Round the Camp-fire
It was the first Saturday of the term. So far the girls had been kept
busily occupied settling down to work in their fresh forms, and trying
to grow accustomed to Miss Teddington's new time-tables. Now, however,
they were free to relax and enjoy themselves in any way they chose. Some
were playing tennis, some had gone for a walk with Miss Moseley, a few
were squatting frog-like on boulders in the midst of the stream, and
others strolled under the trees in the grove.
"Thank goodness the weather's behaving itself!" said Mary Acton, who,
with a few other members of the Lower Fifth, was sitting on the trunk of
a fallen oak. "Do you remember last council? It simply poured. The
thing's no fun if one can't have a real fire."
"It'll burn first-rate to-night," returned Lizzie Lonsdale. "There's a
little wind, and the wood'll be dry."
"That reminds me I haven't found my faggot yet," said Beth Broadway
easily.
"Girl alive! Then you'd better go and look for one, or you'll be all in
a scramble at the last!"
"Bother! I'm too comfy to move."
"Nice Wood-gatherer you'll look if you come empty-handed!"
"I'd appropriate half your lot first, Lizzikins!"
"Would you, indeed? I'd denounce you, and you'd lose your rank and be
degraded to a candidate again."
"Oh, you mean, stingy miser!"
"Not at all. It's the wise and foolish virgins over again. I shan't have
enough for myself and you. I've a lovely little stack--just enough for
one--reposing--no, I'd better not tell you where. Don't look so hopeful.
You're not to be trusted."
"What are you talking about?" asked Rona Mitchell, who had wandered up
to the group. "Why are some of you picking up sticks? I saw a girl over
there with quite a bundle just now. You might tell me."
So far Rona had not been well received in her own form, IV B. She was
older than her class-mates, and they, instead of attempting to initiate
her into the ways of the Woodlands girls on this holiday afternoon, had
scuttled off and left her to fend for herself. She looked such an odd,
wistful, lonely figure that Lizzie Lonsdale's kind heart smote her. She
pushed the other girls farther along the tree-trunk till they made a
grudging space for the new-comer.
"I'm a good hand at camp-fires, if you want any help," continued Rona,
seating herself with alacrity. "I've made 'em by the dozen at home, and
cooked by them too. Just let me know where you want it, and I'll set to
work."
"You wouldn't be allowed," said Beth bluntly. "This fire is a very
special thing. Only Wood-gatherers may bring the fuel. No one else is
eligible."
"Why on earth not?"
"Oh, I can't bother to explain now! It would take too long. You'll find
out to-night. Girls, I'm going in!"
"Turn up here at dusk if you want to know, and bring a cup with you,"
suggested Lizzie, with a half-ashamed effort at friendliness, as she
followed her chums.
"You bet I'll turn up! Rather!"
That evening, just after sunset, little groups of girls began to collect
round an open green space in the glade. They came quietly and with a
certain sense of discipline. A stranger would have noticed that if any
loud tone or undue hilarity made itself heard, it was instantly and
firmly repressed by one or two who seemed in authority. That the meeting
was more in the nature of a convention than a mere pleasure-gathering
was evident both from the demeanour of the assemblage and from the
various badges pinned on the girls' coats. No teacher was present, but
there was an air of general expectancy, as if the coming of somebody
were awaited. To the pupils at The Woodlands this night's ceremony was a
very special occasion, for it was the autumn reunion of the Camp-fire
League, an organization which, originally of American birth, had been
introduced at the instigation of Miss Teddington, and had taken great
root in the school. Any girl was eligible as a candidate, but before she
could gain admission to even the initial rank she had to prove herself
worthy of the honour of membership, and pass successfully through her
novitiate.
The organizer and leader of the branch which to-night was to celebrate
its third anniversary was a certain Mrs. Arnold, a charming young
American lady who lived in the neighbourhood. She had been an
enthusiastic supporter of the League in Pennsylvania before her
marriage, and was delighted to pass on its traditions to British
schoolgirls. Her winsome personality made her a prime favourite at The
Woodlands, where her influence was stronger even than she imagined. Miss
Teddington, though it was she who had asked Mrs. Arnold to institute and
take charge of the meetings, had the discretion to keep out of the
League herself, realizing that the presence of teachers might be a
restraint, and that the management was better left in the hands of a
trustworthy outsider.
To become an authorized Camp-fire member was an ambition with most of
the girls, and spurred many on to greater efforts than they would
otherwise have attempted. All looked forward to the meetings, and there
could be no greater punishment for certain offences than a temporary
withdrawal of League privileges.
This September, after the long summer holiday, the reunion seemed of
even more than ordinary importance.
The sun had set, the last gleam of the afterglow had faded, and the
glade had grown full of dim shadows by the time everybody was present in
the grove. The gentle rustle of the leafy boughs overhead, and the
persistent tumbling rush of the stream, seemed like a faint orchestral
accompaniment of Nature for the ceremonial.
"Is it a Quakers' Meeting or a Freemasons' Lodge? You're all very mum,"
asked Rona, whom curiosity had led out with the others.
"Sh-sh! We're waiting for our 'Guardian of the Fire'," returned Ulyth,
trying to suppress the loudness of the high-pitched voice. "Mrs.
Arnold's generally very punctual. Oh, there! I believe I hear her
ringing her bicycle bell now. I'm going down the field to meet her."
Ulyth regarded Mrs. Arnold with that intense adoration which a girl of
fifteen often bestows on a woman older than herself. She ran now through
the wood, hoping she might be in time to catch her idol on the drive and
have just a few precious moments with her before she was joined by the
others. There were many things she wanted to pour into her friend's
ready ears, but she knew it would be impossible to monopolize her as
soon as the rest of the girls knew of her arrival. She fled as on wings,
therefore, and had the supreme satisfaction of being the first in the
field. Mrs. Arnold, young, very fair, graceful, and golden-haired,
looked a picture in her blue cycling costume as she leaned her machine
against a tree and greeted her enthusiastic admirer.
"Oh, you darling! I've such heaps to tell you!" began Ulyth, clasping
her tightly by the arm. "Rona Mitchell has come, and she's the most
awful creature! I never was so disappointed in my life. Don't you
sympathize with me, when I expected her to be so ripping? She's absolute
backwoods!"
"Yes, I've heard all about her. Poor child! She must have had a strange
training. It's time indeed she began to learn something."
"She's not learned anything in New Zealand. Oh, her voice will just
grate on you! And her manners! She's hopeless! Everything she does and
says is wrong. And to think she's been foisted on to me, of all people!"
"Poor child!" repeated Mrs. Arnold. ("Which of us does she mean?"
thought Ulyth.) "She's evidently raw material. Every diamond needs
polishing. What an opportunity for a Torch-bearer!"
Ulyth dropped her friend's arm suddenly. It was not at all the answer
she had expected. Moreover, at least a dozen girls had come running up
and were claiming their chief's attention. In a species of triumphant
procession Mrs. Arnold was escorted into the glade and installed on her
throne of state, a seat made of logs and decorated with ferns. Everyone
clustered round to welcome her, and for the moment she was the centre of
an enthusiastic crowd. Ulyth followed more slowly. She was feeling
disturbed and put out. What did Mrs. Arnold mean? Surely not----? A
sudden thought had flashed into her mind but she thrust it away
indignantly. Oh no, that was quite impossible! It was outrageous of
anybody to make the suggestion. And yet--and yet--the uneasy voice that
had been haunting her for the last four days began to speak with even
more vehemence. With a sigh of relief she heard the signal given for
"Attention", and cast the matter away from her for the moment. Every eye
was fixed on their leader. The ceremony was about to begin.
Mrs. Arnold rose, and in her clear, sweet voice proclaimed:
"The Guardian of the Fire calls on the Wood-gatherers to bring their
fuel."
At once a dozen girls came forward, each dragging a tolerably large
bundle of brushwood. They deposited these in a circle, saluted, and
retired.
"Fire-makers, do your work!" commanded the leader.
Eight girls responded, Ulyth among the number, and seizing the
brushwood, they built it deftly into a pile. All stood round, waiting in
silence while their chief struck a match and applied a light to some
dried leaves and bracken that had been placed beneath. The flame rose up
like a scarlet ribbon, and in a few moments the dry fuel was ablaze and
crackling. The gleam lighting up the glade displayed a picturesque
scene. The boles of the trees might have been the pillars in some
ancient temple, with the branches for roof. Close by the cascade of the
stream leapt white against a background of dim darkness. The harvest
moon, full and golden, was rising behind the crest of Cwm Dinas. An owl
flew hooting from the wood higher up the glen. Mrs. Arnold stood waiting
until the bonfire was well alight, then she turned to the expectant
girls.
"I've no need to tell most of you why we have met here to-night; but for
the benefit of a few who are new-comers to The Woodlands I should like
briefly to explain the objects of the Camp-fire League. The purpose of
the organization is to show that the common things of daily life are the
chief means of beauty, romance, and adventure, to cultivate the outdoor
habit, and to help girls to serve the community--the larger home--as
well as the individual home. In these ultra-modern times we must
especially devote ourselves to the service of the country, and try by
every means in our power to make our League of some national use. First
let us repeat together the rules of the Camp-fire League:
"'1. Seek beauty.
2. Give service.
3. Pursue knowledge.
4. Be trustworthy.
5. Hold on to health.
6. Glorify work.
7. Be happy.'
"Seeking beauty includes more than looking for superficial adornment.
Beauty is in all life, in Nature, in people, in the love of one's heart,
in virtue and a radiant disposition. The value of service depends
largely upon the attitude of mind of the one rendering it. Joy in the
performance of some needed service in behalf of parent, teacher,
friend, or country constitutes a part of the very essence of goodness,
and multiplies the good already abiding in the heart. This is the third
anniversary of the founding of a branch of the League at The Woodlands.
So far the work has been very encouraging, and I am glad to say that
to-night we have candidates eligible for all three ranks. It shall now
be the business of the meeting formally to admit them. Candidates for
Wood-gatherers, present yourselves!"
Six of the younger girls came forward and saluted.
"Can you repeat, and will you promise to obey, the seven rules of the
Camp-fire law?"
Each responded audibly in the affirmative.
"Then you are admitted to the initial rank of Wood-gatherers, you are
awarded the white badge of service, and may sign your names as accepted
members of the League."
The six retired to make way for a higher grade, and eight other girls
stepped into the firelight.
"Candidates for Fire-makers, you have passed three months with good
characters as Wood-gatherers, and you have proved your ability to render
first aid, keep accounts, tie knots, and prepare and serve a simple
meal; you have each committed to memory some good poem, and have
acquainted yourself with the career of some able, public-spirited woman.
Having thus shown your wish to serve the community, repeat the
Fire-maker's desire."
And all together the eight girls chanted:
"As fuel is brought to the fire
So I purpose to bring
My strength,
My ambition,
My heart's desire,
My joy,
And my sorrow
To the fire
Of human kind.
For I will tend
As my fathers have tended
And my fathers' fathers
Since time began,
The fire that is called
The love of man for man,
The love of man for God."
Mrs. Arnold said a few kind words to each as she pinned on their red
badges. Only novices who had stood the various tests with credit were
raised to the honour of the second rank. Those who had failed must
perforce continue as Wood-gatherers for another period of three months.
There remained one further and higher rank, only attainable after six
months' ardent and trustworthy service as Fire-makers. To-night three
girls were to be admitted to its privileges, and Helen Cooper, Doris
Deane, and Ulyth Stanton presented themselves. With grave faces they
repeated the Torch-bearer's desire:
"That light which has been given to me I desire to pass undimmed to
others."
Ulyth kissed Mrs. Arnold's pretty hand as the long-coveted yellow badge
was fastened on to her dress, side by side with the Union Jack. She was
so glad to be a Torch-bearer at last. She had become a candidate when
the League was first founded three years ago, and all that time she had
been slowly working towards the desired end of the third rank. One or
two slips had hindered her progress, but last term she had made a very
special effort, and it was sweet to meet with her reward. Torch-bearers
were mostly to be found among the Sixth and Upper Fifth; she was the
only girl in V B who had won so high a place. She touched the yellow
ribbon tenderly. It meant so much to her.
Now that the serious business of the meeting was over, the fun was about
to begin. The big camp-kettle was produced and filled at the stream, and
then set to boil upon the embers. Cups and spoons made their appearance.
Cocoa and biscuits were to be the order of the evening, followed by as
many songs, dances, and games as time permitted. Squatting on the grass,
the girls made a circle round their council-fire. Marjorie Earnshaw, one
of the Sixth, had brought her guitar, and struck the strings every now
and then as an earnest of the music she intended to bring from it later
on. Everybody was in a jolly mood, and inclined to laugh at any pun,
however feeble. Mrs. Arnold, always bright and animated, surpassed
herself, and waxed so amusing that the circle grew almost hysterical.
The Wood-gatherers, whose office it was to mix the cocoa, supplied cup
after cup, and refilled the kettle so often that they ventured to air
the time-honoured joke that the stream would run dry, for which ancient
chestnut they were pelted with pebbles.
When at last nobody could even pretend to be thirsty any longer, the
cups were rinsed in the pool and stacked under a tree, and the concert
commenced. Part-songs and catches sounded delightful in the open air,
and solos, sung to the accompaniment of Marjorie's guitar, were equally
effective. The girls roared the choruses to popular national ditties,
and special favourites were repeated again and again. Several
step-dances were executed, and had a weird effect in the unsteady light
of the waning fire. Mrs. Arnold, who was a splendid elocutionist, gave a
recitation on an incident in the American War, and was enthusiastically
encored. The moon had risen high in the sky, and was peeping through the
tree-tops as if curious to see who had invaded so sylvan a spot as the
glade. The silver beams caught the ripples of the stream and made the
shadows seem all the darker.
It was a glorious beginning for the new term, as everybody agreed, and
an earnest of the fun that was in store later on.
"We shan't be able to camp out next meeting, but we'll have high jinks
in the hall," purred Beth Broadway.
"Yes; Mrs. Arnold says she has a lovely programme for the winter, and
we're to have candles instead of fuel," agreed Lizzie Lonsdale, who had
been raised that evening to the rank of Fire-maker.
"Trust Mrs. Arnold to find something new for us to do!" murmured Ulyth,
looking fondly in the direction of her ideal.
"My gracious, I call this meeting no end!" piped a cheerful voice in her
ear; and Rona, smiling with all-too-obtrusive friendliness, plumped down
by her side. "You've good times here, and no mistake! I think I'll be a
candidate myself next, if that's the game to play. You're a
high-and-mighty one, aren't you? Let's have a look at your badge!"
"If you dare to touch it!" flared Ulyth, putting up her hand to guard
her cherished token.
"Why, I wouldn't do it any harm, I promise you; I wouldn't finger it! It
means something, doesn't it? I didn't quite catch what it was. You might
tell me. How'm I ever to get to know if you won't?"
Rona's clear blue eyes, unconsciously wistful, looked straight into
Ulyth's. The latter sprang to her feet without a word. The force of her
own motto seemed suddenly to be revealed to her. She rushed away into
the shadow of the trees to think it over for herself.
"That light which has been given to me I desire to pass undimmed to
others."
Those were the words she had repeated so earnestly less than an hour
ago. And she was already about to make them a mockery! Yes, that was
what Mrs. Arnold had meant. She had known it all the time, but she would
not acknowledge it even to her innermost heart. Was this what was
required from a Torch-bearer--to pass on her own refinement and culture
to a girl whose crudities offended every particle of her fastidious
taste? Ulyth sat down on a stone and wept hot, bitter, rebellious tears.
She understood only too well why she had been so miserable for the last
three days. She had disliked Miss Bowes for hinting that she was not
keeping her word, and had told herself that she was a much-tried and
ill-used person.
"I must do it, I must, or fail at the very beginning!" she sobbed. "I
know what Mother would say. It's got to be; if for nothing else, for the
sake of the school. A Torch-bearer mustn't shirk and break her pledge.
Oh, how I shall loathe it, hate it! Ulyth Stanton, do you realize what
you're undertaking? Your whole term's going to be spoilt."
The big bell in the tower was clanging its summons to return, with
short, impatient strokes. Everybody joined hands in a circle round the
ashes of the camp-fire, to sing in a low chant the good-night song of
the League and "God Save the Queen". Mr. Arnold, who had come to fetch
his wife, was sounding his hooter as a signal on the drive. The
evening's fun was over. Regretfully the girls collected cups, spoons,
and kettle, and made their way back to the house.
On Sunday morning Ulyth, with a very red face, marched into the study,
and announced:
"Miss Bowes, I've been having a tussle. One-half of me said: 'Don't
have Rona in your room at any price!' and the other half said: 'Let her
stop!' I've decided to keep her."
"I knew you would, when you'd thought it over," beamed Miss Bowes.
"Are all New Zealanders the same?" asked Ulyth. "I've not met one
before."
"Certainly not. Most of them are quite as cultured and up-to-date as
ourselves. There are splendid schools in New Zealand, and excellent
opportunities for study of every kind. Poor Rona, unfortunately, has had
to live on a farm far away from civilization, and her education and
welfare in every respect seem to have been utterly neglected. Don't take
her as a type of New Zealand! But she'll soon improve if we're all
prepared to help her. I'm glad you're ready to be her real friend."
"I'll try my best!" sighed Ulyth.