A HURRIED HOMEWARD HIKE
Not until she was well out of sight of the Heights did Blanche slacken
her pace. Panting from her mad dash down the road, which followed the
lake, though high above it, she came to a halt and paused to take
breath. After a moment or two of rest, she made for the side of it.
Extracting the vanity case from her blouse, she opened it and took from
it a bit of paper, which had been folded many times to fit into its
limited quarters. Spread out, it revealed itself as a sheet of extremely
thin note paper covered with writing. At the bottom of the sheet a small
diagram had been drawn, which Blanche studied intently, glancing from
time to time about her as though to verify the directions marked upon
it. Snapping the vanity case shut, she returned it to her blouse and,
paper in hand, started on down the road at a brisk trot which even
athletic Ruth Garnier could hardly have improved upon.
Meanwhile, the unsuspecting company of forest worshippers were blithely
tramping along through the woods, pausing frequently to exclaim over
some bit of woodland wonder that, for the moment, claimed their admiring
attention. Each was bent on identifying some tree, bush, bird or even
weed, peculiar to the locality, and hitherto known only to them through
books devoted to Nature study. Correct identifications of these forest
denizens meant a proud addition to honors already gained. As an
authority on the flora and fauna of that region, Miss Drexal was
continually appealed to for confirmation.
Noon found them perhaps three miles into the wilderness. They had
endeavored to steer a direct northerly course, frequently consulting the
compass Ruth carried, which still obligingly pointed due north. Their
progress had been most leisurely, for they were not concerned as to the
amount of ground they covered. With so many interesting sights to see,
they preferred to go slowly and thus miss nothing worth while.
The wrist watches, which most of the girls wore, showed half past twelve
when they halted for luncheon in a tiny natural open space between the
trees, within sight of a small but noisy brook which chattered
complainingly as it rushed along over the stones.
The site chosen was an ideal spot for loitering, and the amateur
foresters hailed it with shouts of gleeful acclamation.
“It seems good to see the sun again,” commented Sarah, squinting
gratefully up at the sunlight that poured generously down from between
the giant trees, which formed a leafy wall about the little enclosure.
“I love the sun, but oh, you eats!” trilled Frances, casting a loving
eye upon the hamper that Anne and Betty had just set upon a convenient
flat rock. It being their only burden, the Equitable Eight had taken
turns carrying it, having laughingly barred their hostess-guide from
playing porter.
“You think more about eating than about Nature study, Frances Bliss,”
accused Jane with a lofty indifference to the pangs of hunger, which
were at that very moment assailing her.
“Can you look me squarely in the eyes and say you are not starved, Jane
Pellew?” was the severe retort, as Frances marched over to her pet
diversion, thrusting her mischievous face within a few inches of Jane’s.
“No, I can’t, you ridiculous person,” Jane’s lofty expression vanished
in a half-vexed laugh. “Still, I am too polite to mention being starved
unless I’m forced to do it.”
“You _really_ mean that you lack simple frankness, Plain Jane,”
translated Frances gently. “You _may_ be polite, and occasionally frank.
I can readily recall several such occasions, though I prefer not to
dwell on them publicly. But _I_ am _always_ frank. It was my extreme
frankness as a mere infant which induced my fond parents to name me
Frances. Frankness and Frances are synonymous. Do you catch the beauty
of the synonym?”
“Take her away,” begged Jane of the laughing listeners. “She gives me
the headache.”
“Let’s condemn her to hard labor. Make her unpack the hamper,” sentenced
Betty, firmly seizing the talkative synonym of frankness by the arm.
Jane lost no time in grasping her tormentor’s other arm. Protesting
volubly, Frances was conducted to the hamper. Then the avenging duo
encountered a snag.
“You can drag an Equitable Eighter to a hamper, but you can’t make her
unpack it,” jeered the victim of force.
“Oh, yes we can,” confidently assured Jane. “You make one arm go, Betty,
and I’ll work the other.”
Thereupon followed a bit of by-play that sent the interested onlookers
into shrieks of laughter. Frances was possessed of not only a will of
her own, but corresponding strength as well. She put forth no effort to
free herself; her arms simply refused to move in accordance with the
will of her propellers. In fact, they flourished in every direction
except hamperward, causing those of her captors to flourish unwillingly
with them.
“No use, Jane,” gasped Betty. Weak with laughter she relaxed her hold.
“She’s a second Sandow. I’d rather unpack the hamper twice over than
keep this up.”
“The world is mine!” orated the triumphant conqueror, cheerfully waving
the arm that Betty gladly dropped. “I feel like the Brave Little Tailor
in Grimm’s Fairy Tales, who vanquished seven at one blow. Plain Jane,
you may spend the next week of your young life embroidering me a girdle
bearing that lovely legend.”
“You’re a brave little nuisance,” scathingly commented Jane. “You’ll
wait a long time for that girdle.”
“How can I win her approbation?” murmured Frances. “Ah, I have it! I
will unpack the eats and feed her a sandwich.”
“You will _not_.” Jane beat a prompt retreat as Frances made an
energetic attack upon the hamper. Snapping up the fateful sandwich, she
pursued the fleeing object of her mischievous intentions in and out
among the trees, leaving her amused companions to busy themselves with
the task she had begun only to abandon.
It was a very merry group that presently gathered about the tablecloth,
laid on the mossy ground, and covered with a variety of eatables, best
suited to picnicking. Frances’ nonsense had only served to heighten the
atmosphere of good humor which had prevailed from the starting out of
the expedition. Luncheon finished, they strolled over to the little
brook to watch its hurried progress over the greenish-brown stones, and
to dabble their hands in its clear waters.
“Why, what has become of the sun?” was Ruth’s cry. After loitering for
half an hour by the rock, they had returned to the spot where they had
lunched to recover the hamper and go forward again. Along the banks of
the little stream the trees grew thickly, seeming almost to arch
overhead. In consequence, they had failed to note Old Sol’s gradual
disappearance behind a bank of bluish-gray clouds until, back in the
open space, Ruth now called concerned attention to it.
Miss Drexal raised anxious eyes to the threatening cloud bank. “It
doesn’t look promising, girls,” she declared uneasily. “I am not sure
what those clouds mean. We sometimes have dreadful wind storms in this
region. We had best about-face and make for the cottage. These clouds
may pass; again they may not. It is almost three o’clock now. Should it
begin to rain and rain steadily, it would be anything but pleasant in
these woods.”
With no impeding luggage save the now light hamper, the return journey
through the forest was begun within three minutes after Miss Drexal had
sounded her warning call to march. This time there was no stopping by
the way. All realized the importance of reaching shelter before a storm
of either wind or rain or both should descend upon them. Thus far, there
was little wind, yet as they proceeded, a faint but ominous rustling of
leaves overhead told them that the wind was rising. The fact that it did
not increase as they hurried along served somewhat to still their fears.
Apprehension returned full force during the last half mile. The
portending rustle gradually grew into a profound sigh, as though the
very leaves on the trees had united in protest against the rough tactics
which the wind was rapidly adopting.
“We’re off our course,” called Ruth, consulting the compass. “Not much
but a little. We must have strayed through being in such a rush to get
home. We were going directly south when last I looked; about twenty
minutes ago.”
“Let me see.” Miss Drexal halted and scrutinized their surroundings.
“It’s all right,” she encouraged. “I know where we are. We shall come
out of the woods about a quarter of a mile below the Heights, on the
road to the village. Forward march, children. It won’t be long until we
are there. We must try to escape the rain.”
“Follow your leader,” ordered Ruth cheerfully, catching Emmy’s arm as
she rushed her playfully forward. Miss Drexal now ahead as guide, the
two girls swung along directly behind her.
“Hurrah!” Emmy sang out joyfully. Through the trees she had glimpsed the
road for which they were making.
“O-h-h!” a howl of anguish went up from the rear, causing the registrar
to whirl and hasten in the direction of the sound. It proceeded from
unlucky Jane, whose feet had unwarily wandered into the meshes of a
fondly-clinging vine. Her wail had ascended as she descended, full
force, upon her face.
Before Miss Drexal had reached her, she had regained her feet and stood
sputtering angrily at the unfeeling Frances who had laughed so hard as
to be unable to assist her fallen comrade.
Emmy turned and took a few steps toward Jane. Ruth was about to follow
her when the purr of an automobile, dashing along the near-by road,
attracted her attention. She obtained a good look at the driver, a dark,
thin-faced young man, bending far over the wheel. His companions she
merely glimpsed, as the machine flashed by, yet that one glimpse brought
a soft “Oh” of dismay to her lips. Glancing quickly about, she was
relieved to note that her friends had evidently paid no attention to the
passing of the automobile. They were still busy with Jane. By the time
they turned and came up with her, Jane still sputtering at the grinning
Frances, who was endeavoring to lead her along, the automobile had
disappeared around a curve in the road.
“Safe!” exclaimed Anne dramatically. “We are out of the woods at last.”
“Safe nothing,” disagreed Sarah. “I just felt a raindrop on my head.
There’s another!” she cried as a big drop splashed upon a broad-leafed
weed in front of her. “We’d better run for it.”
Her advice promptly heeded, the party set off pell-mell over the narrow
strip of weed-grown ground that sloped gently down to the road. Up the
road the race for shelter continued, Ruth and Frances well in the lead.
“Look out!” Ruth’s warning rang out just in time to scatter the runners
as the same automobile she had so recently seen tore down upon them.
This time the driver was alone. Like a flash he dashed by them, looking
neither to the right nor left.
Only the fact that the rain was now beginning to come down in earnest
deterred the ruffled hikers from holding forth wrathfully then and
there. Bottling their caustic opinions of reckless motorists until a
more convenient season, the homeward flight was continued. Rounding the
curve, beyond which stood the cottage, every pair of eyes picked up a
blue-clad figure fleeing across the lawn toward the front door.
“There’s Blanche!” called out Anne. “She has her hat on. She must have
gone walking and got caught in the rain.”
“Do her good,” muttered Jane.
Bent on gaining cover, no one else took time to comment upon the girl
just disappearing into the cottage. Nevertheless one of them had
received a most unpleasant shock, and that one was Ruth Garnier.