THE LITTLE LORD'S CONFESSION
It was all over. Nora had been made a Girl Scout. To celebrate the
enrollment Jerry and Ted gave a "large party" at the Nest, and of all
her memorable social functions, this to Nora seemed most delightful.
Every one came, even Becky the patrol leader, and in their uniforms all
freshly pressed out, the white summer blouse being allowed for the
festive occasion, the party looked quite novel, and the girls had a
wonderful time, dancing, playing games and inventing new fun provokers
at every turn. Nora as the guest of honor was honored indeed, and
accepted her compliments most gracefully.
"It was all a matter of opportunity," said Ted aside to Jerry, referring
to Nora's change of heart. "She is just as good a Scout as any of them."
This was a proud boast.
"The woods are full of them," said Jerry the champion of all girls,
Scouts and near Scouts. "Just give them the chance."
But up in her own room Nora was pondering. "It's just like getting
married," she reflected. "That is, I guess it is," she amended wisely.
"One must clear up every secret and fix all the old troubles when one
gets married, and one must clear up all the old worries and secrets when
she joins the Scouts," concluded the systematic, little self-appointed
conscience cleaner.
There was that matter of the prince. Never did Alma mention it nor never
did Nora hear any of the other Scouts refer to it without feeling
guilty.
"I just ought to tell Alma the whole truth," she was now deciding. It
was the day after the great event.
But came the thought of Alma's certain surprise that she, Nora, her true
friend and confidante, should have deceived her so long.
Pride did not melt into humility with the bestowing of the pretty Scout
emblem, so Nora did not see her way clear to tell that silly story of
her Lord Fauntleroy escapade. She was repeating her Scout promise "To do
my duty to God and Country and to help others at all times," and she
mentally made the promise again.
"To help others." That clause charged her. Was she helping Alma? Did she
not know, really, that the one glimpse of the person in velvets had left
kind and considerate little Alma guessing ever since, and also that it
had put her in a ridiculous position with her companions?
"I know, I'll write her a letter." The inspiration satisfied, and thus
started the most remarkable correspondence--but let others tell it.
"She got a letter!" exclaimed Wyn.
"What's wonderful about that?" asked Betta.
"It's from the prince, that's what," declared the first speaker.
"Prince!"
"The very same," chimed in Treble, stretching her long self from the
bench to the boat swing.
"What nonsense!" scoffed Betta. "Alma may be romantic, but she is not
crazy." (Lucia to the contrary.)
"Just ask her," suggested Wyn. "She's hugging that letter as tight as
tu' pence. I always told you Alma was madly in love----"
"Hush!" Doro's warning suspended operations along that line. Alma was
upon them.
"Letter?" asked Wyn, innocently.
"Yes, and if you like you may read it. It's from----"
"The prince?" blurted Treble, shooting her hand out.
"I'm corporal," said Thistle, pompously. "Let me have it, dear."
"Perhaps I should read it myself," said Alma, pettishly, thus prolonging
the agony. "It is so--personal."
"Yes, do," begged Wyn, coiling and uncoiling in sheer expectancy.
"Here's a seat," offered Betta.
"The sun's there," warned Thistle amiably. "Take this seat, Alma," and
she moved over so generously, the bench all but tipped end on end.
Every one waited. Alma took out her letter--it was in her crocheted bag
and one could see how she treasured it.
What a thrill!
But Treble pinched Betta and almost spoiled the start.
"I received it this morning," said Alma, "and, of course, it didn't come
through the mail."
"How?" asked Wyn.
"Jimmie!" replied Alma.
"Oh-o-o-o-oh!"
The shout was mortifying, Betta came to the rescue.
"Jimmie isn't your prince--Alma?" she asked sweetly.
"Jimmie!" Alma's tone was caustic. "As if that freckled face----"
"Here! Easy on the Jimbsy!" warned Treble. "He's a perfectly fine little
Scout, and if ever this patrol extends to co-ed----!"
"Let Alma read her letter," ordered Thistle, the corporal.
"How'd you say you got it?" persisted Wyn.
"Jimmie brought it."
"Where did he get it?" again asked the irrepressible Wyn.
"He was pledged not to tell, but just see the stationery." The envelope
was passed around; all commented favorably.
"You see," began Alma, "this was written as a confession."
The older girl shouted again. Treble nudged Wyn almost off the bench.
"Don't mind them, Alma, I'm listening," said Betta sharply.
"Oh, we all are," chimed in Doro.
Alma folded her letter. "If you are--going to--tease----" she faltered.
"Here!" yelled Thistle, quite uncorporal like, "The very first one that
speaks will be dumped into the lake. Proceed Alma."
From that point things went along better. Again Alma looked promising.
"As I said, the letter is a confession." Then ignoring a number of
subdued interruptions, she went on. "It is signed 'Your loving prince.'"
Could you blame them for howling?
"Your loving--prince!!!!" repeated Wynnie. "And is there a Jimbsy to
that?"
"I told you," said the offended Alma, "the only thing Jimmie had to do
with it was to deliver it."
"So far as you know," interjected Doro, "But Jimmie is a far-sighted
lad."
"Let me read it, Alma," said Thistle in desperation. "I can't see why
some girls can't have more manners."
"And why some can't have some?" retaliated Treble.
"Once more, shall I read it?" asked Alma, sighing.
"You shall," declared Betta. "The first one that interrupts---- Oh, I
say girls, it is almost time for drill. Have some sense and let's hear
it."
Murmurs approved.
"'I feel constrained to write this, dear,'" Alma actually read,
"'because I feel I have done you a great injustice.'" (Moans.)
"'After you saw me and I fleed----'" Alma paused. "He means flew, of
course."
This started another outburst, and what he didn't mean by "fleed" simply
wasn't worth meaning.
"Go ahead, Alma, we know he--fleed," prompted Betta.
"'After I ran'" (prudent Alma), "'I never had the courage to make myself
known to you,'" she perused. "'But when I heard your companions taunt
you----'"
"There! Taunting her! I told you to be good----" Wyn's interruption was
inevitable.
"It is no use in my trying to be sociable," said the sensitive Alma.
"But I thought you would all be interested."
"There is not much more to read," announced the popular member. "He just
says that soon--soon he will come."
"Oh, joy!" shouted Doro, rolling over in the grass. "Let me know in
time!"
"They're just idiots, Alma. Come on with me and leave them to guess the
rest," proposed the astute Betta, the confidante of girls. "_I_ want to
hear it if nobody else does."
Without even a giggle they jumped up and seized Alma. One could not be
sure whose arm was most restraining, but she changed her mind about
going with Betta. Instead she opened the famed sheet again and read:
"'My conscience has troubled me ever since, dear, but I was forced to do
as I did. Drop your answer----'" She paused. "I don't intend to read
that part," she calmly announced, and no amount of coaxing would induce
her to relent. No one should know where the letter to the prince was to
be mailed, Alma was determined on that point at least.