A half-hour later the two girls stood on Mrs. Morrow's veranda, and with
Fred's mocking laughter still ringing in their ears told of their hasty
exit from the gray house. With shame-mantled face and downcast eyes
Grace handed Mrs. Morrow her note.
In answer to that lady's surprised inquiries the story was told at
length, a few extra flourishes unconsciously added to plead for the
unexpected finale to their errand. But Mrs. Morrow was most kind, not at
all like Fred, and did not laugh at them for being "scare-babies" as he
had expressed it. She voiced her sympathy most generously, saying she
did not wonder they were frightened, as she was sure at their age she
would have done the same.
"I cannot imagine what it could have been," she pondered, in much
perplexity. "I will ask the doctor. If he does not know he will probably
hear about it, if it was really anything serious."
She smiled in a way that made Nathalie, whose intuitions were keen,
exclaim hastily, "Oh, indeed, Mrs. Morrow, we did not imagine it at all.
I am sure if you could have heard that terrible shriek--and that laugh!
Oh, I can hear it still!" Her brown eyes emphasized her words as they
darkened with the haunting terror that caused her to rush pell-mell
after Grace.
"But I do hope," remarked Mrs. Morrow, "that Mrs. Van Vorst will never
know that the young girls who took such sudden flight from her house
were Pioneers, as Pioneers are supposed to be very courageous." There
was a twinkle in her eyes as she spoke that partly atoned for the
implication as to the girls' lack of courage.
They made no reply for a moment, and then Grace, as if to atone for her
delinquency, exclaimed contritely, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mrs. Morrow, I was
frightened--but if you want me to--" her voice faltered, "I will take it
to her again."
"No, indeed," quickly rejoined that lady, "I could not be so cruel as to
send you there again, for no matter if the shriek was nothing, you were
really frightened. I did not mean to rebuke you; I only wanted to seize
this opportunity to show you what an important thing courage is--and how
we should cultivate it, even in small things. As for the note, I will
get the doctor to take it or send it by post. I will have to confess,
however, that I am disappointed, for I was so anxious to have Mrs. Van
Vorst see what well-behaved and pleasing young girls belonged to the
organization."
"And you sent me!" wailed Grace. "Oh, thank you, Mrs. Morrow, but what
an arrant coward I have proved--and Nathalie of course would not have run
if I had not!" The tears welled up piteously in her blue eyes.
"Oh, no, Grace," interposed Nathalie loyally, "I was just on the verge
of running away myself!" And then she told them about the mandarin with
the grinning mouth, and sinister, bead-like eyes, that she was sure had
blinked at her. This caused a laugh and cleared the atmosphere of the
unpleasantness that had been created by the morning's adventure.
The Saturday of the Pilgrim Rally--the day that was to make Nathalie a
Pioneer--arrived. At an early hour of the morning the Pioneers of the
three bird groups--each one with a package--began to file into Seton Hall,
the little stone building used by the town for important meetings and
often for social functions. Out of deference to Nathalie the girls had
decided to bring their Pilgrim costumes with them--hence the mysterious
packages--and not don them until she had been admitted to the
organization.
With interested eyes Nathalie heard the Pioneers recite their pledge,
give the sign, the salute,--the three movements of the closed hand,
signifying a brave heart, an honest mind, and a resourceful hand,--and
give the rousing Girl Pioneer cheer. She felt a trifle shaky, she
confided to Helen who was seated next to her, dreading the ordeal of
being made prominent as most girls do, but she regained her nerve
somewhat as the Director arose and with a smiling nod of welcome began
to call the names.
Certainly it was a pretty fancy to have each member respond to her name
by giving the bird call of her group. The quick clear note of Bob White,
the "Chip! chip!" of the meadow sparrow, and the oriole's greeting were
all inspiring, but it was the melodious "Tru-al-lee!" of the bluebird
group that held her with its sweet, low trill.
As Nathalie heard her name called when it came time to perform the
initiative ceremony of making her a Pioneer, her head began to whirl,
but setting her teeth determinedly, with squared shoulders and head
erect, she walked down the aisle, faced the Director, and in a clear
voice repeated her pledge. In answer to the question, would she remember
that the honor of a world-wide organization had been placed in her
hands, and that henceforth whatever she said or did was not done simply
as Nathalie Page, but as a Girl Pioneer, she answered gravely, "I will!"
The second question was now asked, if she would try to live in such a
way that through and by her example the words Girl Pioneer should come
to mean all that was honest, highest, best, and most efficient in the
girlhood of her country, she again replied with the solemn, "I will."
The Director now stepped to her side, and taking her by the hand said,
"Nathalie Page, in the name of the Girl Pioneers of America, and by the
authority vested in me as a Director, I receive you into our
organization. You are now a Girl Pioneer of America. May you be a worthy
successor of those women, brave, honest, resourceful, from whom our name
is taken, and who in the early days of the country, standing side by
side with the men, faced hardships, privations, and dangers, and helped
to make possible the United States of America!"
Mrs. Morrow paused a moment, and then with one of her ready smiles took
Nathalie's hand in hers and gave her a cordial welcome. Then turning
toward the Pioneers she said, "Let us welcome our new member."
The girls sprang quickly but noiselessly on their feet, crying:
"Whom have we here?
A new Pioneer!
Come give a cheer
Girl Pi-o-neer
Nathalie Page!"
The new Pioneer unconsciously heaved a deep sigh when the ceremony was
over and she was allowed to return to her seat. She was tempted to smile
at her palpitating heart when going through such a simple ceremony as
the initiation to an organization of girls; and yet she was vaguely
conscious that it was a momentous episode in her life, and she firmly
resolved that her vow should be a binding one, and that she would try
her best to become a worth-while Pioneer and a Blue Robin.
The seriousness of her act became even more apparent as she listened
with keen interest to Mrs. Morrow's little talk, which was, in memory of
the day's celebration, about the Pilgrims. It was the desire to do right
in the face of all difficulties which animated the Founders of this
great nation in their struggle for Freedom and Right, and which led
their wives, daughters, and sisters to forego the necessities of life,
to cross an unknown sea and to face the perils of the wilderness and to
aid them in their noble purpose.
It was this sacrifice of the things that made life endurable, and their
strict adherence to duty that gave rise to the sterling qualities of
unflinching determination, hardy courage, stern endurance, unrepining
cheerfulness, untiring loyalty, patient industry, and quick
resourcefulness that has gained the name of the Pioneer spirit, and made
these early women founders of our nation models of all that is pure and
best in womanhood.
Their Director then went on and told of the handicrafts of the Pilgrims,
such as baking, brewing, sewing, knitting, quilting, spinning, planting
the foodstuffs, carding wool, and the many industries that were
necessary to keep life in those pioneer days.
As the new Pioneer heard the gentle, persuasive voice, she began to see
life in a new aspect, and to understand something of what it meant to
emulate these noble women. "In your hikes, before your cheer fires, in
your camps, in your home and school life, as well as in the tests and
your outdoor and indoor activities, and in your sports and games, keep
these women as your cheer star," said Mrs. Morrow earnestly, "so that
you, too, will be actuated by the qualities that ennobled them. And when
the call comes, be kindly, helpful, resourceful, pure, and upright in
the midst of all temptation and danger, and you will not only have the
name of Pioneer, but will be filled with the real pioneer spirit."
Mrs. Morrow stood silent a moment and then repeated slowly:
"Life is more than the breath and the quick round of blood,
It is a great spirit and a busy heart.
We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not figures on a dial.
We should count time as heart throbs. He most lives
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best."
--Bailey.
The girls now seated themselves in a circle, and as Jessie read the news
from the monthly "Pioneer," which reported a flower hike for the
Saturday two weeks hence, they took out their materials and set to work.
Some wove gay-colored yarn on small frames, others braided raffia
baskets, or made squares of plaited slips of paper, while Mrs. Morrow
told them something about the art of weaving.
After some time spent in learning this old-time craft, the Director
asked the girls how they could best apply this industry to a very common
fundamental of the home. There was a slight pause, and then some one
called out "To the carpet!" Another girl ventured to say "Our clothes."
Mrs. Morrow smiled as she said they were all right in a sense, but the
particular craft she meant at that time was what Helen had timidly
suggested, and that was, darning stockings!
There was a ripple of laughter at this truism and then, to Nathalie's
surprise, there was a stocking drill, every one hauling forth a stocking
from her basket and setting to work to practice this homely art. It was
indeed a trial by needle to Nathalie, and she suffered some
embarrassment when, after borrowing a stocking from her neighbor, and
trying her very best to do it well, it was returned to her from the
Director with the remark that she needed training in the science.
Later, when Mrs. Morrow came to her side and showed how neatly her
stocking hole appeared after weaving her thread back and forth, and made
Nathalie practice doing the same, the girl suddenly realized what a
braggart she had been. "Oh, I told Mother I was the champion mender,"
she thought remorsefully. "What a bungle I must have been making of
those stockings!" With the avowed purpose that she was going to make
darning her life-work for the next three weeks, she laid her work aside
and hurried with the girls into the adjoining dressing-room to get ready
for the real Pilgrimy time, when they were to represent the women of
Plymouth town.
"Do you always have an all-day meeting?" she asked Grace, who was
pinning a blue bird on Nathalie's gown, for at Helen's suggestion she
was to appear at this, her first Rally, as a Blue Robin, in memory of
the first songster that welcomed the Pilgrims.
"Oh, no, indeed," answered Grace, "but we departed from our usual plan,
which is to meet in the afternoon only, unless we have a hike or
demonstration, as we wanted to make our luncheon the Mayflower Feast.
But, oh, Nathalie," she ended enthusiastically, "you are a veritable
blue bird! Look, girls, isn't she the dearest? That bluebird blue makes
her cheeks like pink roses!"
At this sudden thrust into notoriety the girl's color grew more vivid as
she turned for the inspection of the girls. They grew very enthusiastic
over her bluebird costume with its bluish-gray slip with scalloped
edges, and bluebird cap edged with tiny blue wings, where a blue bird,
standing up in the front, poised with outspread wings "ready to fly," as
one of the girls asserted.
"Oh, it's only blue paper muslin," explained the "flier," as her mates
had called her, when they examined the Blue Robin gown. "Helen helped me
make it, and what a time we had making that birdie stick--hands off," she
finished laughingly, as some too ardent admirer pressed her close, "or I
shall not fly away but fall to pieces."
By this time, however, her admirers had found a new love in the Tike,
who came dancing before them all in white. She was literally a bower of
trailing arbutus, as sprays of that spring flower were fastened all over
her gown.
"I am the Pilgrim flower," she piped pertly, "some call me the Mayflower
blossom." And then catching up her skirts, with a low curtsey she
repeated softly:
"Oh I'm the flower that never dies,
'Neath leaves so brown in bed so low.
The arbutus, who in glad surprise
Bloomed 'Welcome' from fields of snow
To our Pilgrim sires of long ago."
"Oh, here's Lillie Bell!" called some one. "Isn't she a duck of a dear!"
Simultaneously the girls forsook the Tike and flocked around Lillie,
who, gowned in pure white, with kerchief and lace cap, represented
Susannah White, the first bride of the colony.
"Yes, and I want you to note, girls," she asserted impressively, with a
nonchalant nod to the welcome accorded her, "that I am not only the
first bride, but the first mother of the colony, for my little Peregrine
was born when the _Mayflower_ rode at anchor in Cape Cod Bay, and Mrs.
Morrow claims this is even a greater honor than to be the first bride.
But, girls--" she ended abruptly, dropping her matronly pose, "have you
seen Edith--she was to be Helen Billington--I never knew her to be so late
before?"
"There! that accounts for the aching void in my heart, I know I missed
some one," cried Jessie half mockingly. "O dear, what will become of my
Pioneer article if the Sport does not appear?" The girls all laughed in
appreciation of Jessie's serio-comic declaration, for it was generally
conceded that Edith was the most active spirit of the band, as her
sporting proclivities, her general good-nature, and her dashing
escapades always furnished plenty of "copy" when any of their various
hikes or demonstrations were in progress.
"Oh, don't fret; a bad penny always turns up!" chimed in Kitty, who did
not particularly admire the Sport.
"I'll bet you a cookie that she has been arrested for appearing in
disorderly apparel on the street," observed Grace roguishly; "for she
told me she was going to dress at home."
"Oh, girls, aren't you ready?" at this instant asked Louise Gaynor,
suddenly appearing in the doorway leading to the room where Mrs. Morrow,
as Mistress Carver, the Governor's lady, was waiting to receive them.
"Her Sweet Graciousness, Mistress Carver, waits for you without in the
Common House."
"Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla,
Priscilla, the Mayflower of Plymouth!"
Thus hummed Lillie as she walked around this winsome representation of
that Puritan maiden, surveying her critically, but with approving eye.
"Oh, you're just too sweet for anything!" warbled another bluebird,
"you're--"
"You're too sweet to have to do your own proposing, methinks," broke in
Jessie, touching one of the long golden braids that fell from beneath
the demure little cap of this first edition of women's rights.
But at sweet Priscilla's gentle reminder that the first lady of the land
should not be kept waiting, the merry girls ceased their chatter, did
their best to assume the decorous manners of the Puritan women, filed
into line, and were soon in the adjoining room.
Here they were greeted by Dame Brewster, the Elder's wife, no other than
Helen, who, in ruffled cap and quaintly flowered gown, excelled even her
own aspirations to appear like that motherly dame, as in speech of
quaint wording she made each Mayflower damsel known to Mistress Carver.
After the greetings had been voiced, the first surprise came, and that
was when the Tike came bounding into the midst of the gentle dames and
informed them that a cheer fire was blazing on the grass-plot in the
rear of the Hall. The Pioneers in profound wonder--as they had not
expected to have a cheer fire--followed Mistress Carver to the garden,
where a circle was formed around this magic inspirer of cheer, whose
burning fagots snapped and crackled noisily, as if to do its share in
the old-time celebration. It was in memory, Grace declared, of the many
fires that had cheered the settlers in the cold and desolation of the
new world.
Murmurs of wonder and queries about this mysterious surprise were
silenced, as some one started a general clapping, a recognition often
accorded the Pioneers' cheer star. Then, as they gathered around the
flaming light, some one suggested that perhaps the Governor's lady could
tell as to who was the magic fire-maker.
The lady in question, although disclaiming that she knew who lighted the
magic inspirer, did finally admit that she could guess who had done it,
but as that was a privilege that every one had, she had nothing to tell.
However, the mystery remained unsolved, although some bright one
ventured to suggest that it might have been the Sport, who was still
missing, as she delighted to do the unexpected.
Immediately the missing Pioneer began to be eulogized for her clever and
mysterious absence, as these representatives of hundreds of years ago
circled about their emblem of cheer and romance. To usher in the first
ceremony, or, as the girls sometimes called it "the christening of the
blazer," some one called for the story-teller to give one of her
thrillers. This cry was forthwith taken up by the little company, and
became so imperative that Lillie at last complied with the request, and
in a few moments was telling, in her usual impressive way, the story of
those pioneers, the Pilgrim men and women, who fought the first battle
for liberty and union on the shores of this land.
When Lillie's story came to an end, she received her usual applause, for
every one had listened with the closest attention to the account of the
many pilgrimages of these simple folk from the northeastern countries of
England. In trying to serve God as they deemed right they had separated
themselves from the English church and had begun to hold little meetings
in the village of Scrooby. Hounded by the authorities they finally
sailed to the low countries, which at that time were considered a place
of refuge for the oppressed of all nations. They lived one year in
Amsterdam, meeting for worship near a convent, whose sweet chimes called
them to a low-ceiled room, where they sung their songs of praise and
read God's word.
But their wanderings were not over, and a year later they sailed on one
of the great waterways of this Dutch land to Leyden. Here they remained
twelve years in twenty-three humble little homes, built on a plot of
ground known as the _Koltsteeg_, and called Bell Alley, just across the
way from the great dome of St. Peter's church.
Here in this land of foreign tongue their children grew up, learned
their trades and, alas, many of the ways of these people, especially
their methods of keeping the Sabbath, which were contrary to the beliefs
of these God-loving people. It was for this reason as well as for
others, that they started forth on their wanderings again, and migrated
to the new land across the sea, sailing in the _Mayflower_ on the
twenty-second of July, 1620.
Nathalie was somewhat disappointed in the beginning, that she was not to
hear one of Lillie's twentieth-century thrillers, but the story of the
Pilgrims was so interesting that she felt amply repaid for her
disappointment. Although familiar with their story in this land, she had
never heard much about the lives of these founders before they came to
America.
The tale of these ancient folk was rendered even more interesting by
various interruptions at intervals, as when Dame Brewster read, in
solemn tone, the Constitution formed by these people in the cabin of the
_Mayflower_, said to have been written on an old chest, and known as The
Compact, the first stone in the American Commonwealth.
The Governor's lady enlivened the tedious voyage over by telling of
several little incidents that had occurred; one was when the _Mayflower_
during a severe storm was saved from going to the bottom by some one
wedging a _kracht_, or jackscrew, in a leak that had suddenly sprung
amidships.
Little Humility Cooper, one of the children of the _Mayflower_ voyagers,
an Oriole Pioneer, recited Mrs. Heman's "Landing of the Pilgrims," while
sprightly Mary Chilton told of her race with John Alden to be the first
one of the little company to step on Plymouth Rock. She added to the
interest of this recital by giving a short account of this historical
granite from the day it served as a foundation stone of her victory
until the present time.
A Bob White told about the first American washday, and the fun the
children had gathering sweet juniper boughs to build the fires, over
which hung the tripod from which was suspended the kettles of that
historic occasion.
Louise Gaynor, as Priscilla, recited parts of Longfellow's poem, "The
Courtship of Myles Standish," with its picturesque account of the most
romantic happening of the little town, while as Mistress Fuller, Barbara
described Fort Hill and told about Captain Standish and his sixteen
valiant men-at-arms who explored the hills and woods of the wilderness.
Kitty Corwin, as another Pilgrim dame, told of the erection of the seven
little houses with their thatched roofs, built in a row on First, or
Leyden Street, giving a rather exciting account of the many serious
accidents that happened to the Common House where the stores and
ammunition of the community were stored. And so, in picturesque detail,
each feature of the story was brought forth to form in the minds of
these twentieth century Pioneers a picture that would last through the
years that were to follow, and help them gain an insight into the
characters they were representing.
Elizabeth Winslow, the first wife of the first American statesman, one
of the first to pass away in the fatal sickness of that lonely winter;
Mrs. Hopkins, who won fame as the mother of the boy Oceanus, born on the
_Mayflower_; Bridget Fuller, the wife of the genial Dr. Fuller, and
others, were all impersonated by some one of the Pioneers.
Even the ghosts, as Grace dubbed them, were heard from: Myles Standish's
first wife, known as the beautiful English Rose, who died soon after
reaching the new land, and Dorothy Bradford, the young wife of William
Bradford, who came to her death by falling overboard while her husband
was exploring the shores with Captain Standish and his men.
By the time the story with its variations had been told, the girls,
tired of posing with old-time stiffness and ceremony, were all laughing
merrily as some one of the band suddenly spied some comical or grotesque
aspect of the impersonator, when the Tike screamed shrilly, "Oh, who is
that?" pointing to a black-draped figure standing in the doorway of the
hall, with red, perspiring face, hat cocked on one side, and a generally
bedraggled appearance.
It was the missing Pioneer, Edith, who, after the hubbub had subsided as
to her untimely appearance and tardy arrival, pulled off her long black
cloak and threw herself on the grass by the side of Lillie. With gasps
and sundry emphasizing shrieks she told what had befallen her on the way
to the Rally.
"Father was ill last night, so the first thing this morning I had to go
for the doctor. Then as mother was busy attending to Father I had to get
the youngsters ready,--they were going to a May picnic, for of course,"
Edith added petulantly, "no matter what happened to me, Mother would not
have the kiddies disappointed."
Catching Mrs. Morrow's reproving eye, she stammered apologetically, "Of
course, I would not have them disappointed myself--they are dears--but it
lost me my morning; and then, just as I was hurrying by the gray
house,--oh, girls--" dropping her voice to a tense whisper, "what do you
think I heard?"