Next day was the "cold gray dawn of the morning after." Not that it was
particularly cold or gray, but there was all the unnailing of the float
to do, and the dismantling of the two decorated canoes. The girls wound
the tinsel off carefully for use on future Christmas trees, and packed
away in a box what other decorations were not perishable, for you never
know when you're going to need things. Otherwise they sat around and
gloated softly over Camp Karonya's exceeding brilliancy in carrying off
prizes in large quantities.
Mrs. Bryan would not let Winona divide her money with the Camp, because
they had enough already to see them through the rest of the time they
were to spend there; and then, too, the second prize that the float had
won was fifteen dollars.
Nothing else memorable happened that day, except that Nataly Lee left
for home. She was thinner and in better condition than she had been when
she came, but she frankly didn't like the life. To her, carrying water,
instead of being a lark, was a nuisance. She had no particular pride in
working for beads, and it was thought she was hungry for paper novels.
It worried her, too, that she was getting burned brown. So she went back
to her mother. The girls saw her off, and sang her a cheer, and were as
good as they could be. But it is not to be denied that Camp Karonya felt
a little relief at her going.
After that nothing happened but regular camp work for three days. And
then Louise proceeded to distinguish herself. It was to be expected.
Tom and Billy had taken Winona and Louise off for a day's fishing in the
canoe. As usual, Winona and Louise provided the lunch, the boys the
fishing-tackle and the canoe, and the fish were to be divided at the end
of the day. They had fished most of the lazy, sunny morning, and it was
noon. They climbed out of the canoe by a spring, washed their hands, and
set out the lunch; the canoe was too fishy to be used as a dining-hall.
"Do you think that four of us can possibly eat all that?" inquired
Billy, eying the piles of sandwiches, the veal loaf, the whole cake and
the can of pears which graced the paper napkins on the grass.
"Well," explained Winona, "the truth is, Louise and I rather doubled up
on this lunch. We were both afraid there wouldn't be enough, and each
went separately and brought half a chocolate cake. You see it's cut down
the middle. I merely joined the twin halves for the sake of looks. But
do you think that's too many sandwiches for four people with real
appetites?"
"I don't," said Tom decidedly. "I'll attend to anything that's left
over. A very nice amount of lunch--just right. Watch me!"
But they did not watch him because they were otherwise engaged. None of
them had small appetites, and they all did good work. Just the same when
they were through there were a generous piece of cake, a fat slice of
veal loaf, and seven sandwiches left.
"I told you so," said Billy. "Here, Tommy, it is up to you. Have these
seven nice sandwiches."
"Can't be done," said Tom regretfully. "I've had that many. I had three
pieces of cake, too."
"Doesn't matter!" said Billy. "A gentleman's word of honor----"
He prepared to jump on Tom and hold him, while Louise held a sandwich
ready to insert.
"Ow!" said Tom. "Help! This is cruelty to animals. Pry him off, Winnie!"
"Oh, let up, please!" said Winona. "You know, he might explode, and
mother'd feel badly."
Billy took one knee off, and Tom wriggled more vigorously. Louise
relented, and the two girls were trying to pull Billy off Tom. They had
almost succeeded, when a little rustle behind them made Winona, whose
senses were the most alert, let go and turn. The others followed her
eyes. They sat up and looked, and Tom jumped to his feet and began to
dust himself off.
The newcomer, who was a most forlorn and bedraggled little girl, spoke
very welcome words.
"Me's very hundry!" she said pathetically.
"You poor little thing!" said Louise. "Come here, dear; there's lots for
you to eat." The little girl made straight for her. Louise got out a
fresh paper napkin, and piled sandwiches, loaf, cake and all on it.
"Wait a minute," said Billy. "Is all that good for so little a
girl--hadn't you better give her one at a time?"
Louise held the veal loaf poised in air on her fork. "Will your mother
let you eat this?" she asked.
[Illustration: THE CHILD BEGAN TO EAT EVERYTHING AT ONCE]
The bedraggled small child sat down on the grass, as if the words were
an invitation. She was a pretty, dirty child of perhaps five, dressed
only in a soiled and ragged underwaist and petticoat, and with a mane of
very long and heavy hair, all tangles and elf-locks. Her hair was yellow
and her eyes big and blue, and she would have been pretty had she been
cared-for looking.
"Ain't got any mother," she said, "just Vicky. She lets me."
"Poor little thing!" said Louise again, and handed her the veal loaf.
The child began to eat everything at once, with an eagerness which made
it certain she had told the truth, at least, about being hungry.
"What's your name, kiddie? You'll tell me, won't you?" asked Billy, when
she seemed to have taken the edge off her appetite. He bent down to her
with a sympathetic expression which he possessed at times, and which--or
something about him--won the hearts of most small children he had
dealings with.
"Sandy," she said through large mouthfuls.
"Sandy what?" inquired Louise.
"Sandy Mitchell. Gimme more cake?"
As she had had two large slices, it was thought best not to give her any
more.
"Mercy, no!" said Winona, as Louise was cutting it, in spite of
prudence. "Not another bit. We don't want her to die on our hands. You'd
better come over here by the spring, dear, and let me wash your hands."
Sandy got up immediately, with the placid remark, "It might-a given me a
pain, anyway," and allowed her hands to be washed, and dried on a fresh
paper napkin.
"Poor little cowed thing!" exclaimed Louise at this instant obedience.
"Sandy, dear, won't your people be worried about you?"
"Nope," said Sandy.
"And where do you live?"
"Way, way off," she said. "We just comed. I'll show you to-morrow."
"Poor little dear thing!" said Louise. "How pretty she is! Winnie, I've
a good mind to adopt her."
"Having only five at home," murmured Tom.
"From the way she talks her people wouldn't care," said Louise. "Maybe
Camp Karonya could take care of her. We will till we go back, anyway."
"She must belong to one of those poor families along the west branch,"
said Tom. "Three miles away, and we can't possibly get there by
canoeing, because we'd have to paddle back seven miles before we could
paddle over the three. Who's going to walk three miles and a half by the
thermometer to take the lady home? Don't all speak at once."
"Do you live up there?" Louise asked her. "And does your father drink?"
"Yep," said Sandy. "Favver? Course he dwinks. Evvybody dwinks."
"Think of being brought up to think things like that," said Louise.
"Don't you think," suggested Winona, "that we'd better take her back to
camp? I don't know the way to the place Tom talks about, and maybe it
would be best for Mrs. Bryan to take her anyway, if they do drink."
"Good idea," said everybody. Sandy herself seemed pleased, and attached
herself to them as readily as a stray puppy would have done. They
cleared up leisurely, then got back into the canoe, taking the child in,
too. It was rather a close fit, though it was an eighteen-foot canoe,
but they managed it. She was no more trouble than Puppums would have
been--Puppums, fortunately, had been left with Florence. They had a good
day with the fishing, and trailed into Camp Karonya at six with fish for
breakfast; and Sandy.
"Good luck!" were Tom's parting words. "We'll come to-morrow and help
you take her back, if you like."
"You needn't bother," said his sister. "We'll take the faithful
rowboat."
"We aren't going to take her back!" insisted Louise. "I'm going to adopt
her. Sandy, wouldn't you like to live with me? _I'd_ dress you in nice
clothes and give you a dolly."
"An' five cents?" demanded Sandy, "An' things to eat?"
"Oh, the poor baby!" said Louise. "She's had to think about money and
food and grown-up things like the poor little children you read about in
the pamphlets. Yes, indeed, you shall, Sandy."
"She looks well-fed," said Tom. "Well, good luck. Don't get a reputation
for collecting them--you mayn't be able to dispose of orphans as easily
as you can kittens."
They parted, and Louise carried Sandy into camp. They arrived as supper
was about ready. The Blue Birds carried the fish off to the ice-box (it
was literally a box, a very ingenious arrangement of sawdust and wood
which had meant a bead for Elizabeth) and the rest clustered about
Louise's treasure-trove.
"Better find out if she really needs adopting," advised Marie as they
sat around the long table, and Sandy exercised an appetite as large as
her noon one.
"With a drunken father, and no mother, and looking like that?" fired up
Louise. "I'm going to wash her after supper."
There seemed no connection between washing her and adopting her, but
there evidently was to Louise.
"Want me to help?" offered Winona. "It ought to be more fun than washing
Puppums."
"I hope she won't howl and try to climb over the side of the tub, the
way he does," said Louise. "Yes, thank you, I'd love to be helped."
A warm bath in a foot-tub, following directly on a large meal of corn
fritters, baked potatoes and huckle-berries, ought nearly to have killed
Sandy, but it didn't.
"I never dreamed you meant to do more than wash her face and hands,"
protested Marie, who, as the guardian of the Blue Birds, had ideas about
such things. But it was too late. Anyway, there was no visible effect.
Sandy awakened next morning, well, happy, and still hungry. They had
given her Nataly's bunk with Mrs. Bryan. Helen bunked with Elizabeth,
because Nataly said the girls tossed, and Mrs. Bryan didn't.
While Sandy slept Louise and Winona were busy. Louise woke Winona at
five, and they heated water, filled the charcoal-iron, and washed and
ironed and mended Sandy's underclothes. While Louise darned Sandy's
socks, Winona ironed the garments dry. Then they foraged about the
store-shed, which was a warm place at that time of year even in the
early morning, and found a white dress of Florence's which Winona
thought she had remembered bringing.
When found it proved much too large for Sandy, but Louise was still
enthusiastic, and took it up with such good will that two of the tucks
she put in had to be ripped out again when they came to dress Sandy in
it. They polished the small strapped shoes the child had taken off,
sewed the button of each on more firmly, and decided that they looked
almost new.
Then Winona went back to awaken her own little sister. When she returned
to Louise's tent she found her friend had finished giving Sandy another
bath. She was just dressing her.
"I don't believe this poor little thing knows what a thorough bath is,"
she greeted Winona over the child's head.
"Yes, I do, too," said Sandy. "But I had one last night, an' you've been
an' given me anuvver now!"
"I think I'll box her hair, too," went on Louise. "It is getting rather
common now, but she has so much, and it's so untidy, that it would
really be the best thing even if I didn't keep her."
"I wouldn't do her hair till you're sure we're going to keep her,"
objected Winona. "Her people mightn't like it."
"A dissipated father and a poor little overworked elder sister--Vicky is
your sister, isn't she, Sandy?--and a home where they don't even wash or
feed her? Poor people haven't time to take care of hair like this.
Anyway, they haven't done it, for it was tangled awfully," she finished
conclusively.
"But it's so pretty!" protested Winona. "Just look at it, nearly to her
waist, and thick and curly, and such a lovely gold color!"
"So much the worse for her health," said Louise as promptly as
Red-Riding-Hood's wolf. "Sandy, wouldn't you like your hair cut nice and
short, so it wouldn't get tangled any more?"
"An' twousers?" demanded Sandy hopefully. "Gee, zat's gweat!"
"I'll have to stop her using slang," said Louise. "No, dear, not exactly
twousers, but--I could get her some overalls, couldn't I, Win?"
"I suppose so," said Winona.
"Then I will," said Louise.
"You're gweat, too," said Sandy, turning around where she sat on
Louise's lap, and throwing both little bare arms around her neck and
kissing her. Louise kissed her back warmly.
"Isn't she a dear?" she said. "Winnie, will you please hand me the
scissors?"
"No," said Winona, "I won't. It's wicked to spoil pretty hair like
that." And she walked out of the tent.
"I'll det 'em," said Sandy, slipping down and bringing them to Louise
from the table at the end of the tent.
"Here's a piece of ribbon to tie it with, if you won't cut it off," said
Winona, reappearing with a wide length of blue taffeta.
"No, thank you," said Louise, cutting industriously and very neatly. "It
would just be in her eyes all the time. I'm going to cut it straight
across her eyebrows, like a little boy's."
"I did it to all my dolls once," said Winona. She sat down, though, and
watched Louise till she was done.
Louise had washed the little girl's hair when she gave her the second
bath, and when it was even and short enough to suit her she finished
dressing the child in her white frock, and set her on the grass outside,
to dry in the sunshine. She gave her a picture book to look at to keep
her amused. The bobbed locks, thick and curly, fluffed out charmingly in
a yellow bush around the sweet little face.
"It's becoming," admitted Winona. "She looks like a cherub, or a
choir-boy on a Christmas card. There is the signal for breakfast. You
just got her dry in time."
"Breakfast?" said Sandy, brightening.
"Poor little darling!" said Louise, catching and kissing her. "I don't
believe she ever had anything to eat before she came here!"
They went to breakfast in state, and Sandy's golden aureole and clean
white frock made quite a sensation at the table. They piled things up
for her to sit on, and she was put where Mrs. Bryan could reach her, and
argue with her easily if she misbehaved. But she acted very well indeed.
Her table-manners were good, considering, she talked without the least
shyness, and managed to eat a very large breakfast. Louise beamed with
pride over the impression her protegee was making.
When breakfast was over, and Sandy turned loose again to play with
Puppums and Florence, to whom she had taken a violent fancy, Louise
packed a market-basket with everything a starving family might need.
Then she found her purse, summoned Winona, and they took the rowboat and
went forth, Sandy and Puppums in the bottom of it.
They rowed along the west branch, a narrow stream that doubled at right
angles from the branch the camps were on. It was lined with pretty
summer cottages for a part of the way, then after that, at the very end,
came a part that was filled with poor people who had squatted there. But
long before they came to the poorest part Sandy desired to land.
"Here we is!" she said cheerfully, at a prosperous-looking dock about a
third of the way up.
"Not here, dearie," said Louise. "It's probably some place where the
poor child's been fed," she added aside to Winona.
"We may as well get out, though, mayn't we?" suggested Winona. "Maybe
they can tell us where she comes from."
They tied the boat and got out, and walked down a deep lane for a while.
Presently they came to a large white house in the middle of a couple of
acres of half-yard, half-lawn looking land.
The doors and windows were all wide open, but there was no one to be
seen. Sandy walked into the hall with an assured tread, took a long
breath, and called at the top of her lungs, "Vicky! Vick-ee!"
The girls stood at the door and waited, ready to apologize for their
charge's rudeness whenever somebody might appear. In about five minutes,
during which Sandy continued to shout, they heard a light, slow step
along the upper hall. Presently a slim, dark, rather pretty little girl
of about eleven scuffed down the stairs. She had on a kimono over her
nightgown, though it was quite late in the morning.
"That you, Sand?" she called as she came. "Goodness, you're up early!"
"This is Vicky," Sandy explained to the girls over her shoulder. "Vicky!
I've had two baths!"
Louise stood, for once, speechless. She hung mechanically to the handle
of the basketful of provisions, but she was too surprised to move. It
was Winona who finally took courage to come forward and explain.
"I'm Winona Merriam," she said, "and this is my friend, Louise Lane. We
are over at Camp Karonya, the Camp Fire, you know. We found this little
girl yesterday, and we came over to-day to bring her home. Does
she--does she belong here?"
"Why, of course she does," said Vicky. "Thank you for bringing her.
She's always trailing off that way, aren't you, Sand? How long you been
gone?"
"Is she your sister?" asked Louise, who had her breath by this time.
"M'hm," nodded Vicky. "Why--why, Alexandra Mitchell, where's your hair?"
"It got boxed!" exclaimed Sandy gleefully. "Isn't it nice?"
"I'm afraid we'll have to explain about that," said Winona bravely.
"Your little sister strayed into a little fishing-trip four of us were
having yesterday, very hungry and rather dirty, and without all her
clothes on. And from the way she talked we thought she was--well, we
washed her and dressed her, and--I'm sorry--shortened her hair, it was
so tangled. I'm ever so sorry. I think it will grow----"
Vicky stared a minute at Alexandra, very proud of herself, neat, clean,
dressed and bobbed. Then instead of being angry she sat down on the
floor, where she was, and burst into a fit of laughter.
"You thought--you thought--oh, my _goodness!_"
"Yes," said Winona. She sat down, too, and finally went off herself.
"Yes--we _did!_"
"And you brought food for the hungry family----" Vicky's eye fell on the
large basket which Louise still held stiffly before her. "Oh, oh, oh!
And Uncle Will's pride, Sandy's hair, that he made a picture of that
sold for ever so much money--oh, my goodness _gracious!_"
She and Winona both began to laugh again. Louise didn't. She stood
against the wall like a wax statue.
"It certainly is funny," said Vicky at last, mopping her eyes, "but I'm
good and glad about Sandy's hair. It was an awful nuisance to take care
of, and Uncle Will _would_ keep it that way so he could paint pictures
of it. Won't you stay and have some breakfast? We have a cook."
"No, thank you," said Louise hurriedly, "we've had our breakfast."
"What an awful noise, children!" said a voice; and a rather rumpled man
appeared. He had an absent look, and also gave an impression of not
having been to bed all night. He had a paint-brush in his hand.
Vicky and Sandy sprang for him, hanging to him.
"Oh, Uncle Will, this is two Camp Fire girls," said Sandy. "They cutted
my hair when I was lost. Ain't it cute?"
"_Oh!_" said Uncle Will, and looked as aghast as Louise had. "How did
this accident happen?"
"It wasn't an accident," said Sandy. "Louise boxed my head, an' gived me
two baths!"
Uncle Will--so far as the girls learned that was all the name he
had--uttered another faint exclamation. Then he dived back into his room
as if he wanted to bear the shock alone.
"I'm so sorry!" said Winona, who found she had all the talking to do.
"I'm afraid your uncle doesn't like it!"
"Oh, he's only got an artistic temp'rament," said Vicky, as if it were a
disease uncles could not help. "I think Sandy's goin' to, too. Do stay
to breakfast. We'll have things out o' your basket if you will."
"No, thank you," said Winona. "I think Louise is in a hurry to go home.
Come over and see us. It isn't far if you have a boat."
"We'll get somebody to bring us," said Vicky. "I'd come now if I was
dressed."
"It wouldn't be a bad plan if you dressed a little earlier," said Winona
frankly. "Are there just you two?"
"Nope," said Vicky, "there's Lancy, too. He's eight. Uncle Will tries to
bring us up, but he don't know how so very well."
"Well, when you come down to camp we can tell you a lot of things if
you'd like us to," said Winona.
"Maybe," said Vicky indifferently. "But it's all right this way. You can
try telling us, though."
"Well, good-bye," said Louise--it was all she had contributed to the
conversation, but she seemed to contribute it gladly.
So they went, still carrying the basket.
"Wait!" called Sandy's voice behind them when they had gone a little
way. "I'm goin' back wiv you! You said you'd 'dopted me!"
"But we didn't know your uncle wasn't poor then," said Louise. "We can't
take you away from him."
"You 'dopted me," said Sandy doggedly, "an' I'm goin' wiv you--so
there!" And she thrust her wet little hand into Louise's and trotted
along beside them. "Louise--wasn't there cake in the basket?"
"You have cake at home, dear," said Louise. But she looked as if she
felt a little better. After all, even if an orphan didn't need adopting,
it was a pleasure to find that she liked it.
"Like you best," insisted Sandy. "Goin' to stay wiv you. They don't
care!"
"Oh, let's let her, just for to-day, anyhow!" said Winona. "I don't
believe anybody'll mind."
"All right," said Louise rather as if she wanted to. They got into the
boat again, and rowed to camp.
"Sandy," asked Louise, "what did you mean by saying your father drank?
You haven't any father."
"Well, I did have," said Sandy. "And of sourse he did dwink when there
was a him. Evvybody does. Little flowers do. My governess said so."
"Your _governess!_" said Louise. "Is your uncle rich enough for you to
have a governess--and you go trailing round in your underwaist and
petticoat!"
"When he draws pictures an' sells 'em he is. When he don't he don't.
Gimme some cake?"
Sandy was evidently quite calm about her way of living.
"She mayn't need adopting, but she certainly needs reforming," said
Louise vigorously.
They were paddling past the Scouts' camp by now. Louise was quite
willing to go past softly, but Sandy yelled, for she saw Billy.
"Hello, girls!" he called. "Back already? Got all the papers signed?"
"No, I haven't," said Louise. "And, Billy, if you ask me any more
questions, I'll jump over and drown!"