UP THE MOUNTAIN
In two or three days the girls decided that they could no longer
wait to join the party which was preparing for a mountain climb. The
start was made in a wagon which would take them about twenty miles
to the foot of a steep up-winding road which was only possible for
pedestrians. In bloomers, big hats and flannel blouses, a leather strap
around their waists upon which was hung a tin cup, and wearing leathern
leggings to protect them from the briars or something worse, they made
ready. Each had made into a pack a small pillow, a rubber blanket and a
woolen one and had further provided herself with an alpenstock. There
were about a dozen in the party, which was led by Miss Lloyd, a cheery
little woman full of resources and with a fund of humor which would
serve a good purpose under difficulties.
“We are to sleep out-of-doors just like soldiers,” remarked Jack with
satisfaction as she watched the preparations.
’Lish tossed the packs one after another into the wagon. “Pile in,” he
cried, and the girls obeyed with alacrity.
“I hope it won’t rain,” remarked Florence Yardley scanning the sky
anxiously.
“Now, Flo, don’t be a wet blanket,” said her chum, Carrie King.
“Suppose it does rain, who cares?”
“So much more fun,” agreed the rest.
“We haven’t on such flimsy attire that it will make any difference,”
said Bertha Stine. “What are you kicking about, Floss?”
“Oh, I’m not kicking,” returned Florence subsiding. “I suppose one may
mention a preference for good weather when our object is to see the
sunrise to-morrow morning.”
“Our object is to have a good time regardless of weather. If there
happens to be a sunrise that is what we want; if it rains that is what
we want. Isn’t that the proper spirit, Miss Lloyd?”
“Beautifully proper. I couldn’t ask for a fairer philosophy than that.”
“And there’s this about it,” Bertha went on. “If we miss a sunrise this
time we can try it again and still keep our object in anticipation. In
other words if we don’t have our cake and eat it, we can eat our pie
and keep our pudding. Isn’t that it, girls?”
“Exactly. ‘So say we all of us,’” they chanted.
Having stowed away the last pack, seen to it that the provisions were
safe and at the last moment going back for a water bucket, ’Lish at
last gathered up his reins and off they started waving merry farewells
and making the woods ring with a gay song which went something like
this:
“When ’Lisha takes us ’way from camp
We use a bright blue wagon,
And each girl cries ‘What lovely roads!’
Though they’re not much to brag on.
Thanky ma’am.”
At the end of each stanza the girls rose to their feet and sat down
again violently, crying in chorus, “Thanky ma’am!” Every now and then
some one contributed a new verse which was sung lustily.
“It prevents our getting cramped from long sitting,” explained Bertha.
“It is also good for our lungs and keeps up our spirits.”
Once in a while as they came to a steep hill some of the party would
get out and walk, and when a wayside spring appeared there was a
scramble to fill the tin cups.
By sundown the foot of the mountain was reached and preparations were
made for supper. Brushwood was plentiful, therefore a fire was readily
managed. Miss Lloyd produced a frying-pan in which slices of bacon soon
sizzled. Carrie King was delegated to watch the coffee which began to
boil over and was rescued only after heroic efforts. Then the girls
fell to and ate heartily, deciding that coffee from tin cups was not so
bad after all and that bacon and bread made a dish fit for any king,
“including Carrie,” remarked Bertha.
“Apple turnovers!” exclaimed Jean. “Oh, Miss Lloyd, what a nice supper.”
“Crackers and cheese, please, ma’am,” called out Jo.
“I’ll take a cookie.” Jack made known her choice.
There was milk for those who preferred it and water from a spring near
by.
It was almost dark by the time they had finished their meal. The stars
began peeping from a rack of clouds; a little stream tinkled on its way
from the mountain to the lake; an owl hooted in the distance. The girls
spread their rubber blankets on the ground and without undressing,
pulled their woolen covers over them, each having selected the softest
spot she could find.
But in spite of the long ride, the excitement of such an unusual
experience kept Nan awake, and she lay looking up at the stars
twinkling down at her. The clouds were drifting away and from the blue
spaces one after another a golden eye appeared. For a long time she lay
thinking, but finally she fell asleep. She was roused after a while
by hearing suppressed giggles from Jack who lay next her. She sat up,
leaned over and whispered, “What’s the matter, Jack? Haven’t you been
asleep?”
“Yes,” said Jack, also in a whisper, “but I was wakened up by something
walking over me. I was a tiny bit scared and then I saw such a funny
little animal sitting by me and looking at me with such a ridiculous
expression that I had to laugh. When you moved it went off. What do you
reckon it was?”
“I can’t imagine. What did it look like?”
“I can’t tell, for it wasn’t light enough for me to see very well. I
could only make out its funny little face. It wasn’t a rabbit.”
“Nor a fox?”
“No, not so big.”
They sat up watching for the return of the little beast, but it was
evidently not in a humor for making a second visit, so finally, getting
drowsy, the two sisters moved nearer one another and in a short time
fell asleep, not to waken till a call from Miss Lloyd announced that
they must begin their mountain climb.
Then the identity of the mysterious visitor was discovered, for he
had left a token of his presence in the shape of a porcupine quill
which Jack found sticking in her blanket. She proudly secured it as a
souvenir after finding out from ’Lish what it was.
“There’s quite a few of them porcupines around here,” the man told her,
“and they ain’t so pleasant to meet up with sometimes, for they can
throw their quills quite disagreeable. You was lucky not to git that in
some part of your body ’stid of in your blanket.”
It was a long and arduous climb up the mountain. Two or three of the
party, Jean among them, gave out and waited on the roadside till the
others should come down. The rest reached the top just in time to see
the red ball of the sun enter a bank of clouds.
“There; I knew it would rain,” exclaimed Florence.
“Where’s any rain?” demanded Carrie.
“You’ll see,” was the rejoinder.
“I suppose we may not rest too long,” said Miss Lloyd, “for I fear
Florence may be right and that we are in for a rain.”
They had taken a slight breakfast before making their climb, and
decided not to stop for anything more till they had gone a little
further on where they could find shelter in case of a shower, so after
they had been joined by those waiting half-way they did not tarry to
rest but continued the downward path.
They had scarcely gone many rods before they met a party of people
going up; two men and two young women, the former in spotless
flannels and neatly polished shoes, the latter in fresh white frocks,
rose-wreathed hats and filmy veils. They looked very natty and fine. As
they passed they gave supercilious stares at the company of girls in
stout shoes, farmer hats and flannel blouses.
“But, oh, dear me,” said Jo to Nan, “what a get up for the mountains.
Do they think they are at Bar Harbor, forsooth, or do they expect to
find a hotel around the next boulder? Imagine what they will look like
when they have gone through brambles and thickets and over dewy grass.
I shouldn’t like to pay their laundry bills.”
“It’s raining,” exclaimed Florence as the first fugitive drops began to
patter. “What did I say?”
“Oh, Floss, we can stand the rain better than we can your torrent of
I-told-you-sos,” said Carrie.
“Who cares if it does rain?” queried Jo. “We aren’t wearing white
frocks and rosebud hats. If you want to hear any growling, I would
advise seeking that party of silly-billies who have just passed us. It
won’t matter if we do get wet.” But by the time they had reached their
camping place of the night before the rain was coming down in good
earnest and they were glad to seek shelter in a little hut not far off.
“You can at least be under cover there,” Miss Lloyd told them. “We
must have something to eat first thing, for I am sure you are all half
starved with nothing but sandwiches since before dawn. I will make some
coffee and fry some bacon, so you can have a little something hot.”
“Where? There’s no chimney in here,” said Florence. The girls stood
peeping into the little cabin which was open to them.
“You’ll see. Go in, go in. You look like a flock of drabbled hens
standing before a hen-coop,” Miss Lloyd laughed. “Shoo! Shoo!”
The girls skurried in out of the wet to find a very primitive sort of
house with earthen floor and rough log sides. A couple of benches and
a stool were all the furniture. A small window let in the light on one
side.
“It’s pretty poor comfort to sit in wet clothes,” complained Florence.
“I’ve no doubt I shall take my death.”
“You might if you had a cotton frock on. You’re no worse off than the
rest of us,” said Bertha. “What did you come to camp for, anyway,
Floss?”
“Not to get wet.”
“Well, then, you ought to have stayed at home. It’s part of the
performance. With a good dry bench to sit on and a roof over you what
more do you want? Look at Miss Lloyd out there; she has actually
started a fire and there she is in this downpour acting as if she were
really going to cook something. Did you ever?”
“The fire is burning, too, of all things,” exclaimed Jo looking out.
“She has made a sort of oven, you see, but why doesn’t the smoke get
into her eyes?”
“Because she keeps away from the windy side. Isn’t she a duck?”
“She must be, not to mind the wet,” returned Jo. “I’m going out to help
her, being seized with a desire to be a duck, too.”
She went out leaving the others to watch the ingenious manipulation of
the frying-pan. They all crowded around the one small window to watch
proceedings. Presently from the opposite direction they heard voices
and the doorway was darkened by the figure of a man.
“I beg your pardon,” he began hesitatingly, “would you mind very much
if we came in?”
The girls huddled around the window turned to see the party they had
encountered on the way down the mountain, but in what a forlorn and
unhappy state. The crisp white frocks were drenched and stained, the
red of rose had run into the green of ribbon on the flower-trimmed
hats, the thin stockings fairly oozed water and the natty tan shoes
were sodden and muddy. The men looked scarcely less limp than their
companions, for their straw hats were out of shape, their trousers
soaking, their collars flabby from the moisture which trickled from
their hats.
“Oh, come in if you like,” said Bertha, who, in her prerogative as
eldest, was spokesman for the rest. “You can probably find a dry end of
plank somewhere.”
The place was small and the benches already nearly occupied, but the
newcomers promptly took possession of what remained for them and sat in
stony and miserable silence watching the rain pour down.
Presently Jo appeared, gaily bearing a large wooden platter of bacon in
one hand and a carefully held paper bag in the other. “Here you are,”
she cried, “smoking hot! Come a-running! Oh!” She stopped short at the
unexpected apparition of the new arrivals and looked so taken aback
that her friends all giggled. But it was only for a moment that Jo was
nonplussed. It might have been a restaurant and the girls of her own
party the guests upon whom she alone waited, for all the attention she
gave the four huddled on the bench near the door. “Bacon and rolls for
eight,” she began again. “I hope, ladies, you will not criticize the
bacon, but the fact is our chimney is smoky and the cook says you must
excuse it if she has scorched it a bit. I am sorry, too, to announce
that a burglar broke in last night and stole all our silver, so if you
will kindly adapt yourselves to the familiar adage, ‘fingers were made
before forks,’ I think you will get on very well. The second course is
on its way.” She passed around the bacon and the bag of rolls. Each
girl was hungry enough to be glad of anything to eat.
As she paused before Bertha she said something in a low tone. Bertha
peeped into the bag and then nodded. Jo removed two of the rolls and
laid them aside, then picking up the plate of bacon she went toward the
four forlornities and said, “Would you like some of this? I’m sorry
we can’t offer you a Delmonico feast but it’s better than a feast of
Barmecide.”
One of the young men looked brightly up and said heartily, “That’s
awfully good of you. I am afraid we shall be robbing you.”
“No, there are more eatables outside when we can get at them. I believe
our man is drying them out or something. We’ll be glad if you will
accept this slight token of our hospitable intentions.”
The young man took the plate and passed it to his neighbor. “Won’t you
have some, Mabel?” he asked.
She looked at the charred edges of the bacon scornfully.
“I never eat burnt food,” she answered.
The young man flushed up. “You’ll have some, Kitty,” he continued,
passing the plate to the other young woman.
“Thanks,” she said a little more graciously and helped herself to the
most appetizing looking piece.
“Mabel” deigned to take a roll at which she nibbled gingerly, “as if
expecting it to poison her,” commented Jack to her twin. The first
young man, however, seemed genuinely glad of what came his way and was
profuse in his thanks. “Kitty” expressed herself faintly grateful. The
second young man also gave reluctant thanks, “But he ate all he could
get, just the same,” said Jack.
Jo did not wait to consume her own roll but took it with her as she
went out. As she passed him the first young man sprang to his feet.
“Can’t I be of some service?” he asked. “You are so kind to share with
us. I wish you would let me be of some assistance.”
“No, thank you,” returned Jo. “Our man is outside and is very capable,”
and out she went.
After a time she appeared at the little window. “Girls,” she whispered,
“’Lish has rigged up an awning, out of the rubber blankets, for the
wagon, and has some dry straw in it. The rest of the eatables are quite
dry and Miss Lloyd thinks we’d better not attempt to transport them
here in all the rain. Don’t you think we might leave the castle to the
lords and ladies and take to the tented plain?”
Every girl immediately made for the door in a jiffy, without so much as
a word of farewell to the uninvited guests, and in another moment the
four silent strangers had the place to themselves while the girls under
’Lish’s improvised shelter made merry over ginger ale, hard-boiled
eggs, biscuits and cakes. The coffee had come to grief through the
sudden giving way of one of the stones which propped the coffee-pot,
and Miss Lloyd was unable to save more than a cupful which all insisted
she should drink herself.
In the goodness of her heart Miss Lloyd proposed that they should send
some of their abundance to “those that sit in darkness,” she said, but
every girl’s voice was raised in protest.
“Horrid, disagreeable, stuck-up creatures,” cried they, “not a crumb
shall they have. They have already had enough to keep them from
starving, and they may thank their stars they had that much; it was
more than they deserved. Why didn’t they provide themselves with some
food, foolish things?”
“They probably meant to go over the mountain and on to the next
village, but the rain altered their plans,” Miss Lloyd said.
“Then let them take the consequences. If they had behaved like white
folks we’d have been ready to divvy up with them,” said Jo. “Although,”
she added, “I must say the first young man was very nice. If we could
have toled him away from the rest I shouldn’t care.”
“Of course not,” remarked Mary Lee with meaning.
Jo made a face at her and subsided.
The rain continued for the rest of the day, but ’Lish proposed that
they “jog along toward home,” keeping themselves under the rubber
blanket canopy. So, toward dusk a chorus of cheerful voices was heard
by those anxiously waiting at camp. The voices were singing:
“When ’Lisha brings us home to camp,
All in the driving rain, sirs,
You’ll maybe look for frowns and groans,
But you will look in vain, sirs.
Thanky ma’am.”
[Illustration: CHAPTER VI
CANOEING]