An exclamation escaped dazed Nathalie; and then a search was started,
resulting at last in finding the card in one of the pockets of the
skirt. Another cry issued from the finder as she read:
"To Nathalie, my faithful little nurse and helper.
"Lucille."
"O dear!" said the girl with a shamed glance into the faces surrounding
her, "I will never again say that Lucille is cross--oh, she is a duck of
a dear! It is the very thing I want, too. Now I shall not be the only
Pioneer without a uniform. I must run and tell Helen!" In another moment
she was racing with mad speed across the lawn, the uniform bulging out
of the half-opened box in her arms.
In a short space she came speeding back, crying, "Oh, Mother, where is
Lucille? I must go and thank her this very minute!"
"Up in her room, I think," spoke up Dick, but Nathalie was already
half-way up the stairs.
"Lucille, it was just too lovely of you to think of me this way!" cried
the girl rapturously; and then before Lucille realized what was going to
happen, she was receiving a hug that threatened to demolish her
entirely. "There, Nathalie Page," she cried, "that's more than enough;
please leave just a wee bit of me, I'll take your thanks for granted."
"No, you won't!" persisted Nathalie with another hug. "I'm here to give
them to you in person." She loosened her hold so her cousin could
breathe and then began to kiss her softly on the cheek. "Oh, but,
Lucille, it was lovely of you to think of it," she ended as she finally
freed her cousin, who ruefully began to twist up a few stray locks that
had been pulled down in the hugging process.
"Oh, pshaw, I don't want any thanks," Lucille responded as she finished
tucking up her hair. "As long as you are pleased, it's all right."
"But I'm serious, Lucille, for you have heaped coals of fire on my head,
I'll have to 'fess that I was not a bit pleasant about waiting on you,
because, you see, I had so much to see to with the Pioneer Stunts, the
work, and everything, and then--"
"And then," mimicked Lucille with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "I'm
an awful cross patient; is that it? But it's all right, Nat, turn about
is fair play, and if you had felt as badly as I did those few days, to
miss it all, the anticipated good times at Bessie's, well, you would
have been cross, too."
"Oh, I know it, and I was worse than you were, for I should have
possessed my soul in patience, but it was perfectly dear of you to give
me the uniform, and then to be so nice about it."
"Well, I'm glad I'm nice," teased her cousin, "but run along, child, for
I have about forty-seven letters to get off by this mail."
And Nathalie, with a heart brimful of joy at the many surprises of the
day, was very glad to hurry away and talk matters over with her mother.
"What shall I talk to Nita about?" she lamented the next morning as she
flew hither and thither, getting her work done in a jiffy so that she
could reach the gray house by ten-thirty, the hour set for the talk with
the princess, as Nathalie delighted to call her.
"Mother, can't you suggest something?" she asked dolefully as she
stooped to kiss her mother good-by. "I do feel that it will not be right
for me to take money for just chattering nonsense, and Nita won't let me
tell her stories."
"Well, it does seem as if it was undue extravagance, but still, if Mrs.
Van Vorst thinks you are worth paying in order to help make her child's
life more enjoyable, it seems to me I should not worry about it."
"Yes, I know, but if I could only tell her stories," rejoined the girl,
"perhaps I could help her more, for I could make my stories instructive,
about nature, history, or--"
"That is true," was the answer. And then, as if reminded by the word
history, she said, "Why not tell her stories about the Pioneer women?
You say she is so interested in the Girl Pioneers. In that way you could
teach her American history."
"Oh, Mumsie, you are a dear," cried elated Nathalie. "That is just the
thing, how stupid I was not to think of it! I will stop at the library
on my way home this afternoon. What a help it will be to me, too, for we
are going to have a fagot party, sort of a good-by to Louise Gaynor.
Gloriana! I won't have any reading to do for that, for I'll be posted
from my talks with Nita." Then she was off down the walk on her "way to
business," as she laughingly told her mother.
"Oh, tell me all about the Pioneer Stunts!" exclaimed the princess as
Nathalie settled herself for a cozy chat after her cheery greeting to
her new pupil. Nita's eyes were sparkling expectantly, and the
anticipated chat with her new friend had brought a tinge of color to her
usually pale face.
"We have not had that as yet; it is to take place to-morrow night--oh,
I'll tell you all about it," was the reply. And then, as Mrs. Van Vorst
entered the room with a pleasant good morning, Nathalie demanded, "Do
you not want me to tell stories to Nita?"
"That is for Nita to decide," was the careless rejoinder. "I have asked
you here to please my daughter, and if she wants you here just to talk,
why, talk away."
"But I feel as if I ought to instruct her in some way," demurred
Nathalie.
"Do not worry," returned Mrs. Van Vorst. "You will be worth all you earn
if you only succeed in making Nita happy for two hours, and give her
something to look forward to when you are not here. Of course, if you
could get something informative in once in a while, it would do good, no
doubt."
"I don't want any stories," interrupted Miss Nita petulantly. "Miss
Stitt used to tell me stories by the yard and I have hated them ever
since."
Nathalie made no reply; she was thinking how she could slip in a bit of
information without Nita's realizing it. "Oh, I will tell you about the
flag drill!" she cried with sudden thought.
"Yes, do," acquiesced Nita, readily falling into the trap. "I want to
know just everything about it."
"Well, you shall," promptly returned her delighted teacher, and
forthwith she set to define the meaning of the word liberty. "You know,
Nita, when the Pilgrims and Puritans settled America they came here to
build homes where they could have liberty of conscience, speech, and
action. Of course, you know all about how these first little settlements
grew, until there were thirteen of them that bade fair to become very
populous and wealthy. Well, the King of England, fearing perhaps that
they would grow into a great nation and take power from him, began to
deprive them of some of their rights and privileges.
"The people for a time submitted, but as his tyranny increased they
began to feel greatly depressed, for it looked as if the liberty that
they had been enjoying in the new land was going to be taken away from
them, and that they were going to be chained like slaves.
"Now the first scene in the flag drill represents liberty--as the Goddess
of course--lamenting that if she can live only at the price of slavery,
she would rather die. So we see her walking up and down the platform
repeating in great agitation the famous words of Patrick Henry, 'Give me
Liberty, or give me death!'
"Just at this moment music is heard, and the Daughters of Liberty
enter--"
"The Daughters of Liberty--who are they?"
"Why, don't you know that when King George tried to impose the Stamp Act
on the colonists they rebelled, and there was a great time. Bands of men
were organized all over the country, who called themselves the Sons of
Liberty, and refused to accept the Stamp Act, and--"
"Oh, yes, I know all that," cried Nita impatiently, "but what did they
have to do with these girls who are to be in the Flag Drill?"
"Just you wait and you'll see," replied Nathalie somewhat abashed by
this practical question. "Well, these little patriotic bands acted like
a whirlwind of fire, spreading patriotism--the determination not to
submit to the king's tyranny--all over the land, so that King George was
defeated for a time at least."
"Oh, yes, I know all about him," was the reply, "Miss Stitt just doted
on history, and she drilled me in American history until I just hated
it."
"In 1776," continued the Story Lady, "seventeen young girls met in
Providence at the house of Deacon Bowen, and formed themselves into one
of these Liberty Bands, only you see they were just girls like you and
me. They were very industrious and spun all day making homespun clothes,
for they had resolved that they would not wear any more clothes that had
been manufactured in England.
"It is claimed that the clothes worn by the first president of Brown
University in Providence, and the graduating class, too, on Commencement
Day were garments made by these girls. These young girls not only vowed
that they would not drink tea, because you see, it all had to come from
the mother country, but they would have nothing to do with any young men
who were not as patriotic as they were, and who were not willing to
follow their example. These bands of girls were formed all through the
colonies and became known as 'The Daughters of Liberty.'"
"Oh, now I know, but do hurry and tell me what they did to the Goddess
of Liberty!"
"Well, in our Flag Drill music is heard; then the Daughters of Liberty
appear on the platform,--there are to be thirteen of them, to represent
the thirteen states,--all carrying banners."
"What kind of banners?" burst from Nathalie's auditor impatiently.
"All kinds," was the answer. "You know, the first flag used in this
country was the English one, with the red cross of St. George; that was
the flag carried by the _Mayflower_. After a while it was used only for
special occasions, for the Red Ensign of Great Britain took its place.
But as time wore on, each little State came to have its own flag or
banner, so that when the Revolution came these State banners became
known as liberty banners.
"Some of them were very quaint and grotesque, with strange emblems and
designs--some had rattlesnakes or pine-trees--and queer inscriptions. A
flag from South Carolina had a silver crescent on it; another from New
York had a beaver; troops from Rhode Island floated a white ensign with
a blue anchor; while the New England flag bore a pine tree. But to go
back to the Daughters; as they march on the platform they form a
half-circle before the Goddess, who has retired to her throne, a chair
draped with red. In her hand she carries a green branch,--no, don't ask
me why, for you will know when you hear the girls sing the 'Liberty
Tree.'
"When they finish singing, each girl in turn steps before the Goddess
and tells the story of her flag, until a story has been told about each
of the thirteen flags. Of course, there were a number of these liberty
banners, but we use only thirteen of them.
"There! I said I would not tell you any more today, and I'm not going
to. Oh, did I tell you that I told Mrs. Morrow about your mother
consenting to let us have your lawn? She is perfectly delighted, and at
the next Rally the scribe will write a note to your mother for the
Pioneers, thanking her for her offer."
And then--Nathalie could not remember what started the conversation in
this channel--she was telling about her brother Dick and his operation,
while Nita listened with big sympathetic eyes, for somehow she was very
much interested in this invalid brother of Nathalie's.
"You see, it is this way," rattled on Nathalie. "Dick must have the
operation as soon as possible--and--as it happens--well, you know Mother's
income is limited since Father died and we have had to retrench a great
deal. Then to make matters worse, just at the present time some bonds
that Mother owns are not paying any interest and we feel dreadfully
about it, all on account of Dick. So we are all trying to be as
economical as possible; Dorothy and I have a little bank, and every odd
nickel we can scare up we drop it in, and oh! the money your mother is
going to give me for talking to you, why, that's going in the bank, too!
Dorothy and I sometimes wish that some magic fairy would come along and
turn those stray cents and nickels into gold dollars, but there, I
should think your head would ache, my tongue has galloped so hard and
fast." She paused, and with a merry laugh cried, "I should not wonder if
after a while your mother paid me not to come and talk to you, for you
will get so tired of me."
"Indeed I won't!" asserted the princess stoutly as she threw up her
arms. There was a mutual hug and then Nathalie was off, for she had to
get dinner and it would take her at least ten minutes to walk home.
A week later Nathalie was flying out of the gate of the big gray house
with something tightly clasped in her hand. It had been a week of hard
work, for O dear, she had grown tired of talking, and then too, she had
spent some little time in the library hunting up pioneer women. She had
been overjoyed that morning when Mrs. Van Vorst, who had been secretly
acquainted with the scheme of telling about these women founders of the
nation presented her with a new book from a New York publisher that gave
a number of interesting details about these dames of early times. She
and Nita had spent the two hours that morning reading about the New
Amsterdam vrouws. She laughed slyly as she hurried along to think how
adroitly she had managed in such a short time to tell her pupil not only
about the Pilgrim and Puritan dames, but other interesting historical
events of those early days.
As the girl ran swiftly up on the porch and spied her mother reading a
few feet away, she burst out with, "Oh, Mother, what do you think Mrs.
Van Vorst gave me for teach--talking, rather, to Nita for the week? And
I'm to have the same every week. Oh, Mumsie, just guess!"
Mrs. Page's eyes smiled into Nathalie's joyous ones as she said, "I'm
not a good guesser, I'm afraid, Daughter, but I'll venture--five
dollars?"
"Five dollars!" repeated the girl disdainfully. "Oh, Mother, guess
again, it's more than that," she added encouragingly.
"Well, I'll have to give it up," replied her mother after a short pause,
with a regretful shake of her head. "I told you I was not a good
guesser."
"Ten dollars!" burst from happy Nathalie. "Just think, a dollar an hour,
two dollars a day, and ten dollars for the week! And, Mother, it's all
to be put away for Dick!"
The night of the entertainment arrived, and promised to be a howling
success, as Grace declared, who, with Nathalie, had been detailed to act
as an usher. They had been kept pretty busy seating the guests, who had
appeared in multicolored gowns, and gay flowered hats, with here and
there a dress coat of masculine gender which gave quite an air of
festivity to the occasion.
The program was opened by Lillie Bell. Attired in a very quaint colonial
gown, she tripped along the platform, and with well-simulated blushes
and much demureness of manner made an old-time curtsy. After being
greeted with an ovation from her many friends, she bashfully sidled up
to a rather puzzling-looking instrument on the platform, on which many
eyes had been focussed ever since the raising of the curtain, and seated
herself before it.
Upon this old-time spinet she played such ravishing strains of melody
that the hearts of her audience were captivated, and she was encored
again and again. Louise Gaynor, a dear little colonial dame, now
appeared, and in her tru-al-lee voice--as the girls often called it--sang
some old English ballads, "Annie Laurie," "Robin Adair" and several of
similar character, whose celebrity had grown with the years.
The second Stunt was the renowned race for the Forefathers' Rock, Kitty
Corwin as Mary Chilton, and Fred Tyson as the slow-footed John Alden. A
spinning contest followed, the fair spinners being colonial dames from
Plymouth town, New Amsterdam, Boston, and Jamestown. The fair maiden of
Plymouth, Priscilla, spun with such deftness and skill that she not only
won the plaudits of those assembled, but the prize. As she gracefully
bowed her acknowledgment to her friends' loud clapping, she backed
hastily off the platform. Alas, she backed into John Alden, who at this
opportune moment had appeared on the stage, with such terrific force
that she almost bowled him over. John, however, to prove that he was not
as slow as the name he had gained, adroitly caught the falling maiden in
his arms and then led the blushing damsel, Jessie Ford, forward as his
captured prize.
Barbara Worth proved quite a heroine in her single-act comedy on Pioneer
craft, the plucking of a live goose. Mistress Goose, however, not
understanding her part of silent acquiescence, being a twentieth-century
goose and not a pioneer one, mutinied, and as Barbara came to the end of
the couplet,
"Twice a year deplumed may they be,
In spryngen tyme and harvest tyme,"
she escaped from her captor's clutch and with a loud, "Quack! quack!" of
disapproval flew across the stage.
Barbara, dumb with fright for fear the goose would fly down among the
spectators, gave chase, and then ensued a regular "movie" as amid loud
calls urging her on in the race, and protestations voiced by the goose
in a clamorous quacking, she chased it about the platform. Just as
Barbara was about to capture her prey she tripped on a rug and measured
her five feet two on the floor. But Barbara was game, Fred Tyson
declared to Nathalie as they watched her, and jumping to her feet she
soon captured her featherless fowl, which, after being shown in its
deplumed condition, was borne from the scene of its torments by the
victor.
The curtain now rose on "The First American Wash Day," a little playlet
representing the women of the Pilgrim colony, with arms bared to the
elbows, rubbing and scrubbing in tubs of foamy soap-suds, washing
clothes, for the noble sires of our nation.
Nathalie gave a quick start and her eyes leaped wide open as she
convulsively clutched Grace by the arm, and then she grew strangely
still as she watched the actors on the stage. The scene was a
distinctive one, as the children of the _Mayflower_ ran hither and
thither gathering boughs, make-believe sweet-smelling juniper, to place
under the tripod from which kettles of water were suspended over a small
fire that simulated a cheery blaze.
As these pioneer mothers washed, and then wrung out their clothes,
slashing them about in true washer woman's fashion, some one in the rear
of the stage recited in a loud, clear voice:
"There did the Pilgrim fathers
With matchlock and ax well swung
Keep guard o'er the smoking kettles
That propped on the crotches hung.
For the earliest act of the heroes
Whose fame has a world-wide sway,
Was to fashion a crane for a kettle
And order a washing-day."
"Pioneer Mothers of America."
By Hand W. Green.
The applause of the spectators testified to the merit of the
performance, and as the curtain dropped, Nathalie, whose eyes were
ashine with a strange fire, hastened out into the hall. "Oh, it was mean
of her! It is the same as stealing, she knew she had no right to use
it!" were the thoughts that flashed at white heat through her brain, for
the playlet that had just been enacted was the one she had lost in the
library!
And the one who had passed it off as her own, the one who had been the
head performer, and who had recited the verses, was Edith Whiton!
On rushed Nathalie straight towards the dressing room, determined to
tell Edith just what she thought of her, but the sight of a crowd of
girls of which Edith was the central figure brought her to a standstill.
"Of course, Edith, we all recognized you!" "It was a clever Stunt."
"Well, you have shown you are a Pioneer, all right!" Many similar paeans
of praise came to Nathalie's ears.
The girl stood still, inwardly raging with indignation, almost ready to
cry with the strife between her outraged sense of right, and a
commonplace little monitor who whispered, "It would be mean to accuse
Edith of a sneaking act in the very midst of her glorification. And
then, too," continued the whisperer, "you are not really sure that Edith
has not some excuse to offer; there was no name on your paper." Nathalie
swallowed hard, then her muscles relaxed, and the hard angry gleam
disappeared from her eyes. Well, Edith might be mean and small, but she
at least would be above her, she would say nothing!
With a certain pride that she had risen above doing what she would
undoubtedly have regretted afterwards, Nathalie hurried into the
dressing-room. A few minutes later as the curtain rose it displayed in
its completed form the second idea that she had spent so much time in
planning.
Around the hearthstone in a Dutch kitchen sat a _huys-moeder_, busily
undressing her two little kinderkins while she sang the crooning nursery
rhyme:[1]
"Trip attroup attronjes,
De vaarken in de boojes,
De koejes in de klaver,
De paarden in de haver,
De kalver in de lang gras,
De eenjes in de water plas,
So grootmyn klein poppetje was."
"_Colonial Days in Old New York._"
Earle.
Through a window in the back of the cozy kitchen a blanketed squaw was
seen dandling her swaddled papoose in her arms, as she peered hungrily
in at the glowing fire, and watched the _huys-moeder_ fill the warming
pan with coals, thrust it between the sheets of the little trundle-bed,
and then give her babies some mulled cider to drink.
The tiny figures in their _cosyntjes_, or nightcaps with long capes, had
just crawled into bed when "tap-toes" sounded, and the honest mynheer
and his good vrouw hastened to cover the still glowing embers with ashes
for the fire of the morrow. The Dutch curfew had sounded, which meant
that all good simple folk must hie to bed.
This fireside scene in old New York won its merited applause, and
Nathalie, who had been the Dutch mother, Mrs. Morrow's kiddies, the
kinderkins, and Fred Tyson, the mynheer, were called before the curtain
to receive the plaudits of their friends.
As Nathalie was hurrying from the dressing-room, glad that she was
through her long-anticipated Stunt, and doubly glad that it had been a
success, her name was called. She turned to see Helen, who, with an
anxious face, was peering from the adjoining dressing room.
"Oh, has anything gone wrong?" demanded Nathalie hastening to the door.
"I should say!" exclaimed Helen with woebegone countenance, "I have left
my gun at home, and I must have it. Oh, I can't imagine how I could have
been so careless! Can't you get some one to go and get it for me? Tell
them to hurry, for my scene goes on in ten minutes."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," sympathized Nathalie, "tell me where to find it,
quick, and I'll get some one."
"It is in the hall just behind the rack! Do hurry, Nat, I'm just about
wild!"
Nathalie darted away; but alas, she could not find any one who could go
at that moment, every one had some important duty to perform just then
and there. Even the Scouts, who were always so ready to help the girls,
were missing. "Oh, it is too bad!" bemoaned the girl. Presently her eyes
lighted and in another instant she had flown up the stairs, seized her
long cloak in the dressing-room, and then sped down the steps into the
garden, and out into the street.
Ten minutes, that meant she would have to run every step of the way to
get that gun there in time. So with the lightness of a bird she darted
down one street, up another, and then--her heart gave a great leap as she
came to the long, lonely stretch of road skirting the cemetery of the
old Presbyterian church. But on she flew, hardly daring to cast her eyes
towards the tall tombstones that gleamed at her with ghostly whiteness
from the ghoulish shadows cast by the waving branches of the trees above
them.
No, she was not afraid of ghosts, but she suddenly remembered a story
she had heard as a little child, of a young girl who had been waylaid
and killed by a man in a cemetery one dark night. Fiddle! she was not
going to be afraid of a mere story, so with a snatch of melody on her
lips she kept bravely on and soon left behind her the marble records of
the dead. It did not take but a minute to ring the bell, tell Helen's
aunt what she wanted, then grab the gun and start off on her return
journey.
Oh, she did hate to have to go by that old graveyard, she would take the
other way around; but no, that would take twice the time and she must
hurry! So nerving up her courage she ran on with the firm determination
to play soldier, and level her musket if any one assailed her.
As she neared the cemetery her breath gave out, and instead of running
by this danger post she had to walk every step. Determined not to look
in the direction of these ghostly reminders of the past, she pushed
resolutely on. She had almost reached the end of the long fence when the
sudden snap of a twig, followed by a rustling noise caused her heart to
pause in its beating. A scream escaped her quivering lips, for there in
the bright radiance that fell like a silver veil over all objects she
saw the figure of a man rise from one of the tombstones near the fence
and come towards her!
-----
[1]
"From your throne on my knee,
The pigs in the bean-patch see,
The cows in the clover meet,
The horses in the oat field eat.
The ducks in the water pass
The calves scamper through the grass.
They love the baby on my knee
And none there are as sweet as she."