A FALLING IN
"HOW'S the Sleeping Beauty this morning?" was Alec's salutation to
Blue Bonnet, when he appeared early next day in advance of the other
picnickers. Blue Bonnet asleep at her own party had been a spectacle
he would not soon forget; it was almost as funny as being absent from
her first tea, on that memorable day in Woodford.
"The Sleeping Beauty could find it in her heart to envy Rip Van
Winkle; a nap like his is just what I crave. But no,--Sarah must needs
have breakfast at cock-crow," Blue Bonnet complained.
"Why, Blue Bonnet, it was after eight o'clock when I called you,"
returned Sarah in a grieved tone.
"Sarah didn't want breakfast mistaken for lunch again," said Amanda.
"My prophetic soul tells me that we are going to conduct ourselves
like a model Sunday-school class to-day," Blue Bonnet remarked.
"What makes you think so?" asked Amanda, in whom the memory of
yesterday's trials was still undimmed.
"'Well begun is half done,' you know. And this beginning is
obnoxiously perfect." Blue Bonnet was wiping off the oil-cloth as she
spoke; dishes were already washed, beds done, and all without a hitch.
"I hope our picnic won't prove to be of the Sunday-school variety,"
said Kitty.
"I'm sure our Sunday-school picnics at home are always very nice,"
Sarah said reprovingly.
"Every one to his taste!" was Kitty's airy rejoinder.
"You can make up your mind that this picnic won't be like any other
you ever attended," Alec assured them. "Knight has a scheme up his
sleeve that will bear watching. I wonder, Blue Bonnet, if Mrs. Clyde
would mind letting us take coffee?"
Blue Bonnet reflected. "To-morrow is Sunday and we're privileged to
have it for breakfast. If we have it to-day instead I'm sure she won't
object. What else shall we take?"
"Only some bread, some lump sugar and a tin of milk, please," said
Alec modestly.
Amanda gave a sudden exclamation of joy. "Then we won't be back to
lunch,--oh, Blue Bonnet, that lets us out to-day!"
They fell upon each other rapturously.
"I think we are the ones who should rejoice," said Kitty; but her
remark met with the silent scorn it deserved.
They mustered a troop of twelve, all mounted, for Knight's picnic.
Riding by twos, they cantered decorously as long as the eyes of their
elders followed their course; but when a turn in the road freed them
from observation, there was a spurring and an urging of the wiry
ponies, and away they went, recking little of the grade whether up or
down.
It became a game of follow-my-leader, with Knight and Blue Bonnet
heading the procession and putting their horses through a performance
that would have lamed anything but a Western cow-pony. Knight finally
led the way to one of the "race-paths" that abound in the hilly
regions of Texas, and there began a tournament that for years lived in
Sarah's memory as the most reckless exhibition of daring ever seen
outside a circus-ring.
"Who made this race-track?" she asked Knight in one of the infrequent
pauses in the performance.
"Nature!" He laughed at the look of incredulity with which Sarah met
this assertion. In truth she had good reason to doubt his word; the
smooth broad road encircling the hill, a full quarter of a mile long,
edged on either side by a dense growth of cedars, seemed unmistakably
to show the hand of man in its creation.
"It's the solemn truth I'm telling you," Knight insisted, "--I swear
it by the mane of my milk-white steed!"
Sarah gave one glance at the dark yellow buckskin pony he rode, and
then clucked impatiently to Comanche. She objected to having her faith
in people imposed upon.
Knight was still laughing when Blue Bonnet came up and challenged him
to a race. "My reputation for truth-telling is forever lost in
Señorita Blake's estimation," he told her.
"What do you think of Sarah, anyway?" It would be curious to know just
how a Western boy regarded Old Reliable.
"She's very nice," he said, with an utter absence of enthusiasm,
"--but not exciting."
Blue Bonnet smiled. "And Kitty?" she continued. Perhaps it wasn't
polite in a hostess to discuss her guests, but she just had to ask
that.
"She's very pretty and vivacious," he replied with an increase of
warmth. "She lacks only one thing to make her irresistible."
"And that?"
"Having been brought up in Texas!"
If Knight had expected a blush to follow his outspoken compliment he
was disappointed. Blue Bonnet's hearty laugh showed a very healthy
absence of self-consciousness in her make-up.
"My Aunt Lucinda thinks that is my very worst drawback," she declared;
and then chirping to Firefly, she was off at a break-neck pace, hat
bobbing, brown braid flying, her eyes alight with the excitement of
the race.
[Illustration: "THEY ALL GATHERED GYPSY-FASHION ABOUT THE FIRE."]
The climax of the day was the gypsy picnic. When Blue Bonnet beheld
the camp-fire with the pail of coffee steaming away over the bed of
coals, and saw the feast spread out informally on the ground, with
wild grape leaves for plates, she gave an exclamation of delight.
"Isn't it heavenly?" she cried.
Alec laughed. "I believe, Blue Bonnet, that your idea of heaven is to
live in a wickiup and subsist on mustang grapes and wild berries
indefinitely,--now isn't it?"
"Exactly--except that I'd add some of the bacon Knight is preparing to
give us. That's the way the cowboys cook it."
Knight had cut a dozen or more twigs having a forked branch at the
tip; on the end of each he placed a slice of bacon and then handed
around the "forks" ceremoniously. "I'm not going to offer you anything
so dainty as toasted moonshine," he explained, "but it's a heap more
substantial."
They all gathered gypsy-fashion about the fire, toasting the bacon and
their faces impartially; then transferring the crisp curly brown
strips to the big slices of bread, devoured them with exclamations of
approval that were most grateful to the arranger of the feast. Even
canned cream failed to detract from the flavor of the coffee, and they
consumed great quantities of the fragrant beverage, even Sarah
partaking most intemperately.
Only a lot of ponies inured to the hardships of the round-up would
have remained patient through the frolics of that day, and some of
these wiry ponies looked rather drooping when the picnickers turned
towards camp.
Mrs. Clyde, who had been watching the road rather anxiously as the
shadows began to lengthen, brightened at once when Blue Bonnet's
cheery call sounded through the trees.
"Oh, Grandmother, we've had the most gorgeous time in the world!" Blue
Bonnet cried, as she flung herself out of the saddle. "Did you ever
see such a beautifully mussed-up crowd in all your life?"
"If that is an evidence of a 'gorgeous time' you must certainly have
had one," Mrs. Clyde smiled as her glance travelled from one rumpled
and spotted We are Seven to another.
"These are the only skirts we brought and mine is all spluttered up
with bacon," mourned Sarah.
"I think you will all have to go to bed while I wash them," the Señora
suggested laughingly.
"Grandmother, please don't let Sarah play upon your sympathies. She
doesn't appreciate how becoming a little dirt is to her peculiar style
of beauty. She looks almost--human." The look of pained surprise Sarah
turned on her sent Blue Bonnet off in a fit of merriment. "Oh, for a
picture of that expression!" she cried. "And that reminds me,--I told
all the boys to be at the Spring in fifteen minutes. There is plenty
of light for a snap-shot and I've just a few films left."
"Oh, Blue Bonnet, haven't you done enough tramping to-day?" her
grandmother exclaimed. "You ought to rest."
Blue Bonnet shook her head. "I can't rest till I get that picture. I
want the boys and the We are Sevens on the little rustic bridge. Now,
Sarah, don't you dare tidy up till I get you just as you are. I want
you to pose as Terrible Tom the Texas Terror."
That Sarah had her own opinion as to who the Texas Terror might be was
shown by her expression as she relinquished her design of brushing her
hair, and followed the other girls up the hill to the Big Spring.
The boys were already assembled and were now grouped on the bridge in
attitudes meant to be artistic and fetching.
The rustic bridge--rather more rustic than substantial--was suspended
just over a pretty waterfall, which slipped down a smooth runway of
eight or ten feet into a pool all foam and spray; a charming spot for
a group-picture. It required both skill and patience to get every one
posed and the camera focussed; Blue Bonnet had just completed these
preliminaries, when Alec upset everything by insisting that he should
be the photographer and she a member of the group. The rest supported
his contention that she should be in the picture, and in the argument
that followed, the chances for any picture at all grew slim.
Just then Uncle Joe appeared, and was at once pressed into service.
Blue Bonnet gave explicit directions as to the precise moment at which
the bulb was to be pressed, and then proceeded to join the rest who
were in the agonies of trying to look pleasant.
"Do hurry, Blue Bonnet," urged Sarah nervously, "I can hear the bridge
creaking."
A roar of derision followed this declaration and some of the smaller
boys began stamping on the old timbers for the sheer joy of seeing
poor Sarah quake. At the precise moment that Blue Bonnet stepped from
the bank to her place by the rail, there was a loud report, followed
by a scream.
Uncle Joe, looking up from the reflector, saw the bridge parted neatly
in the middle, and the entire party shooting the chutes in a most
informal manner. By the time the first boy had finished the descent,
Uncle Joe was in the water fishing out the gasping victims. The pool
was not deep, but the swift fall carried the smaller lads under the
surface, and they came up too dazed to see the hands held out to seize
them. Knight and Sandy found their feet at once, and with Uncle Joe
formed a dam against which the others were caught like salmon in a
river-trap.
Sarah was fished up by her blond braids and came up gasping, "I told
you so!" before she opened her eyes.
"That's about as busy a spell as I've had for some time," Uncle Joe
declared as he hauled out the last of the small boys and then
clambered up the steep bank.
"You showed great presence of mind, Uncle Joe--except for one thing,"
said Blue Bonnet. "If you had just taken a snap-shot when the bridge
broke I'd be quite happy."
"And if a few of us had drowned while he was doing it--" Kitty began
ironically.
"You'd have missed being in the picture, poor souls! Well, since we're
all alive, let's go break the news gently to the grown-ups." Blue
Bonnet looked around the drenched, shivering group and then burst into
peals of laughter.
In truth they were a sorry looking lot. Soaked to the skin, with hair
and clothes dripping and bedraggled, they all looked at each other as
if surprised and grieved to find themselves part of so undignified a
company.
Grandmother's expression when the We are Sevens hove into sight, sent
Blue Bonnet off into another gale of merriment.
"We've been shooting the chutes, Grandmother," she said with dancing
eyes.
"Without a boat," added Kitty.
It took Sarah to tell the story in all its harrowing details, and at
its conclusion Mrs. Clyde looked sober.
"Were you really in danger?" she asked Blue Bonnet.
"Not a bit," Blue Bonnet declared. "Sarah was the only one who came
near drowning and that was because she _would_ talk under water."
Fifteen minutes later the little sheet-iron stove was red-hot, and on
a hastily strung clothes-line about it hung an array of dripping
garments that almost hid it from view.
"There's one comfort about all this," said Kitty, "our skirts and
middies have had a much-needed bath."
"I'm afraid they won't be very clean,--cold water won't take grease
out," said Sarah mournfully. "And I'd like to know--how are we going
to iron them?"
They were all sitting in a circle about a blazing bonfire of Uncle
Joe's building, with their streaming hair spread out to dry.
Dressing-gowns and bedroom slippers had made it unnecessary to go to
bed while their wardrobe hung on the line, and now that they were warm
and comfortable, they were disposed to look on the adventure of the
afternoon as more of a lark than a misfortune.
"Do you recall a prophecy you made this morning, Blue Bonnet?" asked
Kitty.
Blue Bonnet shook her head.
"Your 'prophetic soul' told you, if I remember rightly, that we were
going to conduct ourselves like a model Sunday-school class to-day."
"Well, if anybody would promise me as much fun in Sunday-school as
I've had this day, I'd never be absent or tardy!" laughed Blue Bonnet.
Sarah looked pained. "It's Sunday to-morrow," she remarked. "I wonder
what Dr. Judson will take as the text of his sermon."
Blue Bonnet gave her a long, curious glance. "Do you really wonder,
Sarah, about things like that?"
Sarah raised honest, serious eyes. "Why, of course, Blue Bonnet. Don't
you?"
"No," she confessed, "but I do wonder--at you!"
As they sat silent for a moment about the blazing logs, Blue Bonnet
had an inspiration.
"Grandmother," she asked abruptly, "are you very hungry?"
"Why--is it your turn to get dinner?" Mrs. Clyde smiled; she was
shaking the water from her granddaughter's long hair, and spreading it
in the warm rays of the fire.
"No, Amanda and I were to get lunch. But are you?"
"Not at all. Mrs. Judson and I had an excellent dinner at noon."
"Well, I've a splendid idea. There are heaps of hot ashes down under
the logs. We can bury some potatoes there,--the cowboys cook them that
way and they are delicious. Then with some devilled-ham sandwiches we
could sit right here and eat, and have no tiresome dishes to wash up
afterwards."
"Hear, hear!" cried Kitty and Debby.
"It's easy to see whose turn it is to wash dishes," laughed Amanda.
"It's right handsome of you, Blue Bonnet," Kitty remarked gratefully,
"--especially when it wasn't your turn to officiate. I'll make the
sandwiches and Debby--you get the potatoes."
That buffet supper was later pronounced the most successful meal ever
prepared in _Poco Tiempo_.
"This is truly Bohemian," remarked Mrs. Clyde, as with a newspaper for
both plate and napkin, she joined the group about the fire, "--much
more so than the studio-luncheons they call Bohemian in Boston."
"Fancy anything trying to be Bohemian in Boston!" exclaimed Blue
Bonnet. "They haven't a thing in common."
"They both begin with a B," said Sarah.
The girls were too surprised to laugh.
"Is that a joke, Sarah?" asked Kitty in an awestruck tone.
"Of course not,--they do, don't they?" she returned.
As the girls collapsed at this, she looked up in puzzled surprise.
"I'd like to know what's so funny about that," she remarked
plaintively.
"There comes Mrs. Judson," exclaimed Debby.
There was a hasty wiping of blackened fingers on newspaper napkins as
the girls rose to greet this unexpected guest. The little figure
approaching them seemed slighter than ever, and the gingham dress
fairly trailed over the long grass. The face was hidden in the
inevitable sunbonnet.
"Hello, everybody, are you dry yet?" called a cheerful voice.
"Carita!" exclaimed Blue Bonnet. "We thought you were your mother."
Carita looked down at her loosely fitting garment and laughed. "I had
to wear this while my dress dried. Knight said I ought to hang out a
sign--'room to let.' Mother made me wear the sunbonnet because my hair
is still wet. But I said I could dry it by your fire as well as
anywhere else." She tossed away the cavernous bonnet and the chestnut
locks fell in a cloud about her shoulders. With her dark eyes and skin
framed by the long straight hair she looked like a young Indian.
"Have a potato?" asked Blue Bonnet, spearing one with a stick and
presenting it to the guest.
"Thank you." Carita took it as if this were the usual fashion of
serving this vegetable, and ate it with the ease born of long
experience. Suddenly she gave an exclamation. "Oh, I nearly forgot.
Alec sent over something. The boys couldn't come for they've nothing
to wear but blankets--they're rolled up like a lot of mummies around
the fire. But Alec and Knight and Sandy have been writing
something,--I think it's a letter."
"It's a poem!--oh, Blue Bonnet, you read it aloud." Kitty handed over
the verses and in the flickering light they gathered close about Blue
Bonnet as she read:
THE BRIDGE
"We stood on a bridge in Texas,
Near a camp far, far from town;
We stood there in broad daylight,--
'Cause there wasn't room to sit down.
"We posed on that bridge so rustic,
To be snapped by Uncle Joe,
And we smiled and looked real pleasant,
Yet one heart was filled with woe.
"For a stream, both swift and deadly,
Flowed beneath the bridgelet there,
And the creaking of the timbers
Gave this timid maid a scare.
"As sweeping eddying 'neath us
The deep, dark waters rolled,
She could seem to see our finish--
Dashed beneath the waters cold.
"Yet the bridge still held, but trembled,
--Gleamed the torrent chilly, vast,--
And the weight of one Blue Bonnet
Broke the camel's back at last!"
"Who did it?" cried Blue Bonnet.
"All three helped," said Carita. "But I think Sandy did most."
"He must be cleverer than he looks," said Blue Bonnet.
"Why, don't you think he looks clever?" exclaimed Kitty, "I do."
"It wasn't clever of him to have sandy hair," Blue Bonnet declared
perversely.
"As if he could help it!" said Sarah.
"We must write a 'pome,' too," said Blue Bonnet.
"We?" exclaimed Debby. "I never found two words to rhyme in all my
life. You and Kitty are the only ones who ever 'drop into poetry.'"
"The muse must be partial to red hair," said Amanda. And though Kitty
sniffed insultedly at this insinuation, her bright head was soon bent
over a pad beside Blue Bonnet's, and after much chewing of their
pencils and shrieks of laughter at impossible rhymes, the two of them
finally evolved the following:
WE ARE SEVEN
"You marvel that a simple band
Of maidens, young and fair,
Should linger ever on the land,
Nor for the water care?
"If you should ask in dulcet tone
Why for the earth they sigh,
They'll weep, they'll shriek, they'll give a groan,--
But they will answer why.
"'Last night we were a happy bunch,
Last night about eleven--'
Quoth you--'But why this sorry lot?
How many members have you got?'
They'll answer--'We Are Seven.'
"'But seven are not all alive?'
'Yea, yea, thou trifling varlet,
Though here we number only five,--
Two caught a fever scarlet.
"'And o'er us five whose courage great
Brought us to far-off Texas,
There seems to brood an awful fate,
And trials sore to vex us.
"'To-day the bridge on which we stood
And posed above the rippling wave,
Alas! was made of rotten wood
And plunged us in a watery grave.'
"'Then ye are dead! All five are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!'
'Tis throwing words away, for still
These maidens five will have their will,
And answer--'We Are Seven!'"
"I wonder what Mr. Wordsworth would say to that?" said Debby, when
this effort had been heard and elaborately praised.
"He's dead," remarked Sarah. Then, ignoring Debby's snicker she
continued: "It's very good, Blue Bonnet,--but you shouldn't have said
that two had the scarlet fever. There's only one, really."
"Poetic license!" Kitty claimed fiercely.
"I think you are the cleverest girls I ever heard of!" Carita
exclaimed. "I'm going to run right over with that poem--I can't wait
for the boys to see it."
Snatching up her bonnet Carita ran back to the other camp; while the
girls, quite tired out by the excitement and varied adventures of the
day, prepared to go to bed. As they neared the tents there came a
familiar sound from the direction of Camp Judson. It was the loud
jangle of cowbells.
"Do you suppose those boys are going to eat at this time of night?"
asked Sarah.
"Of course not, Sallykins," said Debby. "Don't you understand?--that's
the boys applauding our poets!"