THE FOUR CORNERS IN CAMP
[Illustration: NAN WENT AT IT HEART AND SOUL.]
The Corner Series
THE FOUR
CORNERS
IN CAMP
By
AMY E. BLANCHARD
George W. Jacobs & Company
Philadelphia.
Copyright, 1910, by
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
_Published August, 1910_
_All rights reserved_
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
I. IN WASHINGTON 9
II. IN PORTLAND 27
III. COUSIN MARIA 47
IV. THE START FOR CAMP 67
V. UP THE MOUNTAIN 83
VI. CANOEING 101
VII. A RAINY DAY 119
VIII. AN EARLY DIP 135
IX. JACK HAS ADVENTURES 153
X. THE BOYS 173
XI. PICNICKING 191
XII. ON UPPER POND 211
XIII. LOHENGRIN 229
XIV. THE BIRTHDAY PARTY 247
XV. BEFORE THE STRAW RIDE 265
XVI. MISS PINCH 285
XVII. NAN HEARS 303
XVIII. BREAKING CAMP 323
XIX. MERCEDES ARRIVES 339
XX. THE WEDDING 359
ILLUSTRATIONS
Nan went at it heart and soul _Frontispiece_
“It was just like being a duck” _Facing page_ 126
“Suddenly out darted a Mediæval Princess” ” ” 176
A cavalcade went dashing by, a big bay in the lead ” ” 300
Jo returned to do an Irish monologue ” ” 336
[Illustration: CHAPTER I
IN WASHINGTON]
CHAPTER I
IN WASHINGTON
The four Corners were occupying the four corners of the room. This may
seem a rather peculiar statement until you realize that the first four
Corners were called Nan, Mary Lee, Jack and Jean. Nan, the eldest,
was bent over a table by the window in the west corner, Mary Lee was
standing before the mirror in the east corner, Jack was sprawled out
on the rug in the north corner, and Jean was in the south corner doing
nothing in particular and looking abstractedly into space.
The last mentioned was the first to make a remark. “I think Washington
is the most beautiful city in the world,” she said moving over to the
window and gazing out at the avenue of trees which were fast turning to
sunny yellow and brilliant green.
“Not lovelier than München, dear little München,” responded Nan.
“Nor prettier than Paris,” put in Jack.
“Well, I am not sure myself but Jean is right,” Mary Lee asserted. “If
it isn’t already the loveliest city it soon will be. Of course it
isn’t quite as symmetrical as it might be, and all the funny little
frame houses stuck in between stately mansions make it still look as if
it wasn’t finished, but time will mend that.”
“It is like a country girl who comes to town wearing shabby gloves and
shoes with a nice tailor-made gown,” Nan suggested. “Of course, after
a while, when she has lived long enough, she will be quite finished
in her dress, but now she still shows that she is young and a little
provincial.”
“What a way to put it, Nan,” said Mary Lee.
“It is the way it impresses me,” returned her sister. “Didn’t you
notice how raggety and taggety everything looked over here in our own
country after Europe? How the fences and stretches of unkempt lots
seemed so incomplete, and the poorer houses seemed little and mean
instead of being picturesque, and how such things had a tumble-down
raw sort of look? Of course I don’t say it will always be so, and
in a short hundred years we shall be quite a sumptuous-appearing
country, but as yet though we may be important looking we are not
very picturesque. Think of those old, old palaces in Venice. Think
of those castles along the Rhine, and all the ancient buildings that
show history in every feature. Yes, I must say that though we look
prosperous we also look painfully new.”
Mary Lee laughed. “You talk like a lecturer,” she said. “Well, at any
rate if we are modern we are mighty comfortable, and that suits me.”
“And we do have better things to eat here than we get anywhere else,”
put in Jean.
“Bound for you to discover that,” laughed Nan.
“At all events,” Mary Lee went on, “I’m glad to be back again, and I
think we have been mighty comfortable and have had a jolly good time
this past winter. I’m not kicking, as Carter says.”
“Oh, dear me, neither am I,” replied Nan. “I was only comparing, that
was all. I am an American, stars and stripes, spread eagle, Hail
Columbia American, if you will have it, though of course I do want
to go back to Europe some day, but I don’t want to live anywhere but
in this blessed old stuck-up country of ours, and south of Mason and
Dixon’s line at that. ‘I’ll live and die for Dixie.’”
“I am glad Washington is south of Mason and Dixon’s line,” remarked
Mary Lee with satisfaction. “It certainly was good of Maryland to hand
over a piece of herself to make the District of Columbia for the seat
of government.”
“Maryland has been a pretty good state anyhow,” Nan rejoined; “she
stuck out, wouldn’t give in on that matter of the Western territory and
she did a lot in all the wars. I am willing to concede a great deal to
her though I stand up for Virginia first and foremost.”
“I should say so,” returned Mary Lee emphatically. “Well, I suppose we
shall soon be leaving Washington. Have you heard mother or Aunt Helen
say any more about the summer plans? It is time we were hearing from Jo
and Danny. Wouldn’t it be nice if they could spend a few days with us
in Portland before we branch off to wherever we are going?”
“It would be nice, for a fact. No, I haven’t heard a word about any
plans; the only conclusion reached seems to be that we are to go to
Portland and from there bring up somewhere. Mother thinks the seashore
will not do for her, so I suppose it will be the mountains, or at least
somewhere inland; they don’t seem to know exactly.”
“I haven’t a doubt but Danny would join us. Her uncle is so pleased
with her progress that he allows her almost anything she asks. I
suppose one reason is because she never asks unreasonable things,
and is so sweet about giving up when he wants her to. Jo would give
anything to be with us, too, I know. Her last letter was a perfect
wail; she is so afraid we will not stop in Boston, or will not get
there before her school closes. She hasn’t yet recovered from our going
to school in Washington instead of returning to the Wadsworth.”
“Oh, but dear me, it has been much better here. We have been able to
live at home in this pleasant apartment, and mother has enjoyed it so
much; it would have been folly to go back to the Wadsworth.”
“I think so, too,” said Jean coming into the conversation. “I did hate
those Saturday night baked beans and never any of our own kinds of hot
bread.”
The others laughed. “You certainly are a P. I. G., Jean,” said Nan,
then, as Jean put on an injured look, “I mean a perfectly irresistible
girl.”
“You didn’t mean that at all,” retorted Jean.
“I think they set a fairly good table at the Wadsworth,” Mary Lee
asserted, “still nothing can ever come to one’s own home doings, of
course.”
“These home doings were Aunt Helen’s doings,” Nan stated. “She wasn’t
satisfied till she had made hundreds of inquiries and had seen dozens
and dozens of apartments.”
“It is funny how things turn out,” Mary Lee took up the thread again.
“I suppose if we hadn’t met Miss Cameron when we were going to Spain we
should never have come to Washington at all this year.”
“I am not so sure of that. I think Aunt Helen had her heart set on it
some time ago; she has so many friends here, though we might not have
gone to Miss Cameron’s school.”
“The thing I want to know,” said Jack, suddenly rousing herself from an
absorbed attention to things out-of-doors, “is what are we going to do
between now and the day we start for the North?”
“There are lots of things to do,” Nan told her.
“I think a good way would be to pick out what each one wants most to
see,” said Jack; “the way we did in England, you know.”
“Well and good,” returned Nan. “Fire ahead, Jack, you lean damsel.”
“I’m not as lean as you are,” retorted Jack, “and I’d be as fat as Jean
if I ate as much.”
“Why, my dear,” said Nan in pretended surprise, “I said Jacqueline,
damsel.”
“You didn’t mean it that way at all; you just said the other to make
fun of me,” insisted Jack.
“Prove it,” returned Nan good-naturedly.
“Yes, you did,” Jean came to the rescue of her twin, “just like you
called me a P. I. G. a while ago.”
“You’re such suspicious creatures,” responded Nan. “Let’s change the
subject. Go on, Jack, what do you want most to see?”
“I want to go up the monument, or the dome of the Capitol once more,”
she decided.
“Now, isn’t that like you? Nothing short of an aeroplane will ever
satisfy you eventually, Jack. When you get to heaven you will wear out
your wings before they are full fledged. What is your choice, Jean?”
“Oh, the Zoo, of course. There are some new animals there I want to
see. You know I’m crite crazy to go there without crestioning.”
“I know you are crite craulified to be craurrelsome to-day, and that I
am in a craundary myself.”
“Oh, Nan,” protested Jean with irritation, “you are so horrid when you
mock us that way.”
“I’ll be good, I promise you,” replied Nan. “What about you, Mary Lee?
Do you want to go to the Zoo, too?”
“Perhaps, but I must go once again to the Smithsonian. I expected to
know it by heart by this time, but the chances to go have really been
very few.”
“Well, I am divided between the Government greenhouses and the Corcoran
Art Gallery,” Nan told them. “Perhaps I shall have time for both. I
declare I shall really be sorry to leave Washington; it is a pretty
nice sort of place when you come to think of all there is to see and of
all the pleasant things that are going on all the time.”
“We ought to go to Arlington and Fort Myer before we leave; it is
lovely there this time of year, they say.”
“Here comes Aunt Helen looking as if she had some scheme afoot. Perhaps
she has decided about the summer plan.”
“How would you all like to drive to Fort Myer to see the cavalry drill
this afternoon?” said Miss Helen coming in.
“We were just talking about that very thing,” cried Mary Lee. “It would
be fine, Aunt Helen.”
“I think you would be interested and it is a lovely afternoon. Your
mother doesn’t care to go out for she has been shopping all morning, so
if you will get ready we can start off in about half an hour.”
It was already June and there was a feeling of summer in the warm air.
The season comes early to the capital and the gardens were gay with
flowers; roses clambered over porches and windows, fountains were
playing, and grass was green in the parks. Those who summered away were
fast leaving and the streets were not so full of people as earlier. Old
Georgetown retained its usual quiet, broken at intervals by a passing
trolley-car or an automobile climbing up the steep streets.
“There is one thing I like about Washington,” remarked Nan as the
carriage turned to cross the Aqueduct bridge, “we need only to pass
over the Potomac and we are in Virginia, and we can, moreover, see the
shores of our native state any time we choose. How lovely the green
banks look, Aunt Helen.”
“And the river, too,” said Jack. “I like those places where the trees
bend over to look at themselves in the water.”
Nan smiled at her little sister. Jack was wont once in a while to
surprise her by some such remark. She was a harum-scarum little
somebody, very sociable and impulsive though warm-hearted and with a
fearless spirit.
“And now we are in Virginia,” she went on as the carriage left the
bridge for the road.
“I don’t feel a bit different,” remarked her twin.
“Oh, don’t you? I do,” declared Jack. “I feel as if the blackberry
bushes and sumachs and the trees all belong to me.”
“I hear a bugle call,” said Mary Lee. “We must be near the post.”
They soon drew up amid a line of carriages overlooking the parade
ground where a body of cavalry went through the manœuvres. Horses
dashed hither and thither, there was a clash of sabres, a flash of
steel as the riders wheeled into position; then came the thud of
horses’ hoofs as they responded to orders. At last, after a furious
gallop and a mad slashing at pretended foes, the drill was over and the
carriages turned away.
“I liked it,” cried Jack. “Wasn’t it exciting when they waved their
sabres and went tearing around the field? I imagined them swooping down
upon the Indians when they did that.”
“I saw one man thrown,” said Mary Lee, “and his horse just trotted off
to his place in the stables quite as a matter of course. Wasn’t that
sensible?”
The driver by whose side she was sitting smiled. “Dem beases has lots
o’ sense, miss. Dese yer ones o’ mine don’ lak nothin’ bettah dan goin’
to one o’ dese yer drills. Dey knows jes’ as well when we turns fo’ de
bridge. Did yuh see how dey kep’ a-lookin’ an’ a-lookin’ lak dey want
ter be in de fiel’ deyselves?”
“Oh, no, I didn’t; I was so interested myself. I wish I had noticed
them. They are nice horses,” she added; “so sleek and well kept.” It
was a joy to her to discover a driver fond of his horses.
They drove on to Arlington, that fair estate, and all were silent as
they went through the embowered avenues where lay the quiet soldiers
who were at peace after great conflict. The elder girls and Miss Helen
were more than usually moved, for the old home of the Lees had been
that of their own kin, so they talked but little and were glad to pass
out of the gates before the sunset gun gave notice of closing. Across
the river arose the domes and spires of the capital city with the shaft
of the monument white against the sky.
“We’re going up that to-morrow,” announced Jack.
“I’m not,” declared Jean; “I’m going to the Zoo with Mary Lee.”
“Then you don’t want to go Juning to the Great Falls with me?” said
their aunt.
“’Deed and ’deed we do,” cried Jack. “We didn’t know that was on.”
“Is it to be a picnic, Aunt Helen? Won’t that be fun?” said Jean.
“Would you rather go there, to Alexandria, or to Mount Vernon?” asked
Miss Helen.
“We’ve been to Mount Vernon,” said Nan; “it would seem more picnicky to
go to the Falls, don’t you think?”
“Time was when it was very picnicky to go to Mount Vernon,” said Miss
Helen reminiscently. “I can remember when I was a girl that we used
to take luncheon and eat it on the grass there in front of the house.
Visitors were few then and the regulations were much less formal; one
almost felt as if she were visiting the family, we were given such
freedom. We could always get milk from the dairy, could have a clipping
from the garden, and had access to many places which now are shut away
from the public.”
“Then I shouldn’t think you would care to go there at all.”
“It doesn’t seem much of a privilege in comparison with the old free
and easy times.”
“Then we will vote for the Falls. Don’t you say so?” Nan appealed to
her sisters, who all agreed that it would be much more like going
a-Maying, or a-Juning as Miss Helen called it, if they took a luncheon
to the woods instead of making a pilgrimage to Washington’s old home.
As usual Jean was most particular in the matter of what was to fill the
lunch baskets and superintended in person the making of sundry special
sandwiches, the buying of a large bottle of stuffed olives, and the
careful packing of certain rich little cakes, so that her individual
basket showed no frugal meal. As Jack always depended upon receiving
a share of her twin’s provisions she did not trouble herself to look
out for more than crackers and cheese and a little fruit while Nan
with Mary Lee’s help saw to it that there was enough for a substantial
luncheon in the basket which was to serve themselves and Miss Helen.
Their way took them up the Virginia side of the river to where the
water of the Potomac dashed madly over the rocks in furious eddys and
fierce whirlpools, being whipped into froth as it was carried noisily
on to the clearer and quieter waters below.
“If it were in Europe or even in New England,” remarked Nan when they
had seated themselves on the river’s bank and were contemplating the
rushing stream, “this spot would be advertised and made one of the
places to which tourists would flock from all parts of the country, but
here it is not generally spoken of and one may say is scarcely known.”
“I am glad it is so,” declared Jack. “I like it just naturally wild
and the way it has been all these years. I don’t like the cleaned up
places, so neat and exact, all walled in and set around by particular
foot-paths with ‘Keep off the grass’ signs everywhere, and ‘Admission
twenty-five cents’ at the entrance.”
“That’s where we agree, my dear,” Nan told her. “But, Jack, my honey,
don’t try any dangerous leaps or adventurous heights as you are so
fond of doing. Once you get caught in those rapids there is an end to
Jacqueline Corner; we couldn’t possibly get you out.”
Jack peered seriously down into the seething waters. Nan’s words were
sufficiently terrifying to keep her away from ticklish places, and she
made no random ventures.
“It would be nice to camp up here,” remarked Mary Lee as she munched a
jam sandwich.
“Not as nice as some other places,” returned her aunt. “That gives me
an idea, girls. I’ll follow it up. Why didn’t I think of it before?
Capital! Just the thing! Why, of course it is! How stupid of me.”
“You are so mysteriously disjointed, Aunt Helen,” cried Nan. “What are
you talking about?”
“I can’t tell you exactly, myself, but you shall know to-morrow. I’ll
go to see Miss Stewart this very evening.”
This only whetted the curiosity of the girls, but their aunt changed
the subject and refused utterly to tell them what she had in mind.
Therefore they sat contentedly under the trees while they finished
eating their lunch, looking across at the shining length of canal, and
the tossing tumult of water between them and the verdant heights of
Maryland’s shores.
But Miss Helen was evidently so eager to further her plans that she
hurried them back before the afternoon was over and while the hucksters
were still crying strawberries in the drowsy streets of Georgetown and
the bugle calls at Fort Myer announced that the cavalry drill was in
progress.
[Illustration: CHAPTER II
IN PORTLAND]