“UNITED WE FLOURISH”
The friendly moon peered inquisitively down through the trees at a
circle of veritable Indian maidens gathered about a blazing camp fire.
It was in distinct contrast to the group of weary-eyed watchers that
less than two weeks before, had huddled round another camp fire,
heartsick and discouraged. To-night every face wore a smile of pleasant
anticipation. Neither were there any vacant places in that fire-lit
circle. Clad in full ceremonial dress, they had gathered to see one of
their number honored. Blanche Shirly was at last to become a Wood
Gatherer.
As Miss Drexal rose and began the short but impressive ceremony by
asking the candidate to rise also, a sigh of pure satisfaction fluttered
up from those seated. Wearing the ceremonial robe she had worked so hard
to complete since that eventful trip to Disaster Island, her auburn hair
hanging far below her waist in two heavy braids, Blanche had never
appeared more attractive. The arrogant, self-satisfied expression of old
had entirely disappeared from her face, leaving it girlishly wistful as
she listened to the words of the Guardian, and made the necessary
replies. It was indeed a proud moment for her when Miss Drexal stepped
over to her, saying:
“As Guardian of the Fire, and in token of your having fulfilled the
requirements necessary for the rank of Wood Gatherer, I place on the
little finger of your left hand this ring with its design of seven
fagots symbolic of the seven points of the Law of the Fire, which you
have expressed your desire to follow, and of the three circles on either
side symbolic of the three watch-words of this organization, Work,
Health and Love.”
Familiar as they all were with this particular ceremony, the Equitable
Eight had never felt more impressed than when, at the Guardian’s
request, they rose and repeated:
“As fagots are brought from the forest
Firmly held by the sinews which bind them,
So cleave to these others, your sisters,
Wherever, whenever you find them.
“Be strong as the fagots are sturdy,
Be pure in your deepest desire,
Be true to the truth that is in you,
And—follow the Law of the Fire.”
Clearly and sweetly Blanche responded:
“As fagots are brought from the forest
Firmly held by the sinews which bind them,
I will cleave to my Camp Fire sisters
Wherever, whenever I find them.
“I will strive to grow strong like the pine tree,
To be pure in my deepest desire,
To be true to the truth that is in me,
And follow the Law of the Fire.”
The ringing vocal cheer that succeeded the pledge brought an approving
flash to the black eyes of the Indian guide. Blue Wolf, as the guest of
honor, squatted just outside the magic ring of fire-worshippers.
“You are now at liberty to congratulate Alsea, our new Wood Gatherer,”
announced the Guardian when Blanche had finished reciting.
“Just one minute!” Blanche appealed. “I have something to say first that
I wish you all to hear.” Meeting Ruth’s startled eyes, full of mute
protest, Blanche smiled reassuringly.
“I am sure you must understand just how glad I am to have become a Wood
Gatherer,” she continued, addressing the group. “It took me a long time
to get started on the right track. I thank you all for your interest and
help. You’ve been very patient with me. But I know you’ll agree with me
when I say that I owe a special debt of gratitude to Ruth Garnier. She
is the truest, finest, bravest girl I’ve ever known, and I hope always
to be worthy of her friendship.”
The sincere but unexpected tribute to Ruth received the ovation it
deserved. A moment later, Blanche was surrounded, eager hands
outstretched to grasp her own.
“It was dear in you, Blanche.” Ruth’s cheeks were rosy as she proffered
both hands to the smiling Wood Gatherer. “You shouldn’t have said it,
though. All I can do is to return the compliment.”
“A mutual admiration society,” beamed Frances. “I must join it.” Her
eyes lighting on Jane, she said effusively: “Mere words cannot express
my deep and respectful admiration for _you_, Plain Jane!”
“I certainly _am_ surprised,” remarked Jane unappreciatively. “I hope
you’ll remember that the next time you try to drag me into an argument.”
“You mean, the next time _you_ try to drag _me_ into one,” corrected
Frances.
“I don’t mean that at all. I—”
“They’ve begun,” groaned Anne. “The only way to stop them is to sing
them down. I propose we give the Song to our Guest, for Blue Wolf’s
benefit. Go and drag him into the circle, Ruth. He can’t resist you.”
Three minutes later, the group had formed again around the Camp Fire,
Blue Wolf seated in the circle between Miss Drexal and Ruth. His stoical
countenance seemed actually to soften as he listened to the fresh young
voices of the singers. Persuaded by Ruth, he finally consented to reply
to the song with one of his weird chants. Following it, at his earnest
request, the girls sang several other Camp Fire songs for him, ending
with the inevitable, “Now our Camp Fire’s burning low.”
The last rite, that of extinguishing the fire, having been performed,
the party strolled back in the moonlight to Wohelo Wigwam. The first
light of the morrow would find them up and preparing to leave the shores
of the beautiful little lake, where they had spent many happy and a few
unhappy hours.
“I hate to say good-bye to Vermilion Lake,” sighed Betty, as by common
consent the little band of Camp Fire enthusiasts tarried before the
tents for a last brief session in the moonlight. “I wonder if we’ll ever
see it again after to-morrow.”
“I hope so,” smiled Miss Drexal. “As long as I continue to spend my
summers at Driftwood Heights, you are all welcome to share it with me.
It’s not such a far cry from there to here, you know. Besides, you
mustn’t forget Blue Wolf. He confided to me to-night that you were ‘heap
nice girls,’ and looks forward to being guide for us again sometime.”
“We ought to make him an honorary member of our Camp Fire group,”
suggested Ruth gaily. “I’m going to propose it to him—”
“Not to-night,” cut in Jane. “He has gone to his shack. I saw him when
he went. He didn’t even stop to say good-night, how, ugh, or anything
else.”
“He’s a wise Indian. He knows what’s ahead of him to-morrow,” declared
Anne.
“And so do we,” reminded Miss Drexal slyly. “It’s time for ‘Taps,’
girls. We must make the most of our bough beds while we have them.
To-morrow night will find us sleeping in ordinary four-posters.”
“Just as soon as we get settled in the buckboard to-morrow for our ride
back to Tower, I am going to make you girls decide that the next reunion
is to be held at that incomparable hanging-out place of the Bliss
Family, known as ‘Sweet Water Ranch.’” It was Frances who made this bold
announcement.
“You won’t have a chance to say a word,” warned Sarah. “I shall do all
the talking in favor of Red Rock Ranch, the home of the hospitable
Mannings.”
“Don’t either of you be too sure. You may all find yourselves down in
old Kentuck next summer,” asserted Jane stoutly. “The Pellews are going
to have their chance at entertaining.”
During this lively controversy, Miss Drexal had slipped away from the
would-be entertainers and entered the tents. The mournfully sweet call
of “Lights Out” cut in two a spirited harangue to which Frances had been
moved by Jane’s entering the lists.
“To be continued in the buckboard,” laughed Emmy.
“I name Frances now as the winner,” predicted Marian. “She has the
original gift of gab uncommon strong.”
“But wherever we happen to be next summer, let’s hope that we’ll all be
together,” said Ruth softly.
“United we flourish, divided we languish!” supplied Frances.
Although she spoke in jest, sincere truth underlay her playful words.
Their second summer together had doubly proved to the Equitable Eight
the beauty of that splendid word “Comradeship.”
Where the next summer found them, and how they spent it, will be told in
“The Camp Fire Girls at Sweet Water Ranch.”
THE END