Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
The Girl Scout Pioneers
or
Winning the First B. C.
By Lillian C. Garis
Author of "The Girl Scouts at Bellair," "The Girl Scouts at Sea Crest,"
etc.
Illustrated
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. GIRLS AND GIRLS
II. WOODLAND THRILLS
III. A NOBLE DEED UNDONE
IV. PATHS DIVIDING
V. A FRIENDLY ENEMY
VI. A NOVEL JAIL
VII. TENDERFOOT ADVENTURES
VIII. CLUE TO THE MISSING
IX. TRIBUTE OF ROSES
X. TELLING SECRETS
XI. THE TANGLED WEB
XII. TESSIE
XIII. BROKEN FAITH
XIV. WOODLAND MAGIC
XV. VENTURE TROOP
XVI. MORE MYSTERIES
XVII. JACQUELINE
XVIII. DAISIES AND DANGERS
XIX. THE FLYING SQUADRON
XX. CLEO'S EXPERIMENT
XXI. FORGING AHEAD
XXII. THE WHIRLING MAY-POLE
XXIII. RAINBOW'S END
CHAPTER I
GIRLS AND GIRLS
It was much like a scene in a movie play. The shabby dark room lighted
by a single oil lamp if any light could make its way through the badly
smoked glass that served as a chimney, the broken chair, and the table
piled high with what appeared to be rags, but which might have been
intended for wearing apparel, the torn window curtain hanging so
disconsolately from the broken cord it had one time proudly swung from,
and the indescribable bed!
Like some sentinel watching the calamitous surroundings, a girl stood
in the midst of this squalor, her bright golden hair and her pretty
fair face, with its azure blue eyes, marking a pathetic contrast to all
the sordid, dark detail of the ill-kept room. She took from the side
pocket of her plaid skirt a bit of crumpled paper, and placing it
directly under the lamp, followed its written lines. Having finished
the reading, she carefully folded the worn slip again, and returned it
to her pocket. Then she threw back her pretty head, and any frequenter
of the screen world would have known instantly that the girl had
decided--and further, that her decision required courage, and perhaps
defiance.
With determination marking every move, she crossed to the tumbled bed,
and stooping, dragged from beneath it a bag, the sort called
"telescope," and used rarely now, even by the traveling salesman, who
at one time found the sliding trunk so useful. It would "telescope,"
and being thus adjustable, lent its proportions to any sized burden
imposed upon it. Into this the girl tossed a few articles selected from
the rummage on the table, a pair of shoes gathered from more debris in
a corner, and on top a sweater and skirt, taken from a peg on the door.
All together this composed rather a pretentious assortment for the
telescope.
But the girl did not jam down the cover in that "movie" way common to
runaways, rather she paused, glanced furtively about the gloomy place,
and finally taking a candle from a very high shelf, lighted the taper,
evidently for some delicate task in the way of gathering up her very
personal belongings.
In a remote corner of the room an upturned orange box served as sort of
stand. The front was covered and festooned with a curtain, dexterously
made of a bright skirt, hung over the sides, and draped from a knot at
the top. The knot was drawn from the waist band of the skirt, and tied
with the original string into a grotesque rosette. All over the box top
were such articles as a girl might deem necessary in making a civilized
toilette, except at the knot--where the table cover irradiated its
fullness into really graceful folds, falling over the orange box-here,
on account of the knob, no article was placed, and the rosette stood
defiant over the whole surrounding.
The girl placed the candle on a spot made clear for that small round,
tin stand, and then glancing anxiously at the door, stole over to make
sure that the bolt was shot, hurried back and proceeded to untie the
knot of string responsible for the drapery over the orange box. By the
glare of the candle's flame her fingers could be seen stained with oil,
and grim, as they expertly worked at the tied-up skirt, and finally
succeeded in pulling apart the ragged folds. Quickly she slipped one
small hand beneath the calico, and, obtaining her quest, drew back to
examine it.
One, two, three green bills. Her savings and her fortune. Lights and
shadows crossing the youthful face betrayed the hopes, and fears
mingling with, such emotions as the girl lived through in this crowded
hour, but no sooner had she slipped the small roll of bills into the
flaring neck of her thin blouse, than a shaking at the door caused her
to kick the telescope bag under the bed, hastily readjust the cover of
the orange box, blow out the capering candle flame, and then open the
door. A woman young in face but old in posture scuffled in. She wore a
shawl on her head, although the season was warm April, and the
plentiful quantities of material swathed in her attire proclaimed her
foreign.
"Oh, Dagmar. I am tired," she sighed. "I thought you would come down to
fix supper for papa. You do not change your skirt? No?"
"I was going to, so I locked the door," replied the girl Dagmar. "But
I, too, was tired."
"Yes, it is so. Well, the mill is not so bad. It has a new window near
my bench, and I breathe better. But, daughter, we must go down. Keep
the door locked as you dress. Those new peoples may not tell which is
the right room." With a glance at the fair daughter, so unlike herself
in coloring, the working mother dragged herself out again, and soon
could be heard cliptrapping down the dark stairs that led to the
kitchens on the first floor of the mill workers, community lodgings.
Dagmar breathed deeply and clasped her hands tightly as her mother's
tired foottread fell to an echo. Love filled the blue eyes and an
affectionate smile wreathed the red lips.
"Poor mother!" she sighed aloud. "I hate to--"
Then again came that look of determination, and when Dagmar slipped
down the stairs she carried the telescope and her crochetted hand bag.
Her velvet tarn sat jauntily on those wonderful yellow curls, and her
modern cape flew gracefully out, just showing the least fold of her
best chiffon blouse. Dagmar wore strickly American clothes, selected in
rather good taste, and they attracted much attention in the streets of
Flosston.
Once clear of the long brown building, through which spots of light now
struck the night, out of those desperate rows and rows of machine-made
windows, Dagmar made her way straight to the corner, then turned
straight again to another long narrow street, her very steps
corresponding to that painful directness of line and plan, common to
towns made by mill-owners for their employees. Even the stars, now
pricking their way through the blue, seemed to throw down straight
lines of light on Flosston; nothing varied the mechanical exactness,
and monotonous squares and angles of streets, buildings, and high board
fences.
One more sharp turn brought the girl within sight of a square, squatty
railroad station, and as she sped toward it she caught sight of the
figure of another girl, outlined in the shadows. This figure was taller
and larger in form than herself, and as Dagmar whistled softly, the
girl ahead stopped.
"Oh, you got my note," said the other. "I am so glad. I was afraid you
would not come."
"I'm here," replied Dagmar, "bag and baggage, mostly bag," kicking the
accommodating and inoffensive telescope. "I hate to carry this thing."
"Oh, that's all right," replied the taller girl, who, under a street
lamp, showed a face older than Dagmar's and perhaps a little hard and
rough. Just that bold defiant look, so often affected by girls
accustomed to fighting their way through the everyday hardships of
walled-in surroundings.
"Tessie, I am afraid," confessed the younger girl. "I almost cried when
Mama asked me to fix supper."
"Oh, baby! You are too pretty, that's all's the matter with you. But
just wait. Hush! There's that crowd of nifty-nice, preachy, snippy
scout girls. Duck, or they'll be on our trail," and she dragged her
companion around the corner of the high fence, where, in the shadow of
its bill-posted height they crouched, until the laughing, happy girls
of True Tred Troop, just out from their early evening meeting at Sunset
Hall, over the post-office, had passed down into Elm Street.
"I think they saw us," whispered Dagmar, "I heard one girl say some one
was hiding by the signboard."
"We should worry," flippantly replied Tessie. "I guess they are too
busy thinking about their old wigwagging to notice mill girls."
"Oh, you're mean, Tessie. I think they are real nice. They always say
hello to me."
"That's because you are pretty," snubbed the older girl, with something
like common spite in her voice.
"Here they come back! Guess they lost something."
"We'd better be moving the other way, then. Pshaw! We will sure be late
if they keep up their trailing around. Come along. Just be so busy
talking to me they won't get a chance to give you their lovely hello.
It would be all up with us if they spied us." With a persuasion not
entirely welcome to Dagmar, Tessie again dragged her along, this time
turning away from the dim lights that showed through the window of
Flosston station.
Presently the group of scout girls could be heard exchanging opinions
on the possibility of finding something lost. One thought it might have
dropped in the deep gutter, another declared she would have heard it
fall if it hit the many stones along the sidewalk, and still another
expressed the view that it would be impossible to find it until
daylight, no matter where it had fallen.
"But I just got it, and wanted to wear it so much," wailed the girl
most concerned. "I think it is too mean--"
"Now, we will be sure to find it in daylight," assured the tall girl,
evidently the captain. "I will be around here before even the mill
hands pass. Don't worry, Margaret. If we don't find it, I shall send to
headquarters for another."
"But I shall never love it as I did that one," and tears were in the
voice. "Besides, think of all the lovely time we had at the
presentation!"
"Now come," softly ordered the tall girl. "No use prowling around here,
we can't see anything with matches. I promise you, Margaret, you shall
have another badge in time for the rally if we do not find this," and
reluctantly the party of searchers turned again in the direction of the
village.
Watching their opportunity, the two mill girls came out from the
shadows of the high fence they had been trusting to shield them from
the view of the scouts. With quickened step they now turned again
towards the station.
"Dear me!" exclaimed Tessie. "Haven't we had awful luck for a start?
Hope it won't follow us along."
"Well, the more we delay the more I want to go back home," Dagmar
replied rather timidly. "Tessie, I am afraid I will not be able to look
at things your way. I seem to have different ideas."
"Now, Daggie. Don't go getting scary. I don't care whether you think my
way or not. I won't fight about it. Let's hurry," and with renewed
protestations of real companionship, the older girl grasped the arm of
the younger, as if fearful of losing her hold on the other's confidence.
"Oh, please don't call me Daggie," objected Dagmar, freeing herself
from the rather too securely pressed arm grasp. "You know how I hate
that. Always makes me feel like a daggar. Call me Marrie. That's
American, and I am an American, you know."
"All right, little Liberty. I'll call you Georgianna Washington if you
say so, Marrie. That's like putting on airs for Marie. But just as you
say," evidently willing to make any concession to have the younger girl
accept her own terms.
"Wait! My foot struck something," exclaimed Dagmar, just reaching the
spot where burnt matches left the trail of the girl scout searchers.
"There, I found the badge."
"Oh, let's look! Is it gold?" They stopped under the street lamp to
examine the trinket.
"No, it isn't gold, I think, but isn't it pretty?"
"Kinda," urging Dagmar along. "Say, kid, what is this anyway? A
stopover we've Struck? Are we going tonight or some other night?"
"I'll have to give this badge back."
"Why will you? Didn't you find it? Isn't it yours?"
"Of course not. It belongs to the girl who lost it."
"Oh, I see. That's why I should call you Georgianna Washington," with a
note of scorn in her voice. "Well, if you want to go back, and get some
one to go out ringing the town bell with you, you may find the nice
little girl scout who lost her baby badge. As for me--I'm going."
Sheer contempt now sounded unmistakably in the voice of the girl called
Tessie. She shook herself free from Dagmar, and darted ahead with
determination long delayed, and consequently more forceful.
For a moment the young girl hesitated. She sort of fondled the little
scout badge in her hands, and might have been heard to sigh, if a girl
of her severely disciplined temperament ever indulged in anything so
weakly human as a sigh.
But as the fleeing girl more surely made her tracks to the station,
thus leaving the other alone in the night, Dagmar, too, quickened her
steps.
"Tessie," she called finally. "Tessie, wait. I can't go back now."
That was all Tessie wanted. She waited, and when again they took up
tangled threads of their adventure it was scarcely possible either
would allow any further interruptions to delay them.
And Dagmar clutched in her tightly clasped hand the lost scout badge.