A FIVE-POINT HIKE
“There goes the bell. Are you going, Hilary?”
“I don’t know, Frances. I’m awfully sleepy, and it is hot this
afternoon.”
“Good breeze, though.”
“Do we get points for this hike?”
“Five miles, five points.”
“All right, Frances, I’ll try to get up a little energy and go! How
about you, Lilian?”
“Why you know I twisted my ankle a little this morning in games and
it doesn’t feel right yet. I’ve been rubbing it, but I do not
believe that a five-mile walk would help it any.”
“O, no; you ought to rest it today. Did you see the nurse?”
“No, it did not swell or anything. I just gave it a wrench, I guess.
It will be all right.”
“I’m not going either,” said Cathalina. “I will go down to the house
and get you some liniment, if you like.”
Marion, Frances and Hilary proved to be the only Squirrels’ Inn
representatives on this hike, for Betty decided to stay with Lilian
and Cathalina, and Nora had other plans. The three hikers donned
their elkskin hiking shoes, took their smallest purses and started
with the rest out the road toward First Trott’s. It was too early in
the afternoon for much shade, though the narrow road wound between
ferns and woods as ever. The sun had baked the ruts hard, too, and
came down hot upon youthful shoulders. But why get points if one
does not earn them by effort?
“I’m going to see how soon I can walk it,” said one girl, striding
past, though for the most part the girls were going in groups, some
strolling, some walking briskly or sturdily along.
“Goodbye, then,” said Frances, “there isn’t any hurry this time,
with such a short hike and time to rest there. I’d rather take it
more slowly and eat a few blueberries or stop in the shade
occasionally, wouldn’t you, Hilary?”
“Indeed I would. But I didn’t bring my field glasses. I thought that
there would be few birds flying while it is so hot, and we’ll be
coming home for supper before it cools off very much.”
“How far is it to Second Trott’s?” asked Marion.
“Opinions differ, but on our hikes it is always considered a
five-mile hike there and back, or to the school-house, which is not
far beyond. What sort of a performance, by the way, are they going
to have there? Do either of you know what we are going to do?”
“Why, yes, Frances,” replied Hilary. “They said it was a lawn fete,
or something of the sort, and that we could buy ice cream and candy
and lemonade, maybe other things.”
“I wonder if they will not let the boys come up, too,” said Marion.
“I wouldn’t be surprised to see them,” Frances assented.
Hilary had not thought of that, but her mind immediately visualized
a certain young councillor whom she would be very glad to see.
Soon they reached the turn in the road after Second Trott’s. With a
gentle rise it wound around some fine old rocks, on whose top grew
great pine trees. In these a little flock of chickadees was turning
somersaults. Further on was a bit of backwater, near which grew some
water plants, and a line of brilliant cardinal flowers. Climbing
along steep and dusty hill, the girls found themselves in sight of
the white school house, known as Chopp’s. There, indeed, was a group
of Boothbay boys, some just arriving as the Merrymeeting campers
came up. They had come by a different way, upstream from Boothbay
Camp, then docking at the mainland, on the opposite side of the back
water, which makes a peninsula out of Merrymeeting.
The first thing was to cool off a little and enjoy ice cream and
other goodies afforded by the ladies who served the refreshments.
Home-made cake, candy and nuts proved popular. The lemonade, alas,
was all gone before the Merrymeeting girls arrived, but there was
plenty of cool water. Campbell was looking for Hilary, afraid that
perhaps she was not coming, and walked to meet the girls, as they
approached. “Where’s Cathalina?” he asked.
“She and Betty stayed with Lilian. Lil twisted her ankle this
morning, not much, but enough to keep her from any long hike. I
promised to bring her some sweets.”
“Well, come on, girls, before everything is gone, and I’ll see that
you get some ice cream and cake.”
Campbell beckoned to another councillor and they waited upon the
girls, bringing the cooling water, which tasted so good after the
hot walk, and the more substantial refreshments, as they could be
waited upon.
“O, you don’t know how good this is!” exclaimed Hilary.
“Yes I do, for I thought I never was so thirsty in my life and we
did not have much of a walk. But Bob and I came up in a canoe and it
was hot on the water.”
“I always get sunburned till I peel off, on a canoe trip,” said
Frances.
“That remark is somewhat ambiguous, Frances.”
“All right, Marion, I’ll change it. On a canoe trip I always get
sunburned till I peel off later. My nose, arms and shoulders will
have an entirely different epidermis when I return from the wilds of
Maine. My, don’t I hate to think of it!”
“I would,” said Hilary, “if I were not going to such a wonderful
school. It is on the water, too, and while we do not have time for
the good times of a camp, not straight along, you know, we do some
very interesting things and I am going to try to get more of them in
the next year. My schedule will not be so full, and while I want to
get in all the studying that I can, and there are so many fine
courses to take, I suppose it is silly not to get some of the
_different_ things that you never can get anywhere out of school.”
“Are you going to keep on at Greycliff instead of going to a regular
college?” asked Campbell.
“I am for this year, but I am not sure about the next. When I
started to Greycliff I expected to finish two years there instead of
high school. But you know they have two years of college work, too,
and most of our little crowd decided last year to return another
year anyway.”
“It isn’t such a bad idea to miss the freshman year at college
anyhow,” said Campbell. “It is the hardest year.”
“Yes, and one will miss a lot of the hazing, but girls don’t make it
as bad as the boys do, and I suppose I’ll get to be as fond of
college or university life as I am of dear old Greycliff, though
that does not seem possible.”
“What sort of a school are you going to, one of the girls’ colleges
or a co-educational school?”
“That isn’t decided yet. It depends on what Father thinks about it.
He and Mother are still discussing it, and Mother says that Father
has to decide the matter. I have such wonderful parents that I am
sure what they decide will be just the thing.”
By this time the other councillor from Boothbay, with Frances and
Marion, had strolled out to where some games had been started,
leaving Campbell and Hilary still talking over their ice cream.
“I’m going West on a short trip with Uncle Mart at Christmas time,
Hilary. Would you mind if I stopped off to see you, or will you be
at home?”
“Would I _mind_!” exclaimed Hilary. “Why, Campbell, I’d love to have
you come. No, after having been away nearly all summer, I shall plan
to stay with the folks at Christmas time. And Father and Mother have
been just aching to have you and Philip and some of the rest come to
be entertained at our house,—ever since they have listened to my
description of the Stuarts and Van Buskirks, and all the sisters,
cousins and aunts that you have. We have so few near relatives.”
Campbell was wishing that Hilary would not be quite so general in
her expressions of interest in the Van Buskirks and Stuarts, but
could not but be satisfied with the heartiness of her response to
his suggestion of a visit at Christmas time. Hilary was no coquette,
but it was a source of her attraction, so far as Campbell was
concerned, that he could trust her sincerity. The fact that Hilary
was interested in real living more than many of the city girls whom
Campbell knew was another source of interest to him. “Hilary talks
sense,” Campbell had remarked to Philip. “She likes a good time as
well as anybody, but that isn’t the main thing in life, as she sees
it. It’s some fun to send candy or flowers to a girl who will really
appreciate it, and not pat herself on the back and think ‘How sweet
I must be to have the boys sending me flowers!’” And Philip had
thought of another girl of the same true sort to whose winning he
intended to devote himself.
“Well, I’ll have it to look forward to, then,” said Campbell, in
reply to Hilary’s cordiality. “I shall write to find out if it is
all right when the time comes. You don’t mind not playing the games
out there,” he continued, waving his hand toward the boys and girls.
“No; I much prefer this,” acknowledged Hilary demurely.
“I have a fine plan, at least it will be fine for me if you consent,
and I came up in a canoe on purpose. Do you suppose you can get
permission to go back with me?”
“Why I believe I can.” For what were points for hiking to Hilary
when an invitation from Campbell was in question?
Patty was not there, but Hilary asked the camp mother if Mr. Stuart
might paddle her home, and permission was granted. Smiling, Hilary
ran back to Campbell, stopping a moment to tell Frances of her
change of plan. “She asked me if you would upset the canoe,” Hilary
reported to Campbell, as they started off briskly, “and I told her
that you could do anything!”
“That was rather a doubtful reply,” remarked Campbell.
“She understood all right, but looked at me so soberly, just as if
she were going to refuse, asked me if you were Cathalina’s cousin
and all sorts of things that she knew perfectly well, just to make
me think that perhaps I could not go, but I knew that she was doing
it for fun.”
“Did the girls mind your going?”
“No. Frances was lovely, and said that she would tell Marion.”
Hatless and brown from the sun, a typical summer girl and boy,
Hilary and Campbell swung along the way to the shore where the canoe
waited. It was pleasant to be taken care of, Hilary thought, as
Campbell did the launching and most of the paddling, and told Hilary
to “fold her hands and look pretty”.
“How could I!” she exclaimed with a laugh.
“You don’t have to try,” returned Campbell with an approving glance.
But this was the nearest approach to sentiment that he made that
summer. “Where shall we go? Into the bay and up the Androscoggin a
little way?”
“That will be fine,” Hilary assented. “We still have an hour or so,
haven’t we? We were only there about half an hour, I think. I didn’t
wear my watch, though.”
“I’ll get you home in time,” declared Campbell. “Let’s forget the
time o’ day and just have a good old talk.” This they proceeded to
do, but after all managed to arrive at Merrymeeting dock in time for
Campbell to join the Boothbay flotilla, which started from the other
shore for Boothbay Camp.
“Goodbye, Campbell, I have had such a good time.”
“So have I, and I hope we can have a few more visits before camp
closes.”
The bell was ringing for swimming, for which there was just time
enough before supper. Hilary met the girls coming down to the shore
as she went up to get her bathing suit.
“Why from this direction?” asked Marjorie. “The last I saw of you,
you were eating ice cream at the school-house.”
“O, I came home in an aeroplane,” joked Hilary.
“She was paddled home,” explained Jean to Marjorie, as they ran past
Hilary.
Hilary found some of the girls of Squirrels’ Inn just getting ready
for the swim, and they all went in together. “This,” said Frances,
as they swam out to the float, “is the end of a perfect day for you,
isn’t it, Hilary?”
“I think I’ll have to acknowledge it,” said Hilary, turning over to
float a while, “but we are going to work a while on our canoe after
supper, aren’t we?”
“Yes, unless something else turns up.”
Much mystery was in the air relative to the decorating of canoes.
Each group of girls contesting had one in some sequestered spot and
was decking it for the annual canoe pageant. Prizes were to be given
for the prettiest and for the most original idea. Crepe paper had
been brought up in quantities and in all colors from Bath. Wire and
string were in great demand. Some of the girls were working hard on
designs and decorations. The little folks had great ambitions, but
depended more on their councillors to work out ideas. The older
girls could do their own decorating, with assistance at the last
from the long-suffering man power of the camp; for not a tack or
wire was to be hammered into these graceful and expensive canoes.
“I know what you’re going to have,” asserted Virgie to June.
“No you don’t; you just hope I’m going to tell you!”
“Yes I do, I guessed.”
“Who told you that you were right?”
“Nobody.”
“O, you just think that you can get me to tell you, Miss Virgie, but
we are going to have the funniest and best of all, I’m sure. Just
wait till tomorrow night!”