PICNICKING
The next week saw lively times at Camp Happiness. Effie and her brother
were the first arrivals and at once became enthusiastic over the
camp, the lake, the mountains and the woods. They were good friends
of Daniella’s, among the very first she had made after entering Miss
Barnes’s school, and during the absence of the Corners in Europe,
Daniella had found the Glenns a great comfort. Effie was a nice
sensible girl of sixteen; her brother Hartley, two or three years
older, was devoted to outdoor sports. He was an expert swimmer, knew
all about water craft and was altogether just the sort of boy to enjoy
camp life.
These two had scarcely settled down when Randolph and Ashby Gordon
appeared. Ran was a little older than Hartley, Ashby a little younger.
The former already considered himself a man, and was just at the age
when girls who wore their hair down their backs were regarded as mere
children, therefore Ran was quite free and easy with them all, the
more especially as he and the Corners were cousins and he had met both
Jo and Daniella. Ashby was a quiet boy, but as Nan once said of him,
“his appreciation of what others said was worth more than some persons’
faculty for conversation.” Dr. Paul was the last to arrive, but went
directly to Place o’ Pines with Marcus Wells who met him at the end
of the stage route when the two took a short cut across country, the
doctor sending his luggage by ’Lish in the wagon.
Both young men appeared that same evening. Nan was the first to see the
lanterns bobbing along the path by the lake. “I do believe here they
come,” she cried.
“What they?” asked her mother with a smile.
“Why, Dr. Paul and Mr. Wells. You know Mr. Wells went over to meet Dr.
Paul this morning.”
“How did you learn so much?”
“’Lish told me that he had brought the doctor’s valise this far and
that he had arrived on the stage. I suppose they have come down in
the canoe, and will take the valise back with them. They are coming
directly up from the lake.”
“Oh, I see, and I suppose you are very glad Dr. Paul has come.”
“Of course. Aren’t you? I thought you were so fond of him, mother.”
“I am, my dear, very fond of him.”
Nan looked a little puzzled; she did not quite fathom what was in her
mother’s mind. Her own innocent pleasure was nothing she cared to hide.
“I’m going to get the rest and we’ll all go meet them,” she said.
“We’ll get up a triumphal procession,” and off she flew.
First she hunted up the girls. “Combs, girls,” she cried, “two or
three. Get the call-bell from the dining-room. Run, Jack, quick. Mary
Lee, where is that little bell you bought at the shop the other day?
Get it. I am going to see if I can borrow two or three tin pans. We are
going to meet Dr. Paul with the band and escort him into camp.”
“What larks!” cried Jo. “Are they coming?”
“They are nearly here. We shall have to hurry if we want to surprise
them. Some of you tell the boys and meet me here right away.” And Nan
hastened off to the kitchen to secure the tin pans and spoons.
Therefore as the two visitors approached the camp they were suddenly
surprised by the apparition of a body of young people, popping out of
the darkness, who set up a clatter of shrilling combs, tinkling bells,
and clamoring tin pans. Nan’s wits had been equal to a gathering of
the clans.
“What a delightfully quiet spot,” were the first words the party
lying in ambush heard, and Jack’s giggle was drowned in the sudden
signal Hartley gave, as heading the band, he sprang out with an Indian
war-whoop. Then the noise began amid laughter, exclamations and prayers
to stop.
“You don’t appreciate the honors thrust upon you, Dr. Paul,” cried Jo.
“You are far too modest a hero. We have come to escort you to camp.”
“I am _not_ the discoverer of the North Pole. I assert that firmly and
distinctly,” he began.
“But you have come as far north as you could,” retorted Jo. “We don’t
ask to see your charts. We are trusting to circumstantial evidence. See
the conquering hero comes, girls. Start it up.”
“But why hero?” inquired the doctor, trying to make his voice heard
above the din.
“Any one is a hero who is willing to trust himself to the tender
mercies of this crowd,” explained Jo.
“Fall into line,” called out Nan, with a bang on her pan. “One, two,
three. Keep step, please. Mr. Wells, you will have to go ahead with the
lantern.”
“As if any one could keep step on this uneven ground,” complained Jean
who failed to appreciate the subtlety of Nan’s joke.
So laughing, stumbling, making all the racket they could, they escorted
the doctor to Mrs. Corner’s tent where he was received sensibly. “I
might have known what to expect,” he said after the greetings were
over, “though I must say I was rather startled. That war-whoop coming
out of the darkness was most uncanny, and gave one a creepy feeling of
having really fallen into the hands of the redskins. You were startled,
too, Marc; you needn’t deny it.”
“I’m not ‘denying’ it, Betsy,” he replied. “Shall I set the lantern
outside, Mrs. Corner? Are we to come in?”
“We are to go over to the living-room. There is a fine fire there,” Nan
told him. “You and mother take them over, Aunt Helen, and present the
hero properly to Miss Marshall and Miss Lloyd, while we girls go hunt
up the feast, for of course there must be a feast. We haven’t any, but
we’ll find one.”
She went off leaving the young men to the older ladies, while with the
rest of the girls she collected such odds and ends as she could. A few
peanuts, half-empty boxes of candy, crackers in a broken state, some
miserable looking grapes were found.
“Let’s have everything,” demanded Nan, “the more measly looking
the better. I know some one must have some stale cakes, or buns or
something.”
Jo produced some week-old doughnuts after rummaging around for a while.
Jack found some lozenges and pop-corn left over from the last visit to
the little country shop, and this was all that could be scared up.
“If we had some cheese we could make a rarebit,” said Mary Lee.
“Oh, no, we’d better not attempt one. You remember how stringy the last
was,” Jo reminded her. “The cheese we get from the store isn’t the
proper kind for rarebits. We could make fudge if Miss Marshall has the
things.”
“We’ll ask,” said Nan. “This will do to begin with.”
The stuff was arranged in the most elaborate manner and carried
solemnly to the living-room where it was set grandly forth to the
amusement of those who had gathered there.
“Did you ever see such a poverty-stricken array?” laughed Miss Lloyd.
“Couldn’t you do better than that, girls?”
“Why, there surely is variety enough,” said Nan in pretended surprise,
“and the things were all very good--when they were fresh. Dr. Woods,
allow me to press a few grapes upon you; they are only a week old.”
“Don’t press them on him, Nan,” cried Jo. “You might stain his nice
white flannel coat.”
“Then I will press a lozenge on him,” said Nan, laying one on the
doctor’s sleeve and firmly bearing her thumb down upon it.
“It really does put us to shame,” insisted Miss Lloyd. “Nan, I do think
we could manage something better.”
“Oh, please, Miss Lloyd, we don’t want better. We never before had such
a fine opportunity of disposing of left-overs.”
“But, my dear, the stuff isn’t fit to eat.”
“Oh, never mind; it isn’t really indigestible, though we could make
fudge or something if you have the ingredients.”
“Why, of course we have. Let me see: Chocolate, sugar, milk, butter.
You shall have them.”
“Thank you, Miss Lloyd,” Nan responded. “We will get to work. In the
meantime, my friends, try to restrain your eagerness for the delicious
viands set before you, and later we will offer you something which you
may prefer, though how you can, is beyond my comprehension.”
The materials for the fudge were brought in and Mary Lee, as head cook,
prepared it over the chafing-dish. It turned out to be a great success
and merriment ran high. While the fudge was cooling Mr. Wells announced
that there would be a picnic the next day, starting from Place o’ Pines.
“Have any of your party ever been to Upper Pond?” he asked. No one had.
“Then you have a treat before you. It is simply gorgeous. You have to
canoe from here to a point a little above our place, then we shall have
to portage across to the pond, about half a mile. The rest of the way
we go in canoes to the upper end of the pond. I think we can manage it
if you fellows are up to carrying the canoes. Do you ladies think you
can be equal to the walk across country?”
“Is it very rough walking?” asked Mrs. Corner.
“Not so very. There is a pretty good path.”
“I think, then, if I can take it slowly, I’ll be able to do it. I am
not up to climbing heights, but a slow walk on a level is all right.”
“Then you will get along nicely, for there is no climbing at all. So,
good people, you are all bidden to the picnic. No one is to bring any
provisions. This is my show. I promised Miss Jo I would repay her for
feeding me on a late unforgettable occasion, and she is to cook the
bacon this time.”
Again a pang assailed Nan’s heart. Jo was always so popular. Every one
liked her. She could be so droll and amusing, so original and without
any consciousness. She was the most spontaneous creature, not in the
least diffident, and ready to hold her own on every occasion. No wonder
a man like Mr. Wells could appreciate her. Jo wasn’t a bit pretty, but
she had such a merry face, such a saucy little turned up nose. As Nan
thought of this she shrank away into a corner, all her exuberance of
spirits suddenly gone.
After a while Dr. Paul came over to where she was silently watching
the fudge-making and listening to the merry sallies of wit. “This is
the jolliest thing that has happened since our Munich days,” he said
contentedly dropping down on the big settle by her side.
Nan brightened a little as she always did when any one mentioned
Munich. “Those were good days,” she returned. “Don’t you often wish
yourself back there?”
“I must confess that I sometimes do. I made some good friends there
whom I should like to see again.”
“So did we all, I think. Do you remember Herr Greencap, Dr. Paul?”
Somehow Jo’s affairs were in her mind overtopping all else.
“Yes, a bad lot, wasn’t he?”
“And you were so good about getting Jo out of that scrape. She has
never mentioned his name since, and I don’t believe she was ever more
ashamed of herself. She has been most particular whom she encourages,
and always consults mother or Aunt Helen when she is with us.”
“That shows she is the right sort. I’d rather a person would have a
fault, acknowledge and mend it than go blindly on in an obstinate,
colorless goody-goody way, for such seldom admit error when temptation
comes. It takes a strong character to resist, or rather to overcome and
to acknowledge the fault.”
“Oh, Jo would always be frank. There isn’t the least sneakiness about
her, and yes, she has a strong character, I am sure.”
“Do you ever hear anything about Frau Pfeffer and her family?” asked
the doctor still remembering Munich days.
“That was another time you came to our aid. Yes, we hear through Mr.
Pinckney. They are all doing well and as happy as clams at high tide.”
“Your friend Miss Dolores is not married yet?”
“No, but she will be in October or a little earlier. We shall all be on
hand, of course.”
“Do you remember a wedding we once saw in the Frauenkirche?”
“Yes, wasn’t it fine? There was so much that was fine. Oh, I would like
to go back, Dr. Paul.”
“Perhaps we shall some day.”
“What are those two mooning about over there?” said Mr. Wells watching
Jo mark off the squares of fudge.
“Oh, they are reminiscing probably. Get Nan on the subject of Munich
and she is happy.”
“She has known Dr. Woods a long time, I believe.”
“All her life. His father is the Corners’ family physician and they are
all devoted to both father and son.”
“Well, Paul is an all right fellow, straight as a die and with a heart
of gold.”
“Have you known him long?”
“We met in Europe, but saw a good deal of one another. A friend of
mine, a fellow artist, was ill in Munich and--well, Dr. Paul pulled him
through mentally, physically and financially. I appeared on the scene
during the convalescing period and that’s how I came to know him so
well. Poor old Crackers was pretty well done out before Dr. Paul got
hold of him.”
“What names you do have for one another. Pinch and Crackers, for
example. Why Crackers?”
“Oh, because he used to live on broken crackers and swear he liked them
better than anything you could give him. Poor old chap! I knew him
first in Paris. He has the stuff in him all right if he can only hold
out till he gets recognition.”
“Is he over there still?”
“Yes, working away as faithfully as his strength will allow. He had a
pretty bad breakdown, but he is coming out all right. Some of the boys
who know of it are watching him to see that he has a stronger diet than
crackers.”
“And your own recognition?”
“Oh, I’ll never have any. I don’t have to live in a garret and stir
my tea with a stick of charcoal, so I shall probably never arrive.
However, life is pretty good to me. I am not made of such fine clay as
Crackers or Dr. Paul.”
“That is modest of you, so you can be accredited with at least one
virtue.”
“It doesn’t take much modesty to place myself below such men.”
“Don’t you love your profession?”
“Great Cæsar’s ghost! Of course I do, but that isn’t the point. The
point is that I would not make the sacrifices that either of those two
would do. I wish I dared ask your friend Miss Nan to sit for me. Do you
believe she would? She is so picturesque.”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“I’m afraid of her. Her eyes look right into my soul and I feel as if
she would quickly discover anything ignoble there, yet I like to watch
her face when she isn’t aware of it. I never saw a more expressive one.”
“Nan is fine,” said Jo emphatically. “She has the finest sort of
standards. She is practical, yet romantic to her finger-tips, what they
call the artistic temperament, I suppose, but it isn’t the kind that
sometimes makes perfect fools of people.”
Mr. Wells laughed. “I allow that the artistic temperament is made up in
several qualities of goods. So Miss Nan’s is of the first quality, I
suppose.”
“It certainly is. I know how loyal a friend she can be and how she
sacrifices herself every time. She has always been a buffer for Jack,
the little sinner. But Jack will come out all right, or I don’t know
her sister.” Then she launched forth into an account of some of Jack’s
escapades which included Nan’s share in shielding the small sister,
while Nan, watching from her corner, little knew that the talk related
to herself, and that Jo’s praises were more to her advantage than a
talk with herself would have been, for so shy was she of this new
acquaintance that she was mute before him when the two were alone. Jo
had been having it all her own way, she believed, and she went to bed
as romantically unhappy as seventeen can be.
Yet she was as eager as any one to start on the next day’s expedition,
for with the morning everything took on a rosier hue, and life was
quite worth living when one had good times ahead in which figured the
object of one’s romantic dreams.
“Isn’t it the most wildly delightful way to go?” said Jo. “Just like
the voyageurs, and isn’t Mr. Wells a perfect dear, Nan?”
“He is a very pleasant gentleman,” returned Nan as coldly as possible.
“What an unenthusiastic person. Don’t you like him?”
“Oh, yes, well enough,” returned Nan indifferently, though wondering if
Jo noticed the color rising to her cheeks.
“He is much more taken with you then,” said Jo. Then receiving no
answer, “You are so indifferent I don’t suppose you want to hear any of
the nice things he was saying about you last night.”
If she could but know how insanely eager she was to learn them, thought
Nan, though at the same time determining not to give an inkling of this
state of feeling. However, she temporized by saying, “Oh, men say a lot
of things they don’t mean.”
“He meant these all right. He said he was wild to ask you to sit for
him, but he was afraid of you, for you had such wonderful eyes and he
said you were so picturesque; that is more than any one ever can say of
me.”
Nan’s heart was beating high, her hands were cold and her temples
throbbing. They had been talking of her and he had said that. He was
afraid of her! Oh, wonder of wonders!
“Well,” said Jo.
Nan gathered breath to say, “That was very nice of him, I am sure,
though he doesn’t strike me as a young man who would be afraid of any
one.”
“That’s all you know about it.”
“He isn’t afraid of you; it is very apparent.” Nan was sorry to have
said this before the words were fairly out. Jo had been so generous in
not keeping these compliments to herself as a girl with a meaner spirit
would have done.
“Me? Of course nobody is ever afraid of me. I am too roly-poly, and a
nose like mine doesn’t inspire awe.”
“I am sure mine is not so very much larger, if at all,” Nan hastened to
say.
“No, but it is a different shape. A turned up nose is too trivial
to excite reverence. Oh, no, I am a good comrade, Nan, but I don’t
believe any man will ever really fall in love with me.” A statement
which Nan denied utterly, and the subject of the artist was lost in the
discussion which followed.
Yet Nan had meat enough to feed her soul upon that day, and trod on air
as she went forth to her canoe. Never was fairer sky nor more placid
lake, never expedition so well planned, never romance so well begun.
There was poetry in the very noise of the paddles as they dipped in the
water; there was music in the ripple of the waves against the canoes;
there was heaven in the thought that all day she would be within sight
and hearing of this knight, this Lohengrin--or this Siegfried--she was
not sure which to call him. If Siegfried, then she was Brunhilde to
lose him through unfaithfulness on his part; if Lohengrin, through lack
of faith on hers. She sat dreaming in the canoe which Ran was paddling,
and was so absorbed that she did not hear him speak till he sprinkled
her with a few drops from the paddle.
“What a girl you are, Nan,” he exclaimed. “Lost in dreams, of course.”
“It is so lovely,” sighed Nan, coming back to earth.
“I agree with you, but it would be lovelier if you would speak to a
fellow once in a while.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Nan, flushing up. “I’m very stupid, Ran.
I promise not to be such a dreamer again. What were you saying?”
“I was asking if you had decided on your college yet.”
“Oh! Why no, not entirely. My certificate will admit me to any of
several, so I am considering, and am not sure which.”
“You are pretty bright to be able to get in at all at your age.”
“Oh, but you see I am lucky in making much of my French and German. I
have had unusual advantages in some directions, and Aunt Helen has been
such a help with English and History of Art.”
“No co-ed, I suppose.”
“Well, no, not but that they have their advantages.”
“You’ll not go too far north, I hope.”
“Probably not. I think not beyond New York, anyway.”
“That’s good. So much the better chance for seeing you sometimes. And
the others?”
“They’ll go back to Miss Cameron’s, and next year I hope Mary Lee
will enter college. I’m the pioneer, you see. Jo is ready to go, but
Daniella will have a long time to wait, if she goes at all.”
“Isn’t she stunning? I say, Nan, who could ever recognize her in that
little po’ white girl you all found up there in the mountains?”
“She is very grateful that you boys don’t seem to remember that.”
“We’re gentlemen, I hope, and besides she is all right in every way
and we should be proud to be her friends. I see the canoes ahead are
turning so I suppose we are nearing the end of the first stage of our
journey.”
Nan looked over her shoulder to see Dr. Paul and his friend standing on
the green shore, and the glory of her day began.
[Illustration: CHAPTER XII
ON UPPER POND]