The sorry-looking object proved to be the Tike, who between sobs and
shivery shakes explained, as the party surrounded her, that tempted by
the mirror-like surface of a dark pool in the middle of the brook she
had stooped to see if she could see her face in it. Unfortunately, her
knee slipped on a loose stone, and she had tumbled in.
With much laughter and merriment the girls made a stretcher, tumbled the
somewhat subdued fag into it, and then set off for the wigwam, where
Miss Carol was speedily disrobed and her clothes hung out to dry, as the
girls merrily sang, "on a hickory limb!"
Bundled up in wraps after a few drops of stimulant had been administered
to prevent her taking cold, which made her drowsy, she was left to the
ministrations of the dream fairies, while the girls hurried off to wash
the dishes and finish cleaning up. While this was being performed, the
doctor showed Nathalie how to throw dirt or water on the fires--all but
one, which was left for a cheer fire--so as to be sure that they were all
out. The girls, he said, had learned a lesson last summer when they left
a fire smoldering when they struck camp. It soon burst into a blaze and
if it hadn't been for a party of Scouts who had been off for a tramp the
woods would have been on fire.
Camp duties done, the cheer fire blazed a welcome and the girls hastily
circled around it, and were soon busily engaged in packing the roots of
their wild flowers with clay, wrapping them in big leaves and tying them
securely with sweet grasses or string. They were then placed in the
Tike's basket to delight the heart of some shut-in, whose only outing
was from the window.
When this task was completed the flower specimens were laid in rows, and
then Helen as leader, gave the names of her specimens; each girl having
a like specimen laid it carefully between a sheet of blotting paper to
remove the moisture, and then pressed it deftly in her note-book, where
it was fastened with gummed paper across the stems and thick parts of
the plant. Under each flower was now written its botanical name, its
common name, the date of finding it, its habitat, and any other data
that could be obtained from the Encyclopedia, who, with flower books
spread before her, was kept busy supplying all the needed information.
Each odd specimen was passed around for inspection, and then the lucky
finder jubilantly placed it on record, while others wrote additional
information as to the insects that visit it, whether it is a
pollen-bearer, if it slept at night, or closed in the sun. The doctor
supplemented Barbara's book lore by stray bits of knowledge that he had
picked up from actual experience in his many scout rambles. The girls
were only too pleased to listen, being particularly interested in his
account of the evolution of color in flowers.
When the time came for telling cheer fire stories, Mrs. Morrow suggested
that they should be flower stories, stipulating, however, that the
legends told should be about the specimens that had been found in that
day's hike.
With this, the doctor, who was lying on the grass by the side of
Nathalie, pulled off his hat which she had decorated with a dandelion
wreath, and waving it high so every one could see it in its yellow
glory, said he would start the wheel of yarns by telling about the
maiden with the fluffy cobweb hair.
As he said "hair," Lillie Bell rose, and in ready imitation of the
renowned Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm tragically intoned:
"Robaire! Robaire!
Let down your hair!"
The girls burst into peals of laughter, for even in the sleepy town of
Westport every one had seen the beloved Rebecca, and keenly appreciated
Lillie's timely pose.
"But this slim bit of a girl," smiled the doctor, "didn't let down her
yellow tresses, they just flew with the wind, until Shawondassee--this is
an Indian legend--the South Wind saw her. Instead of seeking this
witching maiden, whom he admired so deeply, he was lulled to sleep by
the fragrance of the summer flowers and forgot all about her. The next
day he again spied his yellow charmer away off among the grasses of the
meadows, but after lazily wishing she would come to him he snoozed off
again. To his horror, the next day he found that the maiden's tresses
were gone, and that in her place stood an old woman who looked as if
Jack Frost had sprinkled her with his silver dust.
"'Ah,' sighed Shawondassee, 'my brother the North Wind has done this
wrong.' So he hurriedly arose and blew his horn loud and fierce to the
whitened figure standing so forlornly out in the fields. But alas, as
his soft breezes whistled gently about the old woman, her snow-white
hair fell to the ground, and then she, too, soon disappeared, leaving
nothing but a few upright stems and a bunch of withered leaves. She was
the dandelion, whose petals turn to fluffy hair when touched by the
North Wind. This yellow maiden is said to be a symbol of the sun, and
has been named Dandelion because it is claimed that its petals resemble
a lion's tooth."
The common little field flower seemed to have gained in interest after
the legend, and was examined with greater curiosity, while the Scribe
hurriedly wrote the legend on a stray page of her copy-pad to feature it
in the "Pioneer."
Lillie Bell, who had gathered a number of wild forget-me-nots, told a
pathetic German legend about that sweetheart flower, while Helen
explained that the marigold, instead of being such a common plant, was
in reality the bride of the sun. It was once a maiden named Caltha, who,
in reward for her faithfulness to the sun, was finally lost in his
golden rays, and on the spot where she used to stand and gaze at her
fiery lover the marigold grew.
Nathalie, who had been deeply interested in the legends, experienced
somewhat of a shock when Mrs. Morrow suddenly said, "Now, Nathalie, are
we not to hear a flower legend, or some kind of a story from you?"
"Oh, I am a poor hand at story-telling," the girl speedily answered.
"Hear! hear! this is treason!" called Helen loudly, "for a Pioneer who
has won fame as a Story Lady!"
"Oh, that is different," pleaded her friend in mild despair, "those were
only children's stories."
"To be able to tell stories to children, Nathalie, and to keep their
attention," spoke Mrs. Morrow, "shows ability, and if we have so gifted
a Pioneer I think it is our due to hear from her."
"And then, Nathalie," urged Grace, "every Pioneer has to know how to
tell stories, and this is a good time to make a beginning."
"Well, I see I am doomed, notwithstanding my protests," said the girl
after a short pause. "I will try to tell one if you will let me put on
my thinking-cap for a moment." As permission was accorded to this
request, Nathalie turned and glanced helplessly at the doctor, as if she
might find inspiration in his merry eyes, Helen laughingly declared.
Nathalie blushed as the doctor shook his head and said, "No, hike-mate,
I am at your service in everything but a story, for I ran dry when I
told mine. Then I know you have nerve and brains enough to do your own
thinking."
"Oh, I know one!" the girl suddenly cried as her face lighted, and then
closing her eyes for a moment, as if to invoke the aid of some unknown
muse, she said, "I read it in a newspaper the other day. It is about a
flower, but I will let you guess its name."
"It was in the spring," she continued slowly, "and old Peboan sat alone
in his ragged tepee. His hair fell about his time-worn face like
glistening icicles as he shivered in his fur robes; oh, so cold, so weak
and hungry, for he had had no food for days. As he bent over to blow
upon the smoldering embers that glowed at his feet, he besought the
Great Spirit to come to his aid.
"As he thus prayed and lamented a handsome young girl stepped within the
tent. Her eyes were as blue as the summer sky and were filled with a
liquid light, while her golden hair floated gracefully with the wind.
Her cheeks were like apple blossoms and her gown was made of sweet
grasses and green leaves. In her arms she carried twigs of the
pussy-willow. Going softly to the old man, she cried in a voice as sweet
as the brook's gentle flow, 'Peboan, what can I do for thee?'
"The old man raised his head as he heard the maiden's sweet voice, and
as he saw her in her spring glory he cried bitterly, 'I am hungry and
cold. I have lost my power over nature, for the streams have refused to
stand still for me. My mantle disappears from the earth as rapidly as I
cover it, and the flowers are peeping from their brown beds, although I
have bidden them sleep.'
"'Peboan,' replied the maiden, 'I am Seguin, the summer manitou; the
flowers are obeying me, for I have bidden them arise. The leaves are
budding on the trees, the pussies are out in all their furry finery, for
I, Seguin, now possess the earth. The snow and ice have disappeared, for
they have obeyed my voice, and your power is gone. All nature pays me
homage, for I am the Queen of the earth, the Goddess of spring!
"'Peboan, you are the winter manitou, and the Great Spirit calls you!
Now go!' As Seguin said these words she gently waved her wand over the
old man's head as it sank between his shoulders.
"The winter manitou made no reply, but drew his furs closer about his
shivering form, and then, as he heard the song of the spring birds, and
the rustling of the leaves in the sunshine, he sank to the ground.
"As a ray of the warm sun filtered through the top of the tepee and fell
upon the old man, who lay exhausted on the earth; Seguin again raised
her wand, and the winter manitou disappeared. His furs had turned to
dancing leaves; his tepee to a tall tree. Then Seguin stooped, and
gathering a handful of the leaves from the tree she breathed on
them--very softly--and then threw them on the earth. They immediately
stood upright, each holding forth a tiny pink flower, gay with a
delicate perfume.
"'Grow and blossom,' cried the spring maiden softly, 'and bloom a
welcome to the hearts of those who are depressed by winter's gales, for
you are a token that Peboan, the winter manitou is gone. You are the
first flower that comes in the spring.' Now what is the name of it?"
ended Nathalie abruptly.
"Snowdrop!" called Helen quickly. Nathalie shook her head.
"Violet!" timidly ventured some one.
"Violet?" the Sport repeated scornfully. "Who ever heard of a pink
violet? Nathalie said this flower was pink."
Mrs. Morrow broke the sudden silence that followed the Sport's remark by
saying softly, "I think it is the arbutus!"
"That's it!" cried Nathalie, and then to her bewilderment every one
began to clap again. As the clapping continued, the girls meanwhile,
watching her with sparkling eyes, Nathalie turned and whispered to the
doctor, "Why, what are they clapping for?"
But before he could reply the Sport shouted, "Hurrah for the Story
Lady!"
The cry was repeated again and again to Nathalie's confusion. In a
moment, however, her wits asserted themselves, and springing to her
feet, with a low sweeping courtesy she cried, "Thank you, fellow
Pioneers, I am glad you liked my first cheer-fire story!"
The clapping now subsided, and after several had expressed their
admiration by saying that the story was the "best ever," Mrs. Morrow
started a floral conundrum, which proved a thriller, the doctor claimed,
as he sat with humorous eyes and watched the girls, who all sat up and
took notice, as one after the other called out the name of a flower in
answer to the questions propounded by their Director.
When the questions had all been answered, it was discovered that the
names of the star actors in this little floral drama, the color of their
eyes, hair, and so on, as well as the musical instrument played by the
lover, the words of his proposal, the wedding, and even the time and
place of the honeymoon, had all been answered by the names of flowers.
Lillie Bell, at Mrs. Morrow's request, took her mandolin, and after
thrumming it softly broke into a quaint low strain of melody, while
Louise sang in her sweet little soprano voice, "All in a Garden Fair,"
"Fortune My Foe," and "Nymphs and Shepherds," each number being one of a
group of old English songs dating as far back as 1555. After receiving
an encore, Louise favored them with "Polly Willis," and "Golden Slumber
Kiss Your Eyes," two more popular ballads of the seventeenth century.
These old-time songs were a surprise for Mrs. Morrow, who had often been
heard to remark that it was a pity, as they were Pioneers, that they did
not know some of the songs that used to be sung in those days, instead
of ragtime songs. But ragtime was not altogether displaced, for in a few
minutes the girls were singing "The Sweet Little Girl with the Quaint
Squeegee," "Dry yo' Eyes," and "My Little Dream Girl," with a verve and
gusto that made the woods resound to the ring of their girlish voices.
By this time cramped limbs and the joyousness of life asserted
themselves, and every one began to feel that they wanted to run, leap,
and jump, so at the doctor's suggestion they played the Scout game of
"Stalking." The doctor was the deer, not hiding, but standing and moving
a little now and then as he liked, while the girls vied with one another
in trying to touch him without being seen.
The doctor did his part so well that he was duly tantalizing, the
Pioneers declared, as they watched him with strained eyes, being unable
to catch him napping. When the doctor called "Time," the game ended by
all the girls coming to a halt on the spot where they were standing when
the call sounded, the girl nearest the deer winning the game.
Prisoner's Base was then started; the goals were marked off, the players
divided into two sections, one stationed in each goal, and then the fun
began. A girl would advance towards the opposite goal, and then run back
into safety, while one of her mates came to her rescue by chasing her
pursuer, who, in turn, was rescued by one of her own mates. The rushing
about gave health, glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes attesting that
muscles, limbs, and blood were being exercised to a good purpose. But
after the doctor had again defeated them by never getting caught, the
game was abandoned, the girls all vowing he was magic-limbed, for he was
so quick and agile on his feet.
After a short time spent in practicing bird calls, as it was nearing the
time to return home the hikers gathered up their belongings, packed
their knapsacks, and with staffs in hand started out on the homeward
hike. They all declared that they were not a bit fatigued by the day's
activities, and jested merrily one with another, or happily sang
snatches of songs as they wended their way back to town.
By the time they had reached the cross-roads their spirits had subsided
somewhat, all but the Sport's, who teasingly whisked off Barbara's hat
and the next instant was whizzing down the road with it clutched in her
hand.
Barbara, notwithstanding her weighty nickname of the Encyclopedia, was
agile, and lost no time in flying after her, urged to speed by the
girls. Although inclined to poke fun sometimes at Barbara for her
absent-mindedness and love of books, the girls were her firm friends.
They loved her for her kindly heart and sincere efforts to help others.
There was a shout of victory when it was seen that the Encyclopedia had
captured her head-gear, and they were all clapping vociferously when an
automobile rounded the bend in the road. The car turned out to be the
doctor's, whose chauffeur had promised to meet him near the cross-roads
as he had to be in his office by five that afternoon.
The doctor quickly assisted Mrs. Morrow into the car as she had decided
to ride, and then stood and waited while the Pioneers--two of whom had
been invited to join their Director--urged Kitty with her iron pot, and
the Flower with her griddle to accept the invitation.
The girls finally consented, and with many waves of the hands to the
pedestrians, and a loud honk, honk, the car glided down the road and out
of sight.
Helen, Nathalie, and Edith, as they lived near one another, bade their
mates good-by, and, as they had decided to take a short cut home, turned
down a side path. As they strolled slowly along a road running by a low
stone wall hedging a pasture, where a brook twisted like a silver cord
in the undulating grass, Edith asked her companions if they did not want
to walk to the Bluff, where they would have a fine view of the bay in
the distance.
"Oh, yes," assented Helen, "it is a lovely view, Nathalie, and will only
be a step out of the way if we go by the brook."
Nathalie, although feeling somewhat tired, was anxious to visit the
Bluff, and a minute later the three girls climbed the stone barricade
and were keeping pace with the brook's windings as it leaped
boisterously over a bed of stones, or crept lingeringly, with murmuring
ripples, between grass-fringed banks.
Presently they wandered into the shade of the trees, where, to
Nathalie's surprise, she found the old brook bed. Instead of being earth
and stones, however, it was green and flower-starred, overshadowed by
weeping willows and silver birches, their interlaced tops bending low as
if seeking their old-time friend with its murmuring song.
Lulled by the mossy dell and the fragrance of the woodland posies, the
girls loitered, and did not realize that the afternoon was waning until
they reached the Bluff. They raced to the top, where Nathalie's joy at
being the fleetest was forgotten, as with stilled eyes she gazed upon
the fertile strip of valley below, its green specked by tiny white
cottages and washed by the waters of the bay that shone in the glow of
the setting sun like a sheet of brass.
The air was becoming chilled by the mist that was hovering in the
distance, and they turned and quickly made their way back to the road.
Whereupon, Edith insisted that they take the summit road, leading over a
small hill at one end of the town, which she declared would save time.
Her companions assented, and in a short space they were pantingly
trudging up the slope, and then, beginning to realize how tired they
were, they sat down on a rock near the edge of the summit to rest. Lured
by the changing colors of the afterglow they grew silent, awed, perhaps,
by the calm that hushes all nature when the light of day is fading into
the misty shadows of twilight.
Nathalie had turned from the mountains of pink foam that floated up from
the golden west, and was gazing down at the town, where little twinkling
lights were beginning to peep here and there between the tree-tops, when
Edith suddenly cried, "Oh, look at that smoke!" pointing to a street
just below the slope where black columns of smoke were rushing upward.
"Some one must be making a big bonfire," answered Helen inertly, as her
eyes followed the direction of Edith's finger.
"Why, Helen, that is not a bonfire," was the Sport's quick retort. "Oh,
I saw a flame shoot up!" she added excitedly.
"So did I!" exclaimed Nathalie, springing on her feet. "And oh, there's
another."
"Why, the church is on fire!" shouted Edith. "There--don't you see--the
flames are coming out of the back!"
The girls with dazed eyes and beating hearts looked at the old Methodist
church, set back from a tree mantled road, within a few feet of a white
cottage, the parsonage, that nested like some white bird in the shelter
of the waving boughs of the trees.
"Oh, girls," wailed the Sport, as she turned abruptly and gazed at them
with an awe-struck countenance; "it is the church--and the new organ--they
were to finish it to-day!" She wrung her hands frantically.
Her companions made no reply, their eyes were glued on the columns of
smoke that hurtled in dense masses up into the air.
"I don't believe any one knows about it!" exclaimed Helen. "Oh, what
shall we do? It will be of no use to shout 'Fire!' we are too far away."
"Oh, I know what we can do," cried Edith heatedly. "We can run to the
fire-house and give the alarm!"
But Helen had already started forward, and Nathalie followed blindly,
not even knowing where the fire-house was. Edith, like the flash of a
flame, shot ahead of the two girls, and the next instant was tearing
like some wild thing down the hill. In a few moments she had turned up a
road and was speeding in the direction of a red house with a funny
little cupola that loomed up above the small cottages surrounding it.
"Fire!" yelled the Sport, as she tore frantically along. Helen took up
the cry, but Nathalie, although she tried to follow her example, only
succeeded in making a hoarse sound that died away almost as soon as it
left her whitened lips.
As her breath began to come in gasps she was half tempted to stop and
let the other two girls give the alarm. But something told her that
would not be the act of a Pioneer, and she struggled on until she
arrived in front of the old ramshackle building with the red cupola
which looked as if it had once done service as a barn.
"Oh, there is no one here!" panted Helen as she beat frenziedly with her
two hands on the big wooden door. "It is barred inside."
But the Sport, like a whirlwind, had flown around to the rear of the
building, and the next moment was crawling through a window she had
found unfastened. It took but a moment's time to speed across the floor,
give the bar a pull, and fling wide the door.
[Illustration: The rope had broken in her grasp.]
"We must ring the bell," gasped Helen, as she glanced up at an old rope
that dangled in the center of the fire-house from a big bell which hung
motionless in the small tower above their heads.
The three girls sprang for the rope, but the Sport was the quickest and
caught the dangling rope in her hands. Summoning all her strength she
gave it a hard pull. The next instant, as the loud clang of the bell
rang out, the girls heard a sudden imprecation, and looked hastily down
to see the Sport with a rueful countenance sitting on the floor--the rope
had broken in her grasp!