THE STORM
So interested were the girls in the little old lady and so fond had
they grown of her that they found it hard to keep away from the little
cabin where she lived.
They kept her supplied with canned goods of all sorts, to say nothing
of milk and fresh eggs, until the old lady lost her frail and wasted
look and even seemed less feeble.
She insisted on paying for what they gave her, and the girls humored
her to the extent of letting her pay a mere fraction of what the
supplies were actually worth. With this she was well content, for it
gave her the feeling of independence that it was necessary for her to
have.
Then one day, coming up the hill to the little cabin, the girls found
the Old Maid of the Mountains sitting in front of her door, bending
closely over some needlework she held in her hand.
She looked up as the girls accosted her and then passed her hand
wonderingly before her eyes. There was a puzzled expression on her
face.
“I--I can’t see,” she said plaintively. “The sun must be too strong.”
“You have strained your eyes, sewing,” scolded Betty, as she took the
work from the old lady’s unresisting hands. “Feeling better now?” she
asked anxiously.
The old lady nodded.
“There were black dots dancing before my eyes,” she explained. “But now
they are gone. I feel better.” She reached up a hand for the embroidery
on which she had been working but Betty never even noticed the gesture.
She was gazing at the piece of work, wide-eyed.
“Girls!” she cried. “Look at this! Isn’t it----” her voice was agitated
as she held out the embroidered centerpiece to Grace. “Isn’t it the
companion piece to the one you bought for your mother, Grace?”
Grace nodded dumbly, while in Mollie’s black eyes began to smolder
a great excitement. And the next moment Amy, too, had grasped the
significance of Betty’s question.
The little old lady sat staring from one to the other of them in
puzzled bewilderment.
“You do not like my work?” she asked, gently.
“Like it,” repeated Betty vaguely, and then turned excitedly to the
little woman. “Tell me,” she demanded. “Did you ever sell embroidery at
the Woman’s Exchange in Kayford?”
The old lady seemed still more puzzled.
“Yes,” she answered. “I used to do a great deal of work for the
Exchange before--before--my eyes became so bad. It is taxing, you
know,” she finished, gently and uncomplainingly. “That sort of work.”
The girls exchanged wondering glances and then Betty explained to
the little old lady how they had come to hear of her that day at the
Woman’s Exchange.
“We’ve been wondering about you a great deal,” put in Amy, gently. “I’m
very glad we have found you.”
“That is good of you, my dear,” said the old lady, with her grave
smile. “You have been very, very good to an old woman.”
On the way back to camp that night the girls discussed their discovery
excitedly.
“Who would ever have expected to find our poor old lady in the Old Maid
of the Mountains?” marveled Amy. “It’s just like a story.”
“It’s a pretty sad story, just the same,” said Betty, gravely. “Think
of that poor lonesome little soul deprived of her one small means of
support because her eyes have failed! Oh, girls, I wish we could find
a million dollars for her somewhere!”
But, however fascinating the subject might be, the girls had something
to think of besides their Old Maid of the Mountains. For this was
Friday and the boys were expected the following afternoon!
“It seems an age since we’ve seen them,” said Amy, plaintively. “I hope
they’ll come early.”
It was not until they were building a campfire later on that the girls
noticed any decided change in the weather. And even when they did, they
at first attached no special importance to it.
But when the wind, which had begun as a soft sighing in the trees,
waxed so vicious that the flames from the fire began to reach out
hungrily for the surrounding trees, the girls began seriously to worry.
“Looks like a big gale,” said the Little Captain, soberly. “Better
check the flames, girls. Don’t want to start a forest fire.”
And so, for the first night since they had made their camp, they were
forced to go without their campfire. They stood somberly watching the
last stubborn flames flicker, licking up in sudden yellow darts, then
dying down morosely.
“It’s a shame,” said Grace. “Talk about Hamlet with Hamlet left out.
That’s what a camp is without a campfire.”
“Humph,” said Mollie, putting back a strand of hair that the wind had
whipped about her face, “shouldn’t wonder if we’d be lucky to have even
our tent left to us by morning. Just listen to that wind!”
“If it only doesn’t rain, too,” said Amy, sharing the general disquiet.
“Wouldn’t mind the rain half as much as the wind,” remarked the Little
Captain, as she started on an inspection of the tent to make sure it
was as securely fastened as it was possible for it to be.
At last, satisfied that it was as strong as human hands could make it,
she returned to the girls who were still watching the dying flames of
their campfire.
The wind was rising higher and higher every moment while the branches
of the trees swayed and moaned beneath its fury. Leaves and small twigs
fell upon the girls where they stood, mute evidence of the wrath of the
elements.
“Th-there comes the rain!” said Amy suddenly. “Listen!”
They listened, and, far out on the lake, they could hear a tearing,
rending sound and a muffled splashing that they knew was rain beating
on the water.
“A cloudburst!” muttered Mollie, adding, suddenly: “Did you cover the
_Gem_, Betty?”
The Little Captain nodded and made a swift movement toward the tent.
“Get inside, everybody,” she commanded. “This is going to be a
beautiful storm once it reaches us. Might as well stay dry as long as
we can.”
They had barely crowded into the tent when the rain overtook them,
tearing down in a solid, sheeting torrent. Betty pulled the flap taut,
fastening it securely.
At the same moment Mollie rushed over to the window in the back of the
tent, pulling down its covering of canvas.
“All secure so far,” she said, trying to make her voice sound cheerful.
“Now let’s hope the tent will hold up.”
“Let’s light the torches, somebody,” cried Betty. “And when we’ve found
the matches we can light some candles, too. In about two minutes we’ll
be as cozy as bugs in a rug.”
It was impossible to withstand Betty’s optimism, and in a short time,
with the aid of plentiful candle light, they were not only feeling
more resigned about the storm but were even beginning to enjoy the
novelty of it.
“Rain cease, tent be water-tight,” chanted Grace, raising her eyes
aloft. “Be water-tight, tent----”
“You needn’t be so prayerful about it,” chuckled Betty. “Do you suppose
the boys would have lent it to us, if it hadn’t been water-tight?”
“I’m just putting in my plea for good measure,” explained Grace. “Whew,
I never did hear such a storm.”
“It’s awful,” agreed Mollie, rising restlessly and walking over to the
flap of the tent. She stood there a moment, then, shaking her head as
though satisfied, returned to her seat.
A few minutes later, however, she repeated the action, standing so long
by the tent flap this time that Betty was moved to comment.
“What’s the matter, honey?” she asked, adding flippantly: “If you’re
waiting for the boys you’re wasting your time. They’re not due till
to-morrow, you know.”
Instead of answering, Mollie made an imperative little gesture with her
hand. Startled, Betty joined her silently and was still further alarmed
to find that Mollie was trembling.
“There’s somebody out there, Betty,” she said, in a stage whisper.
“Are you game to--lift--the flap----”
For answer Betty stooped and began untying the cord that held the flap
while Grace and Amy came over to see what was wrong. Before they could
speak, Mollie motioned them to silence and they stood, frozen into
immobility, fearing they knew not what.
Swift as thought, Betty flung back the flap of the tent, shading her
eyes to see out into the dark. A wild gust of wind rushed viciously
into the tent.
At the same moment out in the night two black figures flung into the
woodland, crouched almost double, running. Over Betty’s shoulder
Mollie had seen also, and now she clasped the Little Captain’s arm
convulsively.
“Come inside, Betty, come inside!” she cried wildly, and dazedly Betty
obeyed, letting fall the flap of the tent. It flung crazily back
and forth, whipped by the savage wind, but the Little Captain never
noticed. She was regarding the girls with dilated eyes.
“That time,” she whispered, “I saw for myself!”