LOST AT BEAR POND
“Are you sure this is the road, Marie?”
“The man said it was.”
“That doesn’t make it so,” retorted Alice. “I never knew such poor
directions as those given by persons who have lived in a place nearly
all their lives. You scarcely ever can depend on them.”
“That is so,” agreed Natalie. “I remember we were at Atlantic Highlands
one summer, and I went for a walk. I got a little confused, and asked an
old gentleman how to get on the right road. He was an old settler—he
told me so—and yet he directed me a mile out of my way, and it was twice
as far from where I was to our cottage as he said it was. Oh, I was so
provoked!”
“I do hope nothing like that occurs this time,” ventured Mrs. Bonnell.
“Whom did you ask about the road, Marie?”
“The boy who brings our milk.”
“Not that stupid chap?” remonstrated Mabel.
“He isn’t stupid,” declared Marie. “It’s only bashfulness. He’s
eighteen, and he ought to know——”
“Yes, he ought to know enough to be bashful with this crowd,” laughed
Alice. “Oh, Marie, couldn’t you get any better guide?”
“There you go!” exclaimed Jack’s sister. “You left it all to me, and
when I do get directions you’re all finding fault. It isn’t fair!” and
she swung ahead on the narrow path as though she wanted to have done
with the argument.
It was two days after Natalie had overheard what she believed was a clue
to the location of the Gypsy camp, and the girls had determined, after a
somewhat lengthy consultation, to at least go near enough to spy upon
it, and decide later what to do—perhaps with the help of the boys.
Behold them now on their way to Bear Pond, a rather lonesome bit of
water about five miles back in the woods from Green Lake. They had gone
in two boats to a certain cove whence ran a path, more or less well
defined, to the pond, and the talk now ran on the chances of reaching
their destination.
“Though we may get there all right,” Natalie asserted. “The question
is—can we get back again?”
“I don’t see why not!” exclaimed Marie, who had assumed the post of
leader. “If you get to a place you can always get back.”
“This path seems to twist and turn so,” said Alice, as they went single
file along the winding trail, that circled in and out among the trees,
now descending into a little glade, and again ascending a slope. “If it
will only stay crooked, and not straighten out when we come back, maybe
we can remember it. Don’t you think we ought to make some kind of
landmarks as we go along, girls?”
“We could blaze a trail,” suggested Natalie, “only I don’t believe any
one brought a hatchet.”
“Well, here’s one way not to forget,” said Mrs. Bonnell. “There,
breath-of-the-pine-tree, we’ll know this white birch when we meet it
again,” and with a hairpin the Guardian began making a series of zig-zag
scratches on the white silver-like bark of a sapling that stood along
the path.
“Oh, don’t ever tell the boys you did that!” gasped Marie.
“Why not?” Mrs. Bonnell wanted to know. “Is it against the law to
scratch a tree I’d like to ask? That isn’t any worse that chipping it
with a hatchet.”
“Oh, but blazing a trail with hairpins!” gasped Marie, laughing
heartily. “What would the boy scouts say? We might as well scatter side
combs along the trail, or take a skein of baby ribbon with us, tying the
loose end to our tent pole, and unreeling it as we go along. Don’t tell
the boys—Camp Fire Girls blazing a trail with hairpins! Oh, dear!”
“I don’t see but what it is just as good as when done with a hatchet,”
said Mrs. Bonnell, imperturbed. “And you are far less likely to cut
yourself. I shall blaze our trail with hairpins, girls, the accepted boy
scout method to the contrary notwithstanding.”
And she did, not heeding the laughter of the girls. At every tree with a
light-hued enough bark to permit of it, she made her mystic scratches
with the hairpin points, sometimes drawing a fantastic figure, Indian
fashion, which further increased the mirth of the girls.
“How far did your bashful youth say it was?” asked Mabel, after a pause,
during which they climbed a little rise, passing under great pine trees,
the needles of which made a slippery, brown, woodland carpet beneath
their feet.
“Oh, you’re coming to think that he wasn’t such a bad guide after all
then?” demanded Marie, a trifle mollified.
“I just want to see how nearly he can estimate the distance,” was the
answer.
“He said it was five miles—five short ones,” and Marie hastily corrected
herself.
“And the path a straight one?”
“No, indeed. We have to turn to the right after we pass the spring which
is near the ruins of an old house. Oh, I’ve got it all written down,”
and Marie began searching for the pocket of the short brown skirt that
with the middy-blouse, and low shoes, formed the Camp Fire Girls’
outfit. A blank look came over her face.
“What’s the matter?” asked Natalie.
“That paper—my directions. I wrote them down on a slip of paper. I was
sure I put it in my pocket—I know I did—but now——”
She turned the pocket inside out, but a handkerchief, and a few other
personal belongings, was all that came to view.
“Maybe it’s in with the lunch,” suggested Alice.
They had brought along some sandwiches, and a large bottle of olives,
stuffed with Pimento peppers, for they did not expect to get back to
camp for dinner. But an inspection of the several packets into which the
“eats”, as Alice called them, were divided, disclosed no chart, map or
other sailing directions for locating the Gypsy camp.
“Never mind!” exclaimed Marie. “I’m sure I can find it without that.
Reuben went over it very carefully with me.”
“Reuben being the aforesaid bashful boy?” asked Mabel.
“Yes. And you needn’t make so much fun of him, either. He’s real nice
when you get to know him, though he does say ‘yes, ma’am,’ and ‘no,
ma’am,’ to me, and he’s older than I am.”
“How much?” inquired Natalie promptly.
“I sha’n’t tell! But come on if we’re going to get to Bear Pond before
noon,” and she quickened her pace.
“I wonder if the boys suspected where we were going?” ventured Alice.
“I don’t believe so,” replied Mrs. Bonnell. “I told them they mustn’t
feel obliged to look after us, or to accompany us everywhere we went. It
was very nice of them, I said, but we had come to the woods to be real
Camp Fire members, and didn’t want to trouble them.”
“I don’t believe they call it _trouble_,” said Marie.
“Not as long as Natalie is along,” added Mabel. “And we’re not a bit
jealous, dear,” she added quickly, as breath-of-the-pine-tree blushed.
“You may share all our brothers. Sometimes I wish some one would take
all of Phil. He’s such a tease when he sets out to be!”
“I guess in this case they were glad not to be asked to go anywhere with
us to-day,” went on the Guardian. “I didn’t so much as hint where we
were going—merely saying we might go for a row—which we did. I rather
think they had some plan of their own they wanted to carry out. They
took their fish poles, but I didn’t hear them talking about bait, which
seems is hard to get here. So I wouldn’t be surprised but what they were
going to Mt. Harry to look for the Gypsy camp that is really at Bear
Pond. They want to surprise us.”
“And we’re going to turn the tables!” exclaimed Marie. “Won’t it be a
joke!”
“If we find the camp,” added Mabel.
“Of course we will,” asserted the leader. “I have all the directions
down in my head.”
“There’s another good tree to hairpin!” exclaimed Mrs. Bonnell, as, with
her useful little implement, she again made her mystic scratches. “We
can’t help seeing that. Is it much farther, Marie?”
“We haven’t come to the spring yet, and it’s a mile past that. But
you’re not getting tired, are you?”
“Oh, no; only I wanted to know the worst. Lead on—we will follow!” and
she looked for more trees to “blaze.”
As the girls walked along, now taking little runs, and experimental
dashes on side paths, they broke into song now and then, chanting,
“Wo-he-lo for Aye,” and other Camp Fire melodies; the “Walking song,”
and the gladsome rhyme of work.
The way was a pleasant one. Since leaving the little cove, where they
had tied their boats, having hidden the oars on shore, the path had been
in a most delightful glade, with occasional stretches of meadow. Once
they had encountered some cows, and though at first debating the
advisability of making a detour, they had boldly crossed the field, the
bovines merely looking calmly at them, as if wondering why humans did
not lie down and chew cuds when they had the chance.
“What was that?” exclaimed Mabel, as a whirr of wings, and the passage
of some body through the underbrush, startled her.
“A quail,” answered Natalie. “I just got a glimpse of it. Oh, see the
lovely flowers!” and she rushed over to a patch of ox-eyed daisies, or
black-eyed-Susans, and, pulling a bunch thrust them into her belt,
creating a decidedly picturesque effect.
Marie pulled some maiden-hair ferns, and weaving a chaplet as she walked
along, dropped it on Natalie’s head, for none of the girls wore hats.
“Oh, isn’t that sweet!” exclaimed Mabel. “Wait, I must snap that!” and
she posed Natalie for her picture. Then they all had to be crowned with
ferns and “snapped”, after which a group picture was taken, with them
all sitting on a fallen tree, Marie taking the group without herself in
it and then Natalie performing a like service for her chum.
“The spring and the ruins of the farmhouse at last!” cried Marie, when
another mile had been covered. “We are almost there now.”
“Then let’s eat here,” suggested Alice. “We can get a drink, and olives
always make me so deliciously thirsty.”
“That’s what I say,” chimed in Marie, and then, finding a little grassy
spot they sat down tailor fashion and ate.
“It’s the best meal I’ve had in a week,” declared Alice.
“Are there any sandwiches left?” asked Mabel. “That’s my best
indorsement.”
“One or two,” said Mrs. Bonnell. “Perhaps we had better save them.” And
to this the girls agreed.
Then came a delicious period of rest under the greenwood trees, while
Natalie softly sang a song of the sky-blue water, the others joining in
the chorus.
“Forward, march!” cried Marie, a little later.
“One moment!” exclaimed Mrs. Bonnell. “Another tree to hairpin!” and she
did her duty.
“Which path?” asked Mabel, as they came to a divergence of the ways.
“Left or right, Marie?”
“Er—the—left!” hesitatingly pronounced the leader.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” And to the left they went.
The way became more rocky and rugged—wilder—and there were rather timid
glances cast from left to right as they passed through deep, dark and
silent glades, dark even with the bright sun shining overhead.
“I wouldn’t want to be lost here,” spoke Mabel in a low voice.
“Hush!” exclaimed Natalie. “Remember we may get back your mother’s
ring.”
“Oh, I do hope so. But supposing these weren’t the right Gypsies after
all?”
“Don’t you dare suggest such a thing!” threatened Marie. “After all our
work, running away from the boys and all that. It simply _must_ be the
right camp!”
“Well, I wish we’d come to Bear Pond,” sighed Mrs. Bonnell. “Oughtn’t it
to be near here, Marie.”
“I think so,” and she seemed trying to recall the directions.
“Why is it called Bear Pond?” Natalie wanted to know.
“Because there used to be bears there,” answered Alice. “Why else?”
“Bur-r-r-r! I hope there are none about now,” exclaimed Marie with a
little shiver.
“Nonsense!” came from Mrs. Bonnell.
They scrambled up a rocky hill, saw before them a little path leading
off to the right, followed it and came out on a sort of granite
promontory. And there, almost at their feet, lay Bear Pond.
It was more desolate than they had imagined. Not a house was to be seen,
and only a leaky and battered boat drawn up on shore near the rock told
that occasionally some one rowed on the water. Blackened and decaying
stumps could be seen here and there, and across the tops of distant and
dead trees circled a few hoarse-voiced crows.
“Talk of the Dead Sea!” murmured Natalie. “This is it.”
“It does remind one of that,” spoke Alice.
“No wonder the Gypsies came here,” remarked Mabel. “It is the most
lonesome spot I ever saw.”
They stood looking at the black and uninviting water. Occasionally a
fish moved in it, or leaped for a fly that ventured too close to the
surface. The hoarse cawing of the crows added to the desolateness of the
scene. There was no sound save that of the voices of the Camp Fire
Girls.
“Reuben said,” spoke Marie, “that few people come here. There is good
fishing at times—catfish are plentiful, and there are lots of pond
lilies. But I’d never venture out on that water,” and she could not
repress a shudder.
“Neither would I,” said Mabel. “I’d keep fearing that a long, bony hand
was about to reach up from the depths and pull me down.”
“Oh!” screamed Natalie.
“What is it?” demanded Mrs. Bonnell with a little start.
“Something—something moved.”
“A bird in the bushes, likely. Silly! This place is getting on the
nerves of all of us, I guess. Marie, can’t you locate the Gypsy camp,
and then we’ll go?”
“I don’t know. Let’s follow this path. If we don’t see their tents or
wagons soon, we’ll go back.”
They turned into a path that led down from the rock around the desolate
patch of water. It appeared to have neither inlet nor outlet, and was
doubtless fed by springs from below, though it was hard to imagine a
pure spring bubbling up into those black and murky depths.
“I don’t believe it’s here,” said Marie when they had gone on for some
distance. “Let’s go back!”
No one opposed her, and there were sighs of relief from all as they got
back to the rock. Then, with a look over the calm and dead surface of
the pond, they turned into the path again, while the rasping voice of a
crow, perched in a lightning-blasted pine tree, seemed to laugh at their
defeat.
“Horrid creature!” murmured Natalie, and they hurried on in silence.
“Are you sure we came this way?”
“Where are some of those hairpin-blazed trees?”
“I don’t remember this road.”
“And I’m sure we never passed this pile of rocks!”
The Camp Fire Girls came to a halt and looked at one another. It was
growing dusk, and they had been walking away from Bear Pond for perhaps
half an hour. They thought they would soon be at the cove where they had
left their boats, but when Mabel propounded that question, it raised
doubts in all their minds.
“I think this is the way,” said Mabel.
“Can’t you be sure?” asked Mrs. Bonnell, a bit testily.
“Well, it looks just like it, but why don’t we see some of the trees you
scratched?”
“That’s what I want to know,” put in Natalie. “Let’s sit down and rest.
Then we can think better.”
She fairly “slumped” down on the grass.
“It’s damp there,” warned Mrs. Bonnell.
“I can’t help it—I’m dead tired!”
Marie walked off a little way. She went forward on the path, and then
retraced her steps. When she rejoined her now silent chums there was the
flush of anxiety on her cheeks.
“I—I don’t seem to remember this place,” she began. “I guess we must
have taken the wrong turn some time ago. Let’s go back until we come to
two paths, and then take the other.”
They retraced their steps, no one speaking much. But they came to no
divergence of the path. It seemed to lead endlessly on through the
woods, as though generations of patient cows had plodded their way along
it. Marie who was in the advance, halted.
“Girls,” she said in a broken voice, “I—I don’t see any use in keeping
on. We’re only getting more and more tangled.”
“Are we—lost?” asked Natalie in hesitating tones.
“I—I’m afraid so,” answered Marie.