worries she had begun to be
happier, and she was always asking questions now.
"I don't know exactly, Zara, but not right away. We want all the girls
to go out together. We're going to have our next Council Fire at the
farm. And some of them can't get away just now. But it will be fairly
soon, I can promise you that. You like the country, don't you, Zara?"
"Indeed I do, Miss Eleanor! Until they took my father away I was ever so
happy there."
"And just think, you're going to see him tomorrow, Zara! He's well, and
as soon as he heard that you were here and safe, he stopped worrying.
That was his chief trouble--he seemed to think more about what would
happen to you than that he was in trouble himself."
"I knew he'd be thinking about me," said Zara, "He always did, even when
he had most to bother him."
"I was sure he was a good father, Zara, when I heard you talk about
him--and I've been surer of it than ever since I've had a chance to find
out about him. My cousin, who's a lawyer, you know, is going to see that
he is properly treated, and be says that Mr. Weeks, who tried so hard to
make you stay behind and work for him, is at the bottom of all the
trouble."
Zara shuddered at the name.
"How I hate that Farmer Weeks!" she exclaimed.
Eleanor Mercer sighed and shook her head. She couldn't blame Zara for
hating the man, and yet, as she well knew, the spirit in the little
foreign girl that cherished hatred and ideas of revenge was bad--bad for
her. But how to eradicate it, and to make Zara feel more charitable,
was something that puzzled the Guardian mightily, was, as she foresaw,
likely to puzzle her still more. She left the two girls together, then,
to answer a call from outside the room.
"I don't exactly _like_ Farmer Weeks myself," said Bessie,
thoughtfully, when they were alone. "But what's the use of hating him,
Zara?"
"Why, Bessie! He made us run away from Hedgeville--he made me anyhow.
And if he'd had his way, he'd have taken me back, and had me bound over
to work for him just for board until I was twenty-one, if I hadn't
starved to death first. You know what a miser he is."
"Yes, that's true enough, Zara. But, after all, if it hadn't happened
that way, we'd never have met Miss Eleanor and the Camp Fire Girls,
would we? And you're not sorry for that, are you?"
Zara's face, which had grown hard, softened.
"No, indeed, Bessie! They're the nicest people I ever did know, except
you. But, even after we were with them, and had started to come to the
city with them, he caught me, and if it hadn't been for you following us
and guessing where he'd put me, I'd be with him now."
"Well, you're not, Zara. And you want to try to think of the good things
that happen. Then you won't have time to remember all the bad things,
and they won't bother you any more than if they'd never happened at all.
Don't you see!"
"Well, I'll try, Bessie. I guess they can't hurt us here, anyhow, or on
the farm. I think we're going to have lots of fun on the farm."
"I hope so, Zara. But I've often read about how jolly farms are--in
books. In the books, you don't have to get up at four o'clock on the
cold winter mornings to do chores, and you don't have to work all the
time, the way I had to do for Maw Hoover."
"I guess that was just because it was Maw Hoover, Bessie, and not
because it was on a farm. She'd have been mean to you, and made you work
all the time, just the same, if it had been a farm or wherever it was. I
think it's people that make you happy or unhappy, not other things."
"I guess that's about right, Zara. I'm awfully glad you're going to see
your father in the morning. I bet he'll be glad to see you."
"Bessie! Zara!" Miss Eleanor was calling from downstairs, and they ran
to answer the call.
"Come into the parlor," she said, as she heard them approaching.
They obeyed, and found her talking to a tall, good looking young man,
who smiled cheerfully at them.
"This is my cousin, Charlie Jamieson, the lawyer, girls," said Miss
Eleanor. "I've told him all about you, of course, and now he wants to
talk to you."
"I'm going to be your lawyer, you know," Charlie Jamieson explained.
"Girls like you don't have much use for a lawyer, as a rule, but I guess
you need one about as badly as anyone I can think of. So I'm going to
take the job, unless you know someone better."
"No, indeed," they chorused in answer, and both laughed when they saw
that he was joking.
"I wish about a thousand other people were as anxious as that to be my
clients. Then maybe I'd make enough money to pay my office rent."
"Don't you believe him, girls," said Eleanor, laughing, too. "He's one
of the smartest young lawyers in this town, and he's busy most of the
time, too. He always is, lately, when I want him to come to one of my
parties or anything like that."
"Well, let's be serious for a while," said Jamieson. "I'm going to try
to help your father out of his trouble, Zara, and I'm finding it pretty
hard, because he doesn't want to trust me, or tell me much of anything.
Perhaps you'll be able to do better."
Zara looked grave.
"I don't know much," she said. "But I do know this. My father used to
trust people, but they've treated him so badly that he's afraid to do it
any more. Like Farmer Weeks--I think' he trusted him."
"That's more than I'd do," said the lawyer, with a grin, "From all I've
heard of him I wouldn't trust him around the corner with a counterfeit
nickel--if I wanted it back. And--well, that sort of helps to get us
started, doesn't it? You know why your father's in trouble? It's because
they say he's been making bad money at that little house where you lived
in Hedgeville."
"He didn't!" said Zara. "I know he didn't!"
"Well, the district attorney--he's the one who has to be against your
father, you know--says that everyone in Hedgeville seems to think he
did. And he says that where there's so much smoke there must be some
fire; that if so many people think your father was crooked, they must be
right. I told him that was unfair, but he just laughed at me."
"You may have to be a witness, Zara," said Eleanor.
"A witness?" said Zara, puzzled.
"Yes. You may have to go to court, and tell them what you know. They'll
ask you questions, though, and you'll just have to answer them, and tell
the truth just as you know it."
"Yes, that's why I'm here," said Jamieson, nodding his head. "You see, I
may need you very badly and I want to make sure that they can't take you
back to Hedgeville. You never saw anyone who told you that as long as
your father couldn't look after you any more, you would have to stay
with this Weeks, did you? A judge, I mean?"
"No. But when Farmer Weeks caught me that time, and carried me away in
his buggy, he said he was going to take me to Zebulon--that's the county
seat, you know--and have everything fixed up. But Bessie got me away
from him before that could happen, so it was all right."
"And when he came after you at Pine Bridge--after you'd crossed the line
into this state--the policeman there wouldn't let him touch you, would
he?"
"No. Farmer Weeks showed him a paper, with a big red seal on it, but the
policeman said it was no good in this state."
"That sounds all right. I guess they can't touch you. I had to make sure
of that, you see. But, young lady, you want to be mighty careful. If
they can get you over the state line, no matter how, they've got you.
And I shouldn't be surprised if they tried just to kidnap you."
Eleanor Mercer looked frightened.
"Do you think there is any real danger, Charlie?" she asked.
"I certainly do. And it's because I don't know just what it is they're
after. There's something funny here, something we don't know about at
all yet. Maybe her father could tell us, but he isn't ready to do it.
And I don't blame him much. I guess, from all I've heard, that he's had
about as bad a time here with spies and enemies as he could have had
anywhere in Europe."
"You hear that, Zara? You must be very careful. Don't go out alone, and
if anyone tries to speak to you, no matter what they tell you, you pay
no attention to them. If they keep on bothering you, speak to a
policeman, if there's one around, and say that you want him to stop them
from bothering you."
"Good idea," said Charlie Jamieson. "And if you do have to speak to a
policeman, you mention my name. They all know me, and I guess most of
them like me well enough to do any little favor for a friend of mine."
Then Jamieson turned to Bessie.
"We've got to think about your case, too," he said. "Miss Mercer tells
me that you don't know what's become of your father and mother. Just
what do you know about them?"
"Not very much," said Bessie, bravely, although the disappearance of her
parents always weighed heavily on her mind. "When I was a little bit of
a girl they left me with the Hoovers, at Hedgeville, and I lived with
them after that. Maw Hoover said they promised to come back for me, and
to pay her board for looking after me until they came, and that they did
pay the board for a while. But then they stopped writing altogether, and
no one has heard from them for years."
"H'm! Where did the last letter they wrote come from?"
"San Francisco. I've heard Maw Hoover say that, often. But that was
years and years ago."
"Well, that's better than nothing, anyhow. You see, the Hoovers wouldn't
have known how to start looking for them, even if they'd been
particularly anxious to do it."
"And I don't believe they were," said Eleanor Mercer, indignantly. "They
treated her shamefully, Charlie--made her work like a hired girl, and
never paid her for it, at all. Instead, they acted, or the woman did,
anyhow, just as if they were giving her charity in letting her stay
there. Wasn't that an outrage?"
"Lots of people act as if they were being charitable when they get a
good deal more than they give," said the lawyer dryly.
"Maw Hoover was always calling me lazy, and saying she'd send me to the
poor-farm," said Bessie. "But it was she and Jake that made things so
hard. Paw Hoover was always good to me, and he helped me to get away,
too."
"That's what I'm driving at," said Jamieson. "You had a right to go
whenever you liked, if they hadn't adopted you, or anything like that.
Really, all you were in their place was a servant who wasn't getting
paid."
"I knew she had a right to go," said Eleanor. "That's why I helped her,
of course."
"Then we're all right. If she'd really run away from someone who had
a right to keep her, it would be harder. I might be able to prove that
they weren't fit guardians, but that's always hard, and it's a good
thing we don't need to do it. Hullo, what's the matter now?"
"Look!" said Zara, who had risen, and was looking keenly at a figure
across the street. "See, Bessie, don't you know who that is, even in
those clothes?"
Bessie followed her eyes, and started to her feet.
"It's Jake Hoover!" she cried. "What can he want here?"