CHURCH AND A SUNDAY MOON
It was a glorious Sabbath morning. The waters rippled and sparkled
as the tide came hurrying in early; but there was no bell for dip on
Sunday morning and breakfast was put at a later hour. The girls had
been asked to come to breakfast prepared to leave on the launches
for church.
“Where do we go to church, Frances?” Hilary asked.
“Sometimes to one of the little churches up the river, but often to
Bath, for there we can choose churches of different denominations,
go to our own or visit others.”
Two boat loads started. Aeolus and Truant chugged their way down
stream, through the Burnt Jackets and past Boothbay Camp, where a
few boys waved and cheered; past Brushwood Lodge, quiet and lovely
in its rocks and greenery; past happily sailing gulls and shores of
solid rock and evergreens; past the little hamlet of West Woolwich,
on down the river to the now familiar little town of Bath.
Hilary, Lilian and Cathalina looked closely at the island as they
passed Boothbay Camp, to see if there were any signs of Campbell.
“I think that the church folks have already left, since there seemed
to be so few boys around,” said Cathalina in a low tone to Hilary.
“The question is, will he go to your church, hoping to see you, or
to his own church, and where will you go?”
Hilary colored a little and replied, “I should love to see Campbell,
but I think that I shall go with you girls today, as I should plan
to do in any case. Probably he can’t choose, but will have to take
some group of boys.”
“That is so,” replied Cathalina, who was deeply concerned in her
cousin Campbell’s interest in Hilary ever since he had first met her
on her visit to Cathalina. And now that Philip had been impressed
with Lilian, Cathalina felt that she was living in an atmosphere of
the highest romance. Confidences from all quarters were hers. Lilian
had looked as conscious as Hilary while passing the island, for
Philip might come at any time.
Campbell Stuart, meanwhile, trusted to no chance meeting. So far his
responsibilities and labors in the early days of camp had prevented
him from calling at Merrymeeting to see his cousin and her friends.
But here he was at the dock as the Aeolus floated in, his blue eyes
lit up with pleasure and his lips parted in smiles, as he lifted his
hat to Hilary, Cathalina, and the boat load in general. And now he
was helping the girls off and walked between Hilary and Cathalina,
while Lilian and Betty fell in behind.
“How’d you get off, Campbell?” asked Cathalina.
“I just told the ‘boss’ that I had a cousin and some friends at
Merrymeeting whom I had not yet had a chance to see, and asked if I
might not wait to walk with you all to church. Having confidence in
me, he said I might. So here we are,” he concluded, looking down at
Hilary’s demure countenance.
The walk was all too short for all that there was to say, and at the
church Campbell joined the masculine crew from Boothbay, which sat
quietly under the observing eyes of the different councillors. After
the service, however, the girls saw him for a few moments.
“I’m going to paddle up some time soon, and shall bring Phil up, of
course, as soon as he finds he can come. If I don’t come, you’ll
know it’s because I can’t help it, and I’ll be there with bells on
at the annual picnic. You be sure, girls, to come to our picnic at
Boothbay, won’t you?” Though Campbell addressed all, he looked at
Hilary, who replied, “Indeed we wouldn’t miss it for the world!” and
Cathalina added, “So say we all!”
“How much of that sermon did you hear, Hilary?” asked Cathalina
teasingly, as they climbed into the boat for the ride back to camp.
“Lots of it,” said Hilary. “Don’t think you can tease me so much,
Miss Cathalina Van Buskirk. It was a good sermon, too, and made me
think of Father in his pulpit preaching away and looking like a
saint, as he is,—and Mother sitting in the pew so sweet and nice,
and the boys, and little Mary. But I wasn’t homesick, some way, just
happy.”
“You’re a dear,” said Cathalina affectionately. “You are our pretty,
sweet old Hilary so you are, and shan’t be teased. No wonder
Campbell,—well, here I go again! Excuse me.”
“You are quite forgiven, Cathie. I don’t mind, only not much before
the other girls, please.”
“Honestly, Hilary, and no nonsense, hasn’t Campbell grown up in
these two years?”
“Yes he and Phil are both so different, I mean in the way of being
young men and not just boys. Just think, it will be two years next
Christmas since I was at your house! What fun we had! It was the
nicest visit I ever had anywhere.”
“We must have more of them. It isn’t my fault that we haven’t
already.”
“O, I know, Cathalina, but I have not been able to manage it. You
have invited me often enough.”
“I hope to take Lilian home with me from here.”
“That will be lovely. Have you asked her yet?”
“Yes, and she has written home about it. Phil wants to have a
fraternity brother, and with the cousins, we shall have quite a
party. If you only could come!—even for just over the week end would
be something. School begins a little later than usual this year.”
“That will give a little over two weeks at home,—unless we left camp
a little earlier. But we couldn’t miss the big banquet and all the
fun.”
“My, no!”
“Mother wrote that she wanted to see the camp, and I believe that we
can arrange it. Phil can do the driving, so we won’t need the
chauffeur, unless Mother wants to have him. She can fix it all up as
usual. Anyway there is plenty of room for us all. It will be a
pretty trip, Hilary, and we’d stop a day or two in Boston and see
Cambridge and Lexington and Concord, you know.”
“O, wonderful! I have been thinking that I’d write to ask Father if
I might not take that trip home with the camp folks. June can go
back with the crowd.”
“Don’t do it; go back with us instead. You haven’t been in New York
in the summer. And if possible, I want Betty to go, too. Isn’t it
funny and nice how plans grow? I thought of Lilian first on account
of Phil, then you on account of Campbell, and of all of you on my
own account.”
“This is the most wonderful world anyway. I never dreamed of having
such good times before I went to Greycliff.”
As Isabel and Virginia Hope sat at the same table this week with
Hilary, she had to answer their questions as they all ate chickens
and dressing for their Sunday dinner.
“Who was that perfectly wonderful looking councillor that was with
you girls this morning?” asked Isabel.
Hilary gave the same reply that she had already given several times
before dinner: “That is Cathalina’s cousin, Campbell Stuart.”
“Had you ever met him before?”
“Yes, when I visited Cathalina, almost two years ago. I met a number
of her cousins and know them very well.” This in an effort to
forestall any comments about possible attentions to her on
Campbell’s part.
“He looks a little like Cathalina. Isn’t he tall and skinny,
though?”
“I should say that Campbell is very well built for a young man.”
“He certainly is. Virgie, do you suppose that we’ll ever have any
one as nice to take us around? If he comes up to see you girls,
you’ll introduce him to us, won’t you?”
“I most certainly will,” laughed Hilary. “I think that Cathalina
will be very proud of both her brother and her cousin and will want
all her friends to meet them.”
“Hm-m,” said Isabel. “Smart old Hilary. Item for the ‘Moon’. Mr.
Campbell Stuart, councillor at Boothbay Camp and cousin of Cathalina
Van Buskirk, met Cathalina at the dock this morning and walked to
church with her and her friends. Nobody but Cathalina was glad to
see him.’”
“Seems to me,” replied Hilary with a twinkle, “that a lot of
interest is developing right here about Mr. Stuart. I’ll have to
tell him.”
“If you do!” threatened Isabel. “By the way, why is the camp paper
called the _Moon_?”
“Because it comes out at night.”
“Honest?”
“Yes, really. Frances said so.”
“Well how does it happen that you, a preacher’s daughter, are an
editor on a Sunday paper?”
“In the first place, it is not a ‘Sunday paper’, except that it is
read on Sunday evening; then it isn’t work, just fun, and gives us
something to do. We were nearly upset last night by one of the
contributions that was handed in just before bedtime. Patty had to
call us down twice for giggling after we were in bed. It was the
funniest thing!”
“I think that Frances will make a good editor, assistant editor, I
mean. She knows everything about camp, and with your bunch right at
hand to write poetry and all kinds of things, her part in the paper
ought to go. I’m a reporter myself!”
“Remember that all your news will be censored, particularly that
item about Campbell.”
After dinner the girls strolled to their cabins for rest hour.
“Wake me up, Hilary,” said Lilian, “in time to write my letter home
and finish my verses for the _Moon_. Chicken and dressing and gravy
and blueberry pie and things are too much for me, and I must have a
nap.”
“All right. I’m not sleepy. I’m going to read, for I have my letter
home written, except adding a little about church. We have enough
for the Moon already in, and all there is left to do is to pin any
more contributions on the pages of the magazine where they belong.
Frances is using an old _Saturday Evening Post_ and divided it off
into the different departments yesterday, leaving vacant pages for
later contributions.”
“I just wrote home yesterday, but I suppose I’ll have to write to
somebody as a ticket of admission to supper. I might write to Phil,”
she added, mischievously glancing at Lilian, “and tell him that
Lilian has succumbed to chicken and pie.”
Lilian opened a sleepy eye. “Don’t, Cathalina. It’s so delicious to
feel sleepy and if you start fun going I’ll get waked up. There
comes our councillor. Now you will have to be quiet, at least during
rest hour.”
“Not a soul shall disturb your slumbers,” declared Hilary, and
Lilian tucked one little hand under her cheek, turned over on her
cot, and was asleep in a jiffy.
When the bell rang that evening after supper at about half past
seven, it summoned the camp family to the Sunday evening gathering
at the club house. Little girls, big girls and many of the
councillors sat upon the floor to listen to the reading of the
weekly chronicle of camp life, known as the _Moon_. Chairs around
the wall or at one end held the rest of the family, and the doctor,
swimming instructor, and other gentlemen whose oversight and
assistance were quite necessary to camp comfort and success, usually
dropped in to hear the paper read.
There was little that this literary journal would not attempt.
Stories, short or continued, articles, editorials, society news,
personals, poetry and even an amusing department of questions and
answers conducted by one “Mrs. O’Brien”. Question and answer were
usually written by the same contributor or editor, but that, it is
said, is sometimes done in other periodicals. There were some
interesting editorials, one expressing welcome to all the campers
and particularly to all the new girls and councillors. Another
defined a “good sport” and gave some of the wholesome camp ideas on
helpfulness, unselfishness, and camp spirit. Reports were given on
athletics, with the names of the team captains, and the general
program of activities was outlined.
Klondike life and conversation were the subject of a few clever
sketches. In verse appeared the story of the caterpillars which had
invaded cabins, and even cots—whether alone or assisted is
uncertain—in the early days of camp. Dire pictures were drawn of
fuzzy travelers that descended from ceilings and climbed the bridges
of noses. Poetic exaggeration also made much of attacks from a
mosquito army, under captains, majors, and lieutenants who were
undaunted by the taste of insectolatum, citronella, or pennyroyal.
Anything in praise of camp was welcome to the loyal girls, as well
as the bright little personals which brought them into kindly or
joking notice.
From the junior cabin came a short story by June, which was entitled
“Lost or Kidnapped?—A True Story.”
“This is the story of a junior at Merrymeeting Camp and her
adventure. She was a very pretty little girl. Everybody liked her,
but she had one fault which shall be seen.
“One day the girls went on a hike to First Trott’s. They had a very
good time. They ate blueberries, picked flowers in the woods and
brought home plenty of Indian pipe for table bouquets. They did not
touch them for fear they would turn black, as they have a way of
doing.
“All the girls were laughing and talking and having great fun on the
way home. When the supper bell rang, everybody went to the dining
hall as usual. But when the girls at Mother Nature’s table sat down,
Dot was not there. Mother Nature told the head councillor and her
face turned white, because Dot is not very old and something might
have happened to her.
“So they slipped around and asked the juniors and some of the other
girls where they had seen Dot last. Jo remembered seeing her when
they were about half way home, but nobody knew where she was. It
seemed very serious. Somebody started out at once on the little
road. Somebody else went to the pine grove, and several girls began
to look all over camp for her. Jo happened to think of looking in
the cabin. And there was Dot, reading a book! She hadn’t even heard
the supper bell!
“Her carelessness had made a great deal of trouble for everybody,
but nobody had gotten so far away that they were not easily called
back. And everybody was so glad that it had turned out all right
that Dot did not even get a scolding.”
Lilian had had some trouble with her verses. She was undecided
whether to have a fair, round, full or high moon, and spent some
time in getting a rhyme for “reflection”. Then she hit upon
“direction”, and in thinking of the somewhat devious way which the
Kennebec followed “indirection” occurred to her. This at once
finished her last lines, and as the subject was appropriate to an
evening edition, they were used to close the “Moon”.
EVENING IN MAINE.
A song sparrow drops to its nest in the bush;
A swallow in circles is winging;
It is evening in Maine, and where blueberries grow
I hear a sweet yellow-throat singing.
“We _greet_ you, we _greet_ you!” he says to the sky,
Where the rose and the lavender mingle;
“We _greet_ you, we _greet_ you!” he calls, as the birds
Flit high or flit low in the dingle.
“Now where is that nest, little yellow-throat? Say!”
I ask as I listen and wonder;
“O, witchery, witchery,” comes the reply,
“I’m hid in the bushes or under.”
The shadows grow long on the river and bay,
And darkly the island’s reflection
Appears in the water that shimmers and flows
Toward the sea in strange indirection.
But in nest or in cabin or “Little Content”,
Enfolded in safety they’re sleeping,
While the breezes blow cool on the broad Kennebec
And the night watch a high moon is keeping.
The evening ended with the singing of the old hymns or of more
modern sacred songs. One councillor played the accompaniments;
another led the singing and announced the selections. Favorite hymns
were called for. The girls could remain or retire to their cabins,
but many stayed and enjoyed this fitting close to the Sabbath.