The tenseness of Edith's tone, coupled with her mysterious manner, had
the desired effect, and the Pioneers all bent forward eagerly with
expectant eyes, anxious to hear what she had seen and heard, while some
too impetuous one called out, "Oh, do hurry and tell us what it was!"
"It was the most terrible shriek I ever heard," answered Edith, with a
long-drawn sigh. Having succeeded in getting her audience where she
wanted them she was anxious to prolong her triumph. "Why, my heart
jumped into my mouth, and I--"
"Where did the noise come from?" inquired practical Helen impatiently,
who never wasted any time in getting wrought up, as she called it, by
the Sport's yarns.
"It came from the garden of the gray house," was the quick retort; and
then, crossly, "I do wish, Helen, you would wait--you'll spoil the whole
thing if you don't let me tell it properly."
Grace, who had been listening intently to the Sport's recital, looked up
quickly and encountered a glance from Nathalie's eyes as she suddenly
turned from Edith and looked across the circle at Grace to see if she
had heard. But Grace, whose memory was still rankling with her adventure
at the gray house, was afraid that if the girls knew they would plague
her unmercifully for being a runaway, and hastily put her hand on her
lips in warning not to tell what had happened to them.
Nathalie nodded loyally and then turned to hear Edith repeat, "Yes, the
noise came from the garden of the gray house, I have always told you
there was something queer about that place. At first I started to run
away, and then I thought, 'O pshaw! whatever it is, it won't hurt me
behind those high walls.' So I walked close up to the wall near one
corner to see if I could not manage to climb up in some way and look
into the garden. I had just spied a tiny hole in the lower part of the
wall--I guess some boys had made it, you know they are always spying
about that place, anyway--when I heard loud breathing. I looked up and
saw a man creeping stealthily around the corner of the wall, as if
dodging some one. Well, I just gave one look at him, he had great black,
burning kind of eyes, staring out of a face as white as a corpse. He
suddenly spied me, and by the uncanny glare he gave I knew right off he
was the one who had been shrieking, he was the crazy man who lives
there! Great guns! but I didn't wait to take another look, I took to my
heels and flew. Then I heard steps thumping behind me--looked back--oh,
girls," she shrieked hysterically, "he was chasing me, running after me
as hard as he could!"
She gulped, and then with a gasp continued, "Oh, for a moment I thought
I was doomed, but--well--you know I can run, and I did, for my life. I ran
every step of the way here--and--oh, I'm so hungry! Have you had the feast
yet?"
"What became of the man?" inquired Helen tersely.
"Oh, yes, what became of him?" added one or two others.
"I don't know and I don't care," asserted Miss Edith carelessly. "All I
know is that he is as crazy as a loon, and that he lives in the gray
house."
"Edith," exclaimed Mrs. Morrow sharply, "as long as you did not see the
man come from the gray house do not say he lives there; and as for
saying he is crazy, that is absurd. That is just an idle report; do not
repeat it until you have proof that what you say is correct. He was
probably a tramp, and may have been chased from the garden by one of the
servants." Mrs. Morrow's face showed keenly her annoyance and disbelief
in Edith's surmise.
"But what could the screams have been?" asked Helen, wonderingly, "if
they really came from the garden?"
"Oh, I am sure they did," asserted the Sport positively, "for I have
heard other people say that they have heard queer noises coming from
that place. But girls," she exclaimed, as if anxious to dismiss the
subject, "do tell me what you have been doing. Oh, I did so hate to miss
all the fun."
"Yes, kiddie, it is too bad," consoled Lillie, putting her arm around
her friend, "but we have not had the feast yet, we've just been
listening to little stories about the Pilgrims--you know you heard me
read my story the other day--" she stopped abruptly, for a sudden
rustling in a clump of trees back of the garden had caused every one to
turn and peer apprehensively over their shoulders.
"Oh," shivered the Sport nervously, "perhaps it is the crazy man!" She
sprang to her feet and made as if to take to her heels again.
Every girl followed her example, and in another moment there would have
been a wild stampede to the shelter of the hall, if a loud voice had not
called out, "Welcome, Englishmen! Welcome!"
Simultaneously with these words a lithe form sprang into the midst of
the terrified girls, who clung to one another with wildly beating hearts
as with dilated eyes they glared at the intruder, a tall Indian youth,
resplendent with a feathered head-gear. He was clad in deerskin trousers
fringed at the seams, a string of hairy scalps hung at his belt, and he
held a bow and arrow in his hands as he stood and looked down at this
bevy of frightened colonial maids with a broad smile on his grease
besmeared face.
There was just a second's pause, and then Helen shouted merrily, "Oh,
it's Teddy Hart, and he's Samoset! Oh, girls, don't you remember? He was
the Indian who came and welcomed the Pilgrims!"
Of course they all remembered, for had not Lillie dealt at length upon
that very scene when telling her story? And Teddy Hart, why, he was a
Boy Scout, one of Fred Tyson's patrol, which was known as the Eagle
patrol.
This was all that was needed to make the girls forget the crazy man and
the Sport's harrowing tale, and they crowded about Teddy crying, "Oh,
Ted, where did you get the rig?" or, "What made you think of it?" and,
"Isn't it the best ever?" This last was from the Tike who was hopping
about the new arrival examining the hairy scalps--which turned out to be
a few wigs borrowed from the village barber--with keen curiosity.
"Great Caesar! give a fellow a chance to breathe, won't you?" fired the
make-believe Samoset, as he mopped his face energetically. "Don't riddle
me with questions; I'm not a target!"
Yes, this was the second surprise, or the forerunner of it, for before
Teddy was ready to surrender his place as the hero of the moment, the
beat of a drum was heard, and from the little bit of woodland where Ted
had been hiding issued a group of queer-looking individuals. They were
all attired in somber-colored clothes with broad white collars, high
conical-shaped hats, and all carried guns and had swords clanking at
their sides in good impersonation of the Fathers of their country. The
next moment they had formed in line and with well-simulated solemnity of
countenance, "as if going to meeting-house," tittered Grace, these
sixteen men-at-arms, headed by Capt. Standish--who was no other than Fred
Tyson--marched valiantly down the street towards the garden.
It was the Sport after all who saved the day for the Pioneers, for as
they stood in dazed laughter wondering how to greet these unexpected
guests, the Sport's hand shot up, and two seconds later the girls had
joined her in saluting their brother organization, as with one accord
they gave the Pioneer cheer.
In quick response to a signal from their leader, the Scouts came to a
halt, and as one man each Scout's hand went up to his forehead in the
salute of three ringers held upright. This was followed by another
cheer, a rousing one this time, as each boy shouted lustily:
"Ready! Ready! Scout! Scout! Scout!
Good turn daily! Shout! Shout! Shout!"
The boys now fell into step again, and in a few moments had entered the
little wicker gate where they broke ranks as they were cordially
welcomed by the Governor's lady and Dame Brewster. For a short space
following pandemonium reigned, as the boys tried to answer the many
queries propounded by the girls, each Pioneer, spying some one favorite
boy, singled him out with merry jest to answer as to the why and
wherefore of the unlooked for surprise.
Nathalie felt somewhat embarrassed and stood apart from the girls, not
having met any of the Scouts of the town. Perhaps she was a little
scornful, for in the city she had been wont to pass a khaki uniform with
scant approval, considering these emulators of chivalrous knights mere
boys. Not understanding the aims or purposes of the organization they
had failed to attract her.
But as she stood watching these tall, well-developed lads with heads
held high, squared shoulders, and with the ruddy glow of an active life
in the open on their bright faces, she reluctantly admitted that they
were interesting to look at, at least.
"Ah, Miss Nathalie, I see you have forgotten me!" spoke a voice at the
girl's elbow. She turned quickly to see the laughing brown eyes of Fred
Tyson. Fred's face was flushed with embarrassment as he felt somewhat
timorous as to this city girl's greeting, since he had last seen her
walking away from him with flushed cheeks and angry mien as he teasingly
taunted, "Scare-babies! Scare-babies!"
But Nathalie had forgotten all about that trivial incident--perhaps
because she had a brother and knew the moods of boys and how they
delighted to tease and hark at the girls--and she dimpled with cordiality
as she returned his greeting.
She was soon sparkling with merriment as Fred told of the fun they had
in rigging up, and the sensation they created as they marched through
Main Street. By this time the explanations from the boys were over, and
the secret of the cheer fire was revealed. It had been made by the
Scouts at the suggestion of Dr. Homer, who was much interested in the
Pioneers and had planned the two surprises to give a little more tone to
the celebration and fun to the girls.
The girls now clamored that they were hungry, and at an intimation from
Mrs. Morrow the Scouts were invited to repair to one of the side rooms
in the hall, where their Mayflower Feast was to be held.
The invitation was accepted by Fred for the patrol, and the party of
merry-makers filed noisily into the hall. When the boys saw the Stars
and Stripes, and the yards of red, white, and blue bunting hanging in
graceful folds from the walls of the room, they broke into patriotic
song. "Red, White, and Blue" was first sung in compliment to the Girl
Pioneers' colors, and was quickly succeeded by the "Battle Cry of
Freedom," and "The Star-Spangled Banner," in recognition of the starry
emblem that symbolizes--more than any design that floats to the wind--the
uplift of mankind, Liberty, and Union!
A cheery fire of pine knots blazed a greeting from the hearth, while two
long boards supported on trestles and covered with a shining damask
cloth, represented the table of Pioneer days. Odd bits of old-time ware,
such as silver porringers, queer-shaped jugs, or blackjacks, a number of
wooden bowls, a high-standing salt-cellar, and a pewter tankard, were
distributed about the table. But it was the flowers that lay in bunches
here and there--and all May ones, too, from the clusters of white
snowballs, lilacs, pink and yellow azaleas, to the big bowls filled with
sprigs of arbutus--that held Nathalie's eyes.
But flags, antiques, and flowers soon became things of the past, as the
girls brought forth their lunch-baskets; each one had vied with the
other to bring some choice edible and with the help of the modern
knights, who declared that they had come for that purpose, the table was
loaded with goodies.
Just before the feast was served, Will Ditmas, a fair counterpart of
William Brewster, the ruling elder of Plymouth, suddenly stood up and,
after much throat-clearing, announced in a droning voice that if those
present were willing, for the furtherance of sobriety and seemly
behavior, he would read a few rules from "A Pretty Little Pocket Book."
After stonily staring over a pair of goggles at a few irrepressible
gigglers the would-be Elder read: "Speak not until spoken to; break not
thy bread, nor bite into a whole slice; take not salt unless with a
clean knife, and throw no bones under the table."
Those who were trying to keep their faces straight wavered in the
attempt and joined the irrepressible Tike in a few hysterical titters as
he continued: "Hold not thy fork upright, but sloping, lay it down at
the right hand of the plate, with the end of the blade on the table
plate, and look not earnestly at any person that is eating."
This last was the final straw for the Tike, and she giggled so
unrestrainedly that she threatened hysteria, and Helen had to whack her
on the back so that she could get her breathing apparatus in working
order again. This ebullition was like a match to fire, and all those who
had been smothering their mirth now broke forth into loud laughter,
which threatened to become clamorous had not Mrs. Morrow held up her
restraining finger.
The signal was too well known not to be obeyed, and the too mirthful
ones were recalled to themselves. Then, too, they were all hungry; so
forgetting the old-time admonitions of their forebears, they were soon
occupied satisfying their hunger.
After the left-over goodies had been gathered into baskets to be
delivered to a poor family, and the place was set in order again, the
chivalrous knights and the emulating Pioneers swarmed merrily into the
dance hall, where they held high court to the light fantastic as Mrs.
Morrow, the one-piece orchestra, rattled off ragtime harmony for round
and square dances.
Nathalie by this time had met a number of the Scouts, and to her
surprise found that some of them danced as well as, and in some cases
better than her boy friends in the city. The would-be Elder, who had
droned the rules from the pocket book, proved not only a good dancer,
but most companionable, and finding that Nathalie was sadly ignorant as
to the aims and purposes of the Scout organization, he set forth to
enlighten her.
He took off his Scout badge, pointed out the eagle, and the stars and
shield, explaining that it was a trefoil badge and represented the three
points in the Scout oath. The curl-up at the end of the scroll was a
reminder to each Scout that the corners of his mouth should always be
turned up in a smile of cheerfulness. The knot in the loop was a
"conscience pricker," as he expressed it, that a Scout was pledged to do
some one a good turn every day.
The next dance was Fred Tyson's, and when it ended they seated
themselves in a corner of the hall to cool off, and as Nathalie fanned
herself with a much bedraggled handkerchief, they hit upon a topic that
proved most entertaining, and that was--college. Fred stated that he
expected to go to Dartmouth in the fall and was therefore looking
forward to it with much pleasure.
Nathalie, with sparkling eyes, told how she had dreamed and longed to go
to college, and then the golden lights in her eyes shadowed as she said
that since the death of her father she had decided to stop dreaming
about what was impossible for her, and to do something worth while, so
she had become a Pioneer.
"But don't you think it worth while to go to college?" was Fred's
puzzled query, "for surely there is nothing that will help a girl more
in life than to have--what is it--the higher education?"
"Yes, I know," assented his companion, "that is all right, but when one
finds that they can't have a thing--no matter how big or grand it is, or
how much they want it--if it is impossible, it ceases to be worth while;
that is, why spend time lamenting, or thinking about something that
can't be accomplished?"
"Why, you are a regular little philosopher!" laughed Fred. But Nathalie
was not heeding, for suddenly looking across the room she perceived that
the dancers had retired from the floor, all but the Pioneers, who were
standing in two lines in the center of the room facing one another as if
about to dance the Virginia Reel.
"Oh, what are they going to do?" she cried, but before her companion
could answer Helen came running up.
"Come on, Nathalie, we are going to dance the Pioneer dance. It's lots
of fun."
"But I don't know it," objected the girl. "I am not going to make a show
of myself before all these boys."
"Oh, but you won't," urged Helen, "for you can be my partner, and I will
tell you as we go along; and then its awfully simple, for we just go
through the motions of pioneer handcraft--"
"Pioneer handcraft?" echoed Nathalie more puzzled than before.
"Yes, don't you remember what Mrs. Morrow told us about the handcrafts
of the Pioneer women? Well, she made up this dance to make these crafts
definite. Oh, come, it is easy!" In a moment, Nathalie's objection being
overruled, she bade Fred good-by and was hurried by her partner to join
one of the two lines on the floor.
Only a few explanations were necessary, and Nathalie, who was quick to
learn, joined her voice to the girlish ones singing:
"Singing, ringing thro' the air
Comes the song of Molly fair.
Milking, milking Crumple Horn
Down in the barn at early dawn."
As the song ended, the closed right hand of every Girl Pioneer was held
out in front, elbow bent upward. Then came three movements up and down
in imitation of the act of churning. This was done three times, as in
chorus came:
"Churning, turning, see it splash,
This way, that way, with a dash."
As the next two lines rang out:
"Skimming skimming foamy white,
Making the butter golden bright,"
the motions were changed to those of skimming milk, repeated three times
as in the previous movement, the girls emphasizing the end of each
movement by stamping the feet, using first one and then the other. They
ended this last motion by each girl placing her hands on her hips and
tripping in line with the others lightly down the room in time with the
music and then back to place.
A second of time, and each dancer was making the motion of holding a
baby in her encircled arms, and while swaying to and fro these words
were softly crooned:
"Golden slumber kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullabye."
Another moment, and the arms had fallen, each girl faced her opposite
partner, and then linking hands together they were rocking a cradle as
they joyously warbled:
"Baby is a sailor boy, swing, cradle, swing;
Sailing is the sailor's joy, swing, cradle, swing."
Now the girls were waltzing gaily down the room and back again to place,
where this time they formed in rows of three in each line. A crash of
chords from the piano, and each girl stepped forward with outstretched
left hand, and made the motion of taking something with the right hand
from the closed left, and casting it on the ground, as they repeated
clearly and loudly:
"Good flax and good hemp to have of her own,
In May, a good housewife will see that it is sown.
And afterwards trim it to serve in a need,
The fimble to spin, the card from her reel."
Yes, they were sowing hemp as their great-grand-mothers had done
hundreds of years ago--a sign of a thrifty housewife. Now came three
claps of the hand and again the girls swung into two facing lines. Each
performer now lightly put forward the right foot, poised on the ball of
the left one, while making the motion as of moving the treadle of a
spinning-wheel, as with lifted hands she twisted the flax, stopping
every moment to moisten one finger in an imaginary cup fastened to the
distaff.
[Illustration: "Polly Green, her reel," announced Helen.]
"Polly Green, her reel," announced Helen as leader of the dance, and
then came the old-fashioned couplet softly hummed:
"Count your threads right,
If you reel in the night
When I am far away."
Before Nathalie could decide whether the couplet meant only to count
your threads at night while Polly was far away, the dancers had swung
into place and were going through the minuet. With slow and stately
measure they moved, ending each turn with the dipping, sweeping curtsy
that has made that dance so graceful a reminder of the festivities of
early days.
Now they are singing:
"Twice a year deplumed may they be
In spryngen tyme and harvest tyme,"
as with swift motion each girl pretended to grab up something with her
left hand while the right flew up and down with noiseless
regularity--plucking a goose for dinner.
The next instant every alternate girl had put her hand over her mouth in
the form of a horn and was calling loudly, "Ho, Molly Gray! Hi, Crumple
Horn!" This call had barely ceased its musical reverberation when each
fair dancer caught up the hem of her apron and, bending forward, with
well-simulated deftness was gathering or picking up something from the
ground which was quickly thrust into her apron. Another flash of white
arms, and each girl had caught up the hem of her neighbor's gown and
with a pretended switch was driving her forward while merrily singing:
"Driving in twilight the waiting cows home,
With arms full-laden with hemlock boughs,
To be traced on a broom ere the coming day
From its eastern chamber should dance away."
As the songs and motions ended, the girls filed into line and marched
around the room as if carrying muskets, that is, women's muskets,
brooms.
Once more in row, each girl pretended she was holding a card with one
hand, while drawing another card softly, but swiftly across the first.
This was done with a deft, catchy motion as the girls sing-songed:
"Niddy-noddy, niddy-noddy
Two heads on one body."
"Now we are imitating the motions of carding wool," Helen whispered
softly to Nathalie. "Niddy-noddy means the old-fashioned hand-reel used
in the days when there were no machines."
The Pioneers had finished carding wool and were dancing the Virginia
Reel, spinning each other around with the vigor and vim of young hearts
as a prelude to the next dance. In this they simulated sewing, taking
their stitches with a precision and handiness that rivalled the little
maids of Puritan days. With a posture as of holding a wooden frame,
while in and out the needle flew, each damsel repeated slowly, with
quaint precision:
"Lola Standish is my name.
Lord, guide my heart that I may do thy will,
And fill my Hands with such convenient skill
As will conduce to Virtue void of shame,
And I will give the Glory to thy name."
Only a space of time and the samplers were dropped, and each girl grew
strangely still, with bent head and listening ears. With eyes flaming in
a fixed stare she poised an imaginary fowling-piece on her shoulder.
They stood for a moment in this pose as each one present grasped the
idea that they were doing the deed that many a Pioneer woman had bravely
done in those early days, in the absence of husband keeping guard over
the home from the relentless ravages of the red man!