Leaving Camp.
Bright and early they are all up and dressed, only as anxious to be off
as they were to get here the beginning of the season.
Long before there is any possibility of the wagons coming for them they
stand, looking up the road, like sister Anne in the story of Bluebeard.
Some of them are really ready. Most of them are not. It is always at the
last moment that one finds most important articles that ought to have
been snugly stowed away in the bottom of the trunks, lying under the
bed.
One boy is stuffing all his soiled clothes in his rubber boots. Not such
a bad idea. You cannot make rubber boots go into a tiny little place,
so may as well fill them up.
Another is tearing everything out of his trunk to repack it, having
found that there is no room on top for his blankets. Still another
solves his problem by throwing away everything he thinks he won't need
for the winter. Whether that suits his parents as well as it does him
history sayeth not.
How the average mother is able to put such quantities of clothes and
shoes and sporting goods in that same trunk before it left home and have
room to spare has always been a mystery to him. Maybe if the mothers
were to let the boy himself do his packing, while they looked on, it
would teach the boy a good practical lesson, and at the end of the
season prevent many a heartache.
By the time breakfast is over the wagons begin to arrive. Those who are
ready make a wild dash for the best-looking rig. "But not so quick, my
friend. You may as well climb out and wait for your instructors, who are
going along with you. No need of crowding. There is plenty of room for
all."
Are they really so anxious to be off, or is it just the last bit of Camp
frolic? At the same time, from previous experience, my advice is to take
it easy up to a certain point. On this, our last day in Camp don't let
us neglect one thing that we ought to do for the good of the Camp, and
yet while we are putting everything in place, locking up all the
articles that ought to be locked, at the same time you help half a
hundred boys to get their belongings together.
Tie one of the little boy's shoe laces, lend another one a collar
button, give a safety pin to another, find a lost hat for a third, put a
bandage on a fourth, close up bags, open trunks, strap suit cases,
fetch, carry and help anywhere, any one, anybody. Of course, you are
going to do all this. In your inmost heart you hope you will be able to
take one farewell swim, and still have time to dress like a civilized
being, but nothing is certain here.
Just as you decide to put the drugs away and empty the bottles out so
they won't freeze during the winter, one of the boys comes into the
hospital to have a cut dressed. "How on the face of the earth did you do
that? And on the last day, too. Pity you could not remember to cut
yourself during office hours." His excuse is that he found his pocket
knife that he thought he had lost, in his other pants. Was so glad to
see it that he just opened it to see if it would cut. It did.
We wash the wound, tie it up and shoo him out. Are we ever going to get
away?
We had always divided the season into three periods, calling them as
they affected us, Mad, Glad and Sad.
Mad the first part, until everything got into working order. Glad the
second part, because things were going along all right, and Sad the last
part, because we hated to leave.
But to-day we have reversed it, and the Sad is first; the Mad is last.
As I said a little while ago, my advice up to a certain point is to take
it easy, but in order to do so you had better carefully follow this
recipe:
Take one horse, one wagon, one set of harness and one whip. You can, if
you wish, separate them, or, if you have room, leave them together.
Watch your opportunity and hide them deep in the woods, where they can
keep cool and quiet. When you are ready to use them step very carefully
up to the horse, grasp the bridle and, jumping into the wagon, with the
whip in your hand, drive off.
You might invite one or two of your friends to go along, but be sure to
leave a seat for yourself.
We have often heard of people sprinting for a wager, and we have been an
eye-witness of people who sprinted for a train, because they stayed back
too long. Therefore, by following the above famous recipe, you will find
it digestible and not hard to prepare.
Now, having left Camp at last, we have another most beautiful ride
through shady roads, where the foliage is turning all colors, where
Nature with a most lavish paint brush is tinting the maples, turning
the apples into balls of gold and red, causing the golden rod to look
like a golden border alongside the road. What a riot of color! Wild
astors, gentian, foxgloves, everlasting flowers shading from yellow to
darkest brown!
Summer still here, but autumn creeping in a little further each day!
Every minute of that drive is pleasure. We laugh. We sing. We joke with
each other. What good friends we have all become! And yet how sad to
think that in a few short hours we may part, perhaps never to meet
again. Is it any wonder that I, who have had many partings, should feel
sad? Is life only to be made up of partings? Or are we to look forward
to happy meetings?
Who knows? Anyway, nothing is to be gained by spoiling our last few
hours together. So again let us be merry and bright, adopting for our
motto, "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."
The farmers come to the doors of the farm-houses to bid us good-bye and
Godspeed. The same motherly cows stand looking at us with their serious
eyes. The same frisky calves run along on the inside of the fence, a
little older, a little wiser, but still recognizing kindred spirits
among us, as when we travelled this road a few short weeks ago.
How quickly the time has flown! It is only impetuous youth who desires
the time to fly. In later years he dreads to see it pass so quickly. If
it is a long lane that never has a turning, then ours has been quite a
long one. At last we come in sight of the depot.
What a merry crowd! It is quite an event to see us come and go, almost
as good as the circus, but much cheaper.
Any of the Campers who have any change left are busily trying to get rid
of it. They don't mean to be caught with any money on them when they get
home if they can help it. The druggist, the fruit store, the candy shop,
all get their share, and when the train pulls in, the boys can happily
state that they have only car fare left.
The ride on the train affords plenty of enjoyment to old and young. The
passengers who are not Campers are very much amused at the antics of
those that are.
When they were going to Camp, they spent the hours before they got there
by saying all they were going to do; now on leaving, they entertain each
other by retailing all the fun they have had while there.
We get back to Portland in plenty of time for supper.
Everything looks clean, dainty and appetizing. The boys tuck in as
though they never knew when they were going to get another square feed.
At last Nature, good old soul that she is, cried, "Stop or take the
consequences," and most of them did. One or two who thought they had
room for just a little more stowed away enough to give them a nice
little stomach-ache, which ought to have taught them better.
After supper we went aboard the train, and settled ourselves comfortably
until it was time to start.
Our berths were assigned to us and, as on our outward trip, the little
shavers were put together at one end of the car in charge of instructors
and Biddy.
Soon after we were all aboard, the train drew out of the station. For
some little time, boys visited one another in the different cars. Then
the long-lost bugle was discovered. The bugler was summoned and ordered
to blow "Quarters." Every man Jack of them at once obeyed, found out
where he was to sleep and in less than one hour, when Taps were sounded,
all were in bed.
For the last time the bugler stood in turn in every car sounding Taps,
the porter ready to put the lights out. In that narrow space it sounded
very loud, very clear and most beautiful.
"Good night, fellows; see you in the morning. Don't forget to come up to
the house to-morrow night."
"Here, you, stop taking all the bed clothes." "Oh, you chaps in that
upper berth, don't throw cracker crumbs around."
"Please, sir, can we have the window opened?" "Please, sir, can we have
the window closed?" Laughter, happiness and teasing until the last one
is asleep!
Throughout the long night nothing is heard but the click of the rails as
the train drives on, the brakeman passing through with his green and red
lanterns, the faithful instructors seeing that all are covered, our
beloved Director himself looking out for the welfare of his flock.
Biddy herself in her favorite corner. But like an old mother hen who has
carefully brought up the families of several other hens, now that her
chickens are able to scratch for themselves, and when nightfall comes
have wings strong enough to fly to the top of the roost, she feels she
can stretch her legs, then one wing, then the other, cramped by long
hovering, and with a sigh of complete satisfaction close her eyes in
sleep, secure in the thought that "He who slumbers not nor sleeps" will
watch and protect her flock.
We still have to get dressed on the train, and that is something to look
forward to.
Before daylight some of the boys are up and about. It is of no use
trying to sleep any more, so we may as well tidy ourselves up, wash our
faces, if there is any water, brush each other off, and try and look
just a bit tidy when we get to the station.
Parents and friends will be so happy to see us that they will forgive
us, no matter how wild and woolly we look.
To see such a company of tanned and healthy boys is well worth coming to
the depot and waiting for belated trains.
As we hand over the last boy to his folks, what a lot of satisfaction it
affords us to know and feel we have played the game fair, and given
every one a square deal!
Once more we hear the Camp calls, sounding strange here in the city.
Good byes are exchanged, thanks expressed, hopes for another season, and
at last they have all been taken away from us.
We can go our way in peace, tracing, with happy finger, the word that
ends our season's labor.
(Finis)
[Illustration]
Transcriber's Note: Obvious punctuation errors repaired.