Adelaide turned and faced Winona.
"Well, go ahead and talk," she said. "It won't make things any less so."
Then suddenly she burst out, "You don't know what it's like. You don't
know how it feels never to have anything extra. If I go to a party I'm
likely to be the worst-dressed girl there. If I go to school and the
girls treat I have to say I don't want any because I can't pay back. I
can't invite anybody to meals, because I can't give them extra nice
things to eat. And, anyway, the flat's horrid--even the furniture and
the carpets are shabby. Lonny and Frances are good, and help, but
everything drags. And I just hate _everything_."
"Hate everything!" said Winona soothingly. "Why, of course you
don't--you just think you do!"
"It's all right for you to talk," murmured Adelaide miserably.
"Everybody's crazy over you--of course they would be. I am myself, and I
don't like people generally. You have something about you that would
make people like you even if you weren't sweet to them. Everything turns
out right for you. I don't see what you wanted to join the Camp Fire
for--its rules stuck out all over you before you ever joined."
"Oh, _don't_!" said Winona, blushing. "What rules do you mean? I never
kept any rules."
"You know the Law of the Camp Fire: 'Seek beauty; give service; pursue
knowledge; be trustworthy; hold on to health; glorify work; be happy.'"
"I don't do all those things," said Winona. "Wish I did! But anybody
seeks beauty, and as long as you have to work the only way to get fun
out of it is to glorify it. As for the rest, I think they're only rules
for getting all there is out of living. I'll tell you,
Adelaide,"--Winona sat upright, as if a new thought had struck her--"why
don't you see how many of the rules would apply to getting fun out of
the things that worry you? When things go wrong at our house mother
always says to Florence and Tommy and me, 'Can't you turn it into a
game?'"
"Turn shabby furniture and stews and no money into a game?" said
Adelaide, as if she thought Winona was crazy.
"Yes!" said Winona undauntedly. "To begin with the stews--well,
Adelaide, you don't know one single thing about cooking. There's any
amount of things beside stew that you can make out of stewing meat. And
don't you remember the cold things we got out of Mrs. Bryan's
refrigerator? That was a good supper, wasn't it? If you know how,
cooking's fun, or nearly anything."
"If we have more cooking-classes I suppose I could learn how to do more
things with the meats and vegetables, or maybe market better," said
Adelaide. "But that would only help that one thing."
"You can figure out keeping house just like anything else," said Winona.
"All you have to do's to _think_!"
Adelaide laughed. "Do you suppose I could think the furniture new?" she
asked. "You ought to see it--horrid old brown rep, and a carpet that's
worn into white spots!"
But though she laughed, she looked to Winona for the answer with real
eagerness.
"Well, I'll tell you what I'd do," suggested Winona thoughtfully--"I
don't suppose you would, you're such a haughty Lady Imogene--I'd make a
furnishing bee of it, and have a party, and invite all the girls to help
you do the flat over. Your father and Lonny would help, wouldn't they?"
"Oh, I guess so," she said.
"Well, then, the girls would help you cover the furniture and stain the
floor, and even paper, maybe. And if your father or Lonny could paint
the wood-work--or would the landlord?"
"No," said Adelaide, "he won't make repairs. It's not in the lease. And
where would I get money for the paint and paper and stain and covers?"
"Earn it!" said Winona. "There are lots of ways. That jam you made for
the sales--you could get heaps of orders for that, I know. Oh, I should
think it would be lovely to do. I tell you, Adelaide, you may think I'm
crazy--but everything's fun, if you'll only remember that it _is_ fun!"
"I wonder!" said Adelaide. "But I believe I could make money with jams
and preserves if I worked hard at it."
"We've all got to earn some more money soon if we want to stay in the
camp longer than three weeks," said Winona, "unless Louise can feed us
all on the venison steaks she was talking about last night. If you can
make money for the camp you can for yourself!"
Adelaide turned impulsively--they had risen and were going on through
the wood--and threw her arms around Winona.
"You certainly are the most comforting girl!" she said. "I don't wonder
everybody does what you want them to."
Winona didn't know what to say. It's pleasant to have people say such
things to you, but it is embarrassing, too.
"People like you just as much as they do me," said she. "Come on, let's
go see if we can find the river we've heard so much about."
They caught hands and ran on through the trees.
The river was not hard to find. Above them it was a broad stream, but
just here it wasn't very wide, just a pretty, clear, clean-looking
stream, with green banks and some sort of a dock to be seen a little way
beyond them. On the dock, when they reached it, was seen to be an
elderly native with a pipe, and beside him was moored a rowboat which
looked as if it could be rowed. He looked up from his fishing as the
girls appeared.
"Morning," he said sociably, "you little girls going down to the
village?"
"Good-morning," said Winona. "No, we hadn't thought of it. We might,
though. Is there anything we could get for you if we went?"
"Well," said the old man, jerking in his line with a good-sized fish on
it, "ye-es, there is. I want an ad put in the paper. I guess I could
trust you with a quarter to do it with."
"I guess you could," said Winona, smiling. "Will this afternoon do? I
don't believe we'd have time now to get there and back before
dinner-time." She looked at her wrist-watch. "No, we won't," she said.
"It's eleven now."
"Well, this afternoon would do," he said.
So, while the girls looked at the rowboat wishfully, and wondered if
they couldn't get enough fish for supper if they had some tackle, the
old man adjusted his spectacles, pulled an old envelope out of his
pocket, and wrote on it laboriously.
"Do you mind if I read it?" asked Winona, when he was done and had
handed it to her.
"Seein's that's what it's for, I dunno's I do," he grunted, grinning
pleasantly. Winona and Adelaide took each a corner, and read as follows:
For sale, one rowboat in good condition, with oars. No reasonable
offer refused. Apply to John Sloane, R. F. D. 3, village.
They looked at each other, then at the boat. Then both girls exclaimed
with one impulse, "Is it this boat?"
"This very rowboat," said Mr. Sloane, eying it with affection. "I don't
use it no more. I've got a motor-boat, and them Boy Scouts up the river
has got a fine young flock of canoes, so they ain't likely to want to
hire it. Anyway, she ain't so young as she was. Good boat, though!"
"And what would you call a reasonable offer?" inquired Winona. "The
reason I want to know is that I have just six dollars, and if I could
buy a rowboat that way I would."
"Six dollars, hey?" said Mr. Sloane slowly. "That ain't much for a good
boat."
"It's all I have to spend on rowboats," said Winona placidly.
"We-el," decided Mr. Sloane, "guess I might's well let you have it!"
And he proceeded to make out a receipt on the spot, on the other half of
the envelope he had used for the advertisement.
"It certainly pays to advertise!" he remarked, as he turned his
attention again to his fishing-line.
Adelaide and Winona jumped into their boat with delight, and rowed
downstream for half a mile. There they were stopped by the beautiful
sight of a lot of huckleberry bushes, full of fruit, along the edge of
the stream. They both filled their hats, and when these would hold no
more they pinned up Winona's skirt in front and filled that--Winona
sitting very still thereafter in order not to smash any berries. Then
Adelaide rowed back and tied their newly-acquired property to the dock,
the use of which was thrown in, and went back to camp with berries
enough for dinner. Just before they came within hearing of the others,
Adelaide whispered:
"Winona, I'm going to try to--to feel that way about things."
Winona squeezed her hand, but there was no time to say anything more,
for a horde of small pirates descended on them and carried away the
berries.
After dinner the girls lay on the grass and made plans, more or less
wild, for getting money to prolong their vacation.
"We can't have a cake-sale," said Marie practically, "because the
farmers' wives in the village make all their own baked stuff, and the
people at the summer-resort are mostly boarders."
"Oh, please don't let's have any more cake-sales, whether they're
profitable or not," said Louise pathetically. "I sold eats for those
sales till I used to go to sleep at night and dream I was a wedding-cake
myself."
"All right, then," soothed Helen, "you shan't ever have such dreadful
dreams again, you poor little thing!"
"Well, what shall we do, then?" asked Edith Hillis pulling her yellow
curls over her shoulder and examining them as if she had never seen them
before.
"When you want money," remarked Mrs. Bryan, "you have to sell something,
either your services, or your manufactures, or your talents."
"In other words," said Winona, "work for people, or make things to sell
them, or have an entertainment."
"Precisely," said the Guardian.
"Then let's start at the beginning," offered Winona, "and everybody try
to think what she can do best in the way of work, and whether anybody'd
want them to!"
"One thing," reminded Marie, "we can't live by taking in each other's
washing, so to speak. We'll have to scheme to get some of their
hard-earned butter-and-egg money away from the farmers' wives, or else
prey on the summer-resorters."
"We expect to give it right back to them for butter and eggs," said
Adelaide. "Whatever we do we might as well take it out in trade!"
After that nobody seemed to have any more ideas. Everyone sat silently
and thought very hard; till Louise jumped up with a yelp of impatience
that woke Puppums from his after-dinner nap, and made even Hike the Camp
Cat open one green eye.
"Don't let's waste this gorgeous day thinking!" she said. "My head isn't
used to it, and it hurts. Come on, anybody that wants to--I'm going to
walk down to the village to buy something, I don't care what. Who'll
come?"
Winona, Helen and Nataly dropped into step beside Louise, and the four
marched off singing "In the Land of the Sky-Blue Water," which they were
trying to learn.
"That song really sounds better to Opeechee's ceremonial drum than
anything else," remarked Louise.
"Real Indian music always sounds better if you pound something while you
sing it, even if it's only a dish-pan," said Winona.
"Please don't mention dish-pans," begged Louise, "they're a tender
point. I just parted from mine half an hour ago."
"All right," said Winona good-humoredly, "I have something else
interesting to tell you. I bought a rowboat to-day."
"Oh, good!" cried Helen. "Marie's canoe and mine will be up in a day or
so, but a canoe wiggles so when you try to fish from it. Now we can all
go fishing. Elizabeth brought tackle, but we thought we couldn't do much
good, fishing from the bank."
"And the Blue Birds can go out in it till they learn more about canoes,
too," said Winona. "I'm going exploring myself in it as soon as I can.
What are you really going to the village for, Louise--or don't you
know?"
"Benzine for my burnt-wood outfit," said Louise. "I had some thinks, and
that was one. Little Louise is going to make some nice burnt-leather
things for the neighborhood. Pillows and table-covers, and heaps of
things for the farmers' wives to buy. Lessons in the art if they want
them. I brought my outfit, and some skins, and colors."
"I thought I'd model some vases and pots and bowls, and fire them," said
Helen. "They might sell, too. Have you thought of anything, Winona?"
"Not a blessed thing, for myself," said Winona. "You know, I'm not
particularly clever about doing things like that, except making baskets,
and Florence does those better than I do. But I have thought of one
thing--how to sell our wares after they are made."
"That's quite a useful thing to know," said Louise. "About the most
useful thing there is, in fact. Well, how?"
"We'll have to peddle them," said Winona calmly. "The farmers' wives
won't come out here to buy unless we advertise a lot, and we can't
afford that. The thing for us to do is to get some sort of a thing to
carry the goods in, and make it look awfully arts-an-craftsy, and pull
it round and sell things at the houses."
"A soap-box on wheels is what I _think_ you're hinting at," said Louise,
"but I hope not."
"Are you really in earnest?" asked Nataly, who had taken no share in the
talk so far.
"Why not?" asked Winona. "It's no worse than taking a horse and cart
down through the Italian quarter and selling rummage things to the women
there; and that's what the Ladies' Aid at our church did last winter."
"It's different," insisted Nataly, and nothing could shake her in her
ideas. So Louise poked Winona, as a hint not to argue any more. But when
Nataly went into the little general store to buy some picture post-cards
Louise whispered to the other girls, "I have a glorious improvement on
your soap-box plan, Winnie. If you girls will help me put it through
I'll tell you all about it."
"I'd like to hear about it first," said Helen doubtfully; for Louise's
plans were always original, but not always safe and sane. Before Louise
could answer Nataly was back again, and Louise began to tell her the
story of the reduced English gentlewoman who had to sell shrimps for a
living, by calling them up and down the streets. "And she was such a
perfect lady," finished Louise, "that whenever she called out 'Shrimps
for sale!' she'd add under her breath, 'I hope to goodness nobody hears
me!'"
"And did they?" Nataly asked innocently, while Winona tried to keep her
face straight.
"No, they didn't," said Louise sadly, "so she never sold any shrimps at
all. And so she died of starvation."
But Nataly, instead of grasping the moral, said only, "Well, why didn't
she eat the shrimps, then?"
At which Louise grunted disgustedly and went in to buy herself the
benzine.
After that day there was always a feeling in the village near Camp
Sunrise that every Camp Fire Girl's first object in life was cat-rescue.
And it was Winona who was responsible. To begin with, the day the girls
arrived at camp she had been seen by all the interested villagers,
walking near the head of the dusty procession, leading a small,
sash-bandaged gray kitten by a string. Hike had meowed for air and
exercise just as the village had been neared, and Winona had taken that
means of giving it to him, without risking his running off. The
villagers might have let that, by itself, pass. But when it was coupled
with Winona's performance of this afternoon--well, you can judge for
yourself.
It was after the girls had bought everything they came for, and were on
their way to camp. Out of a gate, across their road, bounded two small
boys, each of whom held a wriggling black kitten.
"Won't you hurt the kitty if you hold it by just one leg?" inquired
Winona of the nearest boy.
"It don't matter if we do hurt 'em--they ain't any good anyhow," he
explained. "We're going to drown 'em in a minute."
"Oh, _no_!" protested Winona.
"Well, will you take 'em?" asked the other boy. "Mother says she can't
keep any more cats."
Winona took the victims on the spot, and put them into the continuous
pocket all around the bottom of her Balkan blouse. The small boys went
back into their yard, where they were heard announcing, "Mother! A girl
took the kitties!" And Winona stood still with a kitten at each hip.
"You'd better give them back," said Nataly, who was afraid of cats.
"Oh, I couldn't!" said Winona. "It's so nice to be alive, even if you're
a cat--and there isn't really any Cat-Heaven, you know."
"Well, advertise them for sale, then," said Louise impatiently. "Good
home and kind treatment wanted for two black kittens--salary no object."
She wasn't in earnest, but Winona was.
"I will!" she said. "Not for sale, but to give away. Will one of you
take this notice to the paper, while I take the kittens to camp for the
night?"
"I'll take the kittens home!" volunteered Helen, Louise and Nataly with
a touching oneness of feeling.
Winona grinned. "Why, you very obliging people!" she said. "Please put
them in a box with netting, then, so they can't get away. I'll go and
advertise. I'm perfectly sure such good kittens as these will have lots
of applications!"
Louise and Helen, each with a kitten, accompanied by Nataly, kittenless,
went slowly campward in eloquent silence, while Winona sped back to the
office of the village paper. So the next day an advertisement appeared
in the _Press:_
Wanted, to find homes for two black kittens, nice purrers, good
mousers. Can be separated. Apply Box 2, _Press_ office, or at Camp
Karonya, in person.
"I don't care if they do laugh," said Winona when she got back, to find
Camp Karonya howling at her in rows. "If they laugh they're more apt to
remember, and come get the kittens. I'll put them out of the way, poor
little things, if nobody answers in a day or two."
But--whether it was that cats who were "nice purrers" were a novelty,
whether it is true that there's a place for everything in this world if
we could only get in touch with it--the very next day there were five
applicants for those two black kittens. Indeed, Winona had great
difficulty in holding onto Hike the Camp Cat, who had grown by now into
a very presentable, if fat, Maltese kitten. People seemed to think that
it was Winona's duty to distribute cats as long as cats held out.
The only drawback was that for the rest of the time it was there the
village with one accord used Camp Karonya as a clearing-house for its
cats!