GETTING SETTLED
Along the bluff overlooking the river, and half buried in the pine
trees, stretched a long, low, rustic building, the pillars of whose wide
piazza were made of tree trunks with the bark left on. A huge chimney
built of cobblestones almost covered the one end. The great pines
hovered over it protectingly; their branches caressing its roof as they
waved gently to and fro in the light breeze. On the peak of one of its
gables a little song sparrow, head tilted back and body a-tremble,
trilled forth an ecstasy of song.
"Isn't it be-yoo-tiful?" sighed Hinpoha, her artistic soul delighting in
the lovely scene before her. "I wonder what that house is for?"
"I don't know," replied Sahwah, equally enchanted. "There's another
house behind it, farther up on the hill."
This second house was much larger than the bungalow overhanging the
water's edge; it, too, was built in rustic fashion, with tree-trunks for
porch posts; it was long and rambling, and had an additional story at
the back, where the hill sloped away.
It was into this latter house that the crowd of girls was pouring, and
the Winnebagos, following the others, found themselves in a large dining
room, open on three sides to the veranda, and screened all around the
open space. On the fourth side was an enormous fireplace built of stones
like those they had seen in the chimney of the other house. Over its
wide stone shelf were the words CAMP KEEWAYDIN traced in small,
glistening blue pebbles in a cement panel. Although the day was hot, a
small fire of paper and pine knots blazed on the hearth, crackling a
cheery welcome to the newcomers as they entered. In the center of the
room two long tables and a smaller one were set for dinner, and from the
regions below came the appetizing odor of meat cooking, accompanied by
the portentous clatter of an egg beater.
There was apparently an attic loft above the dining-room, for next to
the chimney a square opening showed in the raftered ceiling, with a
ladder leading up through it, fastened against the wall below. Up this
ladder a dozen or more of the younger girls scrambled as soon as they
entered the room; laughing, shrieking, tumbling over each other in their
haste; and after a moment of thumping and bouncing about, down they all
came dancing, clad in middies and bloomers, and raced, whooping like
Indians, down the path which led to the tents.
"Are we supposed to get into our bloomers right away?" Oh-Pshaw
whispered to Agony. "Ours are in the trunk, and it hasn't been brought
up yet."
"I don't believe we are," Agony returned, watching Mary Sylvester, who
stood talking to Pom-pom in the doorway of the Camp Director's office.
"None of the older girls are doing it; just the youngsters."
Just then Mrs. Grayson, the Camp Director's wife, came out of the office
and announced that dinner would be served immediately, after which the
tent assignments would be made. The Winnebagos found themselves seated
in a row down the side of one of the long tables, being served by a
jolly-looking, muscular-armed councilor, who turned out to be the Camp
Director's daughter, and who had her section of the table feeling at
home in no time.
"Seven of you from one city!" she remarked to the Winnebagos, when she
had called the roll of "native heaths," as she put it. "That's one of
the largest delegations we have here. You all look like star campers,
too," she added, sizing them up shrewdly. "Seven stars!" she repeated,
evidently pleased with her simile. "We'll have to call you the Pleiades.
We already have the Nine Muses from New York, the Twelve Apostles from
Boston, the Heavenly Twins from Chicago and the Three Graces from
Minneapolis, beside the Lone Wolf from Labrador, the Kangaroo from
Australia, and the Elephant's Child from India."
"Oh, how delicious!" cried Sahwah delightedly. "Do you really mean that
there are girls here from Australia and India?" Sahwah set down her
water glass and gazed incredulously at Miss Judith. Miss Judith nodded
over the pudding she was dishing up.
"The Kangaroo and the Lone Wolf are councilors," she replied, "but the
Elephant's Child is a girl, the daughter of a missionary to India. She
goes to boarding school here in America in the winter time, and always
spends her summers at our camp. That is she, sitting at the end of the
other table, next to mother."
The Winnebagos glanced with quick interest to see what the girl from
India might be like, and somewhat to their surprise saw that she was no
different from the others. They recognized her as one of the younger
girls who had been hanging over Pom-pom on the boat.
"Oh--she!" breathed Agony.
"What is her name?" asked Hinpoha, feeling immensely drawn to the girl,
not because she came from India, but because she was even stouter than
herself.
"Her name is Bengal Virden," replied Miss Judith.
"Bengal?" repeated Sahwah. "What an odd name. I suppose she was born in
Bengal?"
"Yes, she was born there," replied Miss Judith. "She is a rather odd
child," she continued, "but an all round good sport. Her mother died
when she was small and she was brought up by her father until she was
old enough to be sent to America, and since then she has divided her
time between boarding schools and summer camps. She has a very
affectionate nature, and gets tremendous crushes on the people she
likes. Last summer it was Pom-pom, and she nearly wore her out with her
adoration, although Pom-pom likes that sort of thing."
"Who is Pom-pom?" asked Agony curiously. "I have heard her name
mentioned so many times."
"Pom-pom is our dancing teacher," replied Miss Judith. "She is the
pretty councilor over there at the lower end of mother's table. All the
girls get violent crushes on her," she continued, looking the Winnebagos
over with a quizzical eye, as if to say that it would only be a short
time before they, too, would be lying at Pom-pom's feet, another band of
adoring slaves. Without knowing why, Agony suddenly felt unaccountably
foolish under Miss Judith's keen glance, and taking her eyes from
Pom-pom, she let them rove leisurely over the long line of girls at her
own table.
"Who is the girl sitting third from the end on this side?" she asked,
indicating the heavy-jawed individual who had made the impolite remark
on the boat about Hinpoha, and who had just now pushed back her pudding
dish with an emphatic movement after tasting one spoonful, and had
turned to her neighbor with a remark which made the one addressed
glance uncomfortably toward the councilor who was serving that section.
Miss Judith followed Agony's glance. "That," she replied in a
non-committal tone, "is Jane Pratt. Will anyone have any more pudding?"
The pudding was delicious--chocolate with custard sauce--and Miss Judith
was immediately busy refilling a half dozen dishes all proffered her at
once. Agony made a mental note that Miss Judith had made no comment
whatever upon Jane Pratt, although she had evidently been in camp the
year before, and she drew her own conclusions about Jane's popularity.
"Who is Mary Sylvester?" Agony asked presently.
"Mary Sylvester," repeated Miss Judith in a tone which caught the
attention of all the Winnebagos, it was so full of affection. "Mary
Sylvester is the salt of the earth," Miss Judith continued warmly.
"She's the brightest, loveliest, most kind-hearted girl I've ever met,
and I've met a good many. She can't help being popular; she's as jolly
as she is pretty, and as unassuming as she is talented. For an all
around good camper 'we will never see her equal, though we search the
whole world through,' as the camp song runs."
Agony looked over to where Mary Sylvester sat, the center of an animated
group, and yearned with all her heart to be so prominent and so much
noticed.
"I heard someone on the boat say that she would probably get the Buffalo
Robe this year; that she had almost gotten it last year," continued
Agony. "What is the Buffalo Robe, please?"
"The Buffalo Robe," replied Miss Judith, "is a large leather skin upon
which the chief events of each camping season are painted in colors, and
at the end of the summer it goes to the girl who is voted the most
popular. She keeps it through the winter and returns it to us when camp
opens the next year."
"Oh-h," breathed Agony, mightily interested. "And who got it last year?"
"Peggy Atterbury," said Miss Judith. "You'll hear all about her before
very long. All the old girls are going to tie black ribbons on their
tent poles tomorrow morning because she isn't coming back this year. She
was another rare spirit like Mary Sylvester, only a bit more prominent,
because she saved a girl from drowning one day."
Agony's heart swelled with ambition and desire as she listened to Miss
Judith telling about the Buffalo Robe. A single consuming desire burned
in her soul--to win that Buffalo Robe. Nothing else mattered now; no
other laurel she might possibly win held out any attraction; she must
carry off the great honor. She would show Nyoda what a great quality of
leadership she possessed; there would be no question of Nyoda's making
her a Torch Bearer when she came home with the Buffalo Robe. Thus her
imagination soared until she pictured herself laying the significant
trophy at Nyoda's feet and heard Nyoda's words of congratulation. A
sudden doubt assailed her in the midst of her dream.
"Do new girls ever win the Buffalo Robe?" she asked in a voice which she
tried hard to make sound disinterested.
"Yes, certainly," replied Miss Judith. "Peggy Atterbury was a new girl
last year, and the girl who won it the year before last was a new girl
also."
Her doubt thus removed, Agony returned to her pleasant day dream with
greater longing than ever. The conversation at their table was
interrupted by shouts from the next group.
"Oh, Miss Judy, please, please, can't we live in the Alley?"
Another group farther down the table took up the cry, and the room
echoed with clamorous requests to live either "in the Alley" or "on the
Avenue." The Elephant's Child came in at the end with a fervent plea:
"Please, can't I be in Pom-pom's tent _this_ year?"
"Tent lists are all made out," replied Miss Judith blandly. "You'll all
find out in a few moments where you're to be." She sat calmly amid the
buzz of excited speculation.
"What do they mean by living 'in the Alley'?" asked Sahwah curiously.
"There are two rows of tents," replied Miss Judith. "The first one is
called the Avenue and the second one the Alley. This end of camp, where
the bungalows are, is known as the Heights, and the other end the Flats.
There is always a great rivalry in camp between the dwellers in the
Alley and the dwellers on the Avenue, and the two compete for the
championship in sports."
"Oh, how jolly!" cried Sahwah eagerly. "Where are we to be?" she
continued, filled with a sudden burning desire to live in the Alley.
"You'll know soon," said Miss Judith, with another one of her quizzical
smiles, and with that the Winnebagos had to be content.
In a few moments dinner was finished and Mrs. Grayson rose and read the
tent assignments. The tents all had names, it appeared; there was Bedlam
and Avernus, Jabberwocky, Hornets, Nevermore, Gibraltar, Tamaracks,
Fairview, Woodpeckers, Ravens, All Saints, Aloha, and a number of others
which the Winnebagos could not remember at one hearing. Three girls and
one councilor were assigned to each tent. Sahwah and Agony and Hinpoha
heard themselves called to go to Gitchee-Gummee; Gladys and Migwan were
put with Bengal Virden, the Elephant's Child from India, into a tent
called Ponemah; while Katherine and Oh-Pshaw were assigned, without any
tentmate, to "Bedlam." The Winnebagos smiled involuntarily when this
last assignment was read, knowing how well Katherine's erratic nature
befitted the name of the place. Gitchee-Gummee, Sahwah found to her
delight, was the tent nearest the woods; next to it, but on the other
side of a small gully, spanned by a rustic bridge, came Aloha, Pom-pom's
tent; on the other side of Aloha stood Ponemah, in the shadow of twin
pines of immense height; while Bedlam was farther along in the same row,
just beyond Avernus. Avernus, the Winnebagos noticed to their amusement,
was a tent pitched in a deep hollow, the approach to which was a rocky
passage down a steep hillside, strikingly suggestive of the classical
entrance way to the nether regions. Only the ridgepole of Avernus was
visible from the level upon which Bedlam stood, all the rest of it being
hidden by the high rocks which surround it. Bedlam, on the other hand,
was built on a height, and commanded a view of nearly all the other
tents, being itself a conspicuous object in the landscape.
To their secret joy, the Winnebagos saw that their tents were all in the
back row, in the Alley. Agony, especially, was exultant, since she saw
that Mary Sylvester was also in the Alley. Mary was in Aloha, Pom-pom's
tent, right next door, and Agony had a feeling that wherever Mary
Sylvester was, there would be the center of things, and being right next
door might have its advantages.
"We're going to have Miss Judith for a councilor," remarked Sahwah
joyfully, as she dumped her armful of blankets down on one of the
beds--the one on the side toward the woods.
"I wonder which bed she would like," said Hinpoha, standing irresolutely
in the center of the floor with her armful of bedding.
"Here she comes now," announced Agony. "Let's wait and ask her."
"Well, she wouldn't want _this_ one anyway," remarked Sahwah, as she
straightened the mattress on her bed preparatory to spreading the
sheets, "it sags in the middle like everything. I didn't take the best
one if I did take first choice"--a fact which was apparent to all.
Bedlam's councilor, who had been announced as Miss Armstrong, from
Australia, had already staked her claim when Katherine and Oh-Pshaw
arrived, although she herself was nowhere in sight. One of the beds was
made up and covered with a blanket of such dazzling gorgeousness that
the two girls were almost blinded, and after one look turned their eyes
outdoors for relief. All colors of the rainbow ran riot in that blanket,
each one trying to outdo the others in brilliancy and intensity, until
the effect was a veritable Vesuvius eruption of infernal splendors.
"Think of having to live with _that_!" exclaimed Oh-Pshaw tragically.
"My eyesight will be ruined in one day. Imagine the effect after I get
out my pink and gray one."
"And my lavender one!" added Katherine.
"We won't ever dare roll up the sides of our tent," continued Oh-Pshaw.
"We'll look like a beacon fire, up here on this hill. Our tent is
visible from the whole camp."
"Cheer up," said Katherine philosophically, "maybe there are others just
as bad. Anyway, let's not act as if we minded; it might make Miss
Armstrong feel badly. She probably thinks it's handsome, or she wouldn't
have it. Coming from Australia that way, she may have quite savage
tastes."
"I wonder what she'll be like," ruminated Oh-Pshaw, standing on one foot
to tie the sneaker she had just substituted for her high traveling shoe.
As if in answer to her wondering, a clear, far-carrying call came to the
ears of both girls at that moment. "Coo-_ee_! Coo-_ee_! Coo-_ee_!"
"What is that?" asked Oh-Pshaw, pausing in her shoe lacing with one foot
poised airily in space.
The call was repeated just outside their tent door, and then trailed off
into silence.
"Is that someone calling to us?" asked Katherine, hurriedly pulling her
middy on over her head and throwing back the tent flap. No one was in
sight outside.
"Must have been for someone else," she reported, looking right and left
along the pathway. "There's nobody out here."
She came back into the tent and began arranging her small possessions on
the shelf which swung overhead.
"How I'm ever going to keep all my things on one-third of this shelf is
more--" she began, but her speech ended in a startled gasp, for the
floor of the tent suddenly heaved up in the center, sending bottles,
brushes and boxes tumbling in all directions. The board which had thus
heaved up so miraculously continued to rise at one end, and underneath
it a pair of long, lean, powerful-looking arms came into view, followed
by a head and a pair of shoulders. Katherine and Oh-Pshaw sat petrified
at the apparition.
"Did I scare you, girls?" asked a deep, strong voice, and the apparition
looked gravely from one to the other. It was a dark-skinned face,
bronzed by wind and weather to a coppery, Indian-like tinge, and the
hair which framed it was coarse and black. Only the head and shoulders
of the apparition were visible beside the arms, the rest being concealed
in the depths underneath the tent, but the breadth of those shoulders
indicated clearly what might be expected in the way of a body. After a
moment of roving back and forth between the two girls, the dark eyes
under the heavy eyebrows fastened themselves upon Katherine with a
mournful intensity of gaze that held her spellbound, speechless. After a
full moment's scrutiny the dark eyes dropped, and the apparition, using
her arms as levers, raised herself to the level of the floor and stood
up. She was taller even than they had expected from the breadth of her
shoulders; in fact, she seemed taller than the tent itself. Katherine,
who up until that moment had considered herself tall, felt like a pigmy
beside her, or, as she expressed it, "like Carver Hill suddenly set down
beside one of the Alps." Never had she seen such a monumental young
woman; such suggestion of strength and vigor contained in a feminine
frame.
Oh-Pshaw looked timidly at the human Colossus standing in the middle of
the tent, and inquired meekly, "Are you Miss Armstrong? Are you our
Councilor?"
"I am," replied the newcomer gravely, replacing the board in the floor
with a nonchalance which conveyed the impression that coming up through
floors was her usual manner of entering places.
"Why did you come in that way?" burst out Katherine, unable to contain
her curiosity any longer.
"Oh, I just happened to be under the tent," replied Miss Armstrong,
speaking in a drawling voice with a marked English accent, "looking for
the broom, when I spied that loose board and thought I'd come in that
way. It was less trouble than coming out and going around to the steps."
"Less trouble," echoed Katherine. "I should think it would have been
more trouble raising that heavy board with my suitcase standing on it."
"Was your suitcase on it?" inquired Miss Armstrong casually. "I didn't
notice."
"Didn't notice!" repeated Katherine in astonishment. "It weighs thirty
pounds."
"I weigh two hundred and thirty," returned Miss Armstrong
conversationally.
"You do!" exclaimed Katherine in amazement. "You certainly don't look
it." Indeed, it seemed incredible that Miss Armstrong, tall as she was,
could possibly weigh so much, for she looked lean and gaunt as a wolf
hound.
"You must be awfully strong, to have raised that board," Katherine
continued, squinting at the muscular brown arms, which seemed solid as
iron.
For answer Miss Armstrong took a step forward, picked Katherine up as if
she had been a feather, threw her over her shoulder like a sack of
potatoes, held her there for a moment head downward, and then swung her
up and set her lightly on the hanging shelf, while Oh-Pshaw looked on
round-eyed and open-mouthed with astonishment.
Just then a shadow appeared in the doorway, and Katherine looked down
to see a shrinking little figure with pipestem legs standing on the top
step.
"Hello!" Katherine called gaily, from her airy perch. "Are you our
neighbor from Avernus? Do you want anything?" she added, for the girl
was swallowing nervously, and seemed to be on the verge of making a
request.
"Will somebody please show me how to make a bed?" faltered the visitor
in a thin, piping voice. "It isn't made, and I don't know how to do it."
"Daggers and dirks!" exploded Katherine, nearly falling off the shelf
under the stress of her emotion.
"What's the matter with the rest of the folks in Avernus--can't they
make beds either?" asked Miss Armstrong, surveying the wisp of a girl in
the doorway with an intent, solemn gaze that sent her into a tremble of
embarrassment.
"My 'tenty' hasn't come yet," she faltered in reply.
"Who's your councilor?"
"I don't know; she isn't there." The voice broke on the last words, and
the blue eyes overflowed with tears.
Katherine leaped from the shelf to the bed and down to the floor. "I'll
come over and help you make your bed," she said kindly.
"All right," said Miss Armstrong, nodding gravely. "You go over with her
and I'll find out who's councilor in Avernus and send her around."
To herself she added, when the other two were out of earshot, "Baby's
away from it's mother for the first time, and it's homesick."
"Poor thing," said Oh-Pshaw, who had overheard Miss Armstrong's remark.
"She'll get over it," replied Miss Armstrong prophetically.
If Miss Armstrong was a novelty to the tenants of Bedlam, the councilor
in Ponemah also seemed an odd character to the three girls she was to
chaperon--only she was a much less agreeable surprise. She was a stout,
fussy woman of about forty with thick eye-glasses which pinched the
corners of her eyes into a strained expression. She greeted the girls
briefly when they presented themselves to her, and in the next breath
began giving orders about the arrangement of the tent. The beds must
stand thus and so; the washstand must be on the other side from where it
was; the mirror must stay on this side. And she must have half of the
swinging shelf for her own; she could not possibly do with less; the
others could get along as best they might with what was left.
"We're supposed to divide the shelf up equally," announced Bengal
Virden, who had begun to look upon Miss Peckham--that was her name--with
extreme disapproval from the moment of their introduction. Bengal was a
girl whose every feeling was written plainly upon her face; she could
not mask her emotions under an inscrutable countenance. Her dislike of
Miss Peckham was so evident that Migwan and Gladys had expected an
outbreak before this; but Bengal had merely stood scowling while the
beds were being moved about. With the episode of the swinging shelf,
however, she flared into open defiance.
"We're all to have an equal share of the shelf," she repeated.
"Nonsense," replied Miss Peckham in an emphatic tone. "I'm a councilor
and I need more space."
Bengal promptly burst into tears. "I want to be in Pom-pom's tent!" she
wailed, and fled from the scene, to throw herself upon Pom-pom in the
next tent and pour out her tale of woe.
Migwan and Gladys looked at each other rather soberly as they went out
to fill their water pitcher.
"What a strange person to have as councilor," ventured Gladys. "I
thought councilors at camps were always as sweet as they could be. Miss
Peckham looks as though she could be horrid without half trying."
"Maybe it's just her way, though," replied Migwan good temperedly. "She
may be very nice inside after we get to know her. She's probably never
been a councilor before, and thinks she must show her authority."
"Authority!" cried Gladys. "But we're not babies; we're grown up. I'm
afraid she's not going to be a very agreeable proctor."
"Oh, well," replied Migwan gently, "let's make the best of her and have
a good time anyway. We mustn't let her spoil our fun for us. We'll
probably find something to like in her before long."
"I wish I had your angelic disposition," sighed Gladys, "but I just
can't like people when they rub me the wrong way, and Miss Peckham does
that to me."
"There's going to be trouble with the Elephant's Child," remarked Migwan
soberly. "She has already taken a strong dislike to Miss Peckham, and
she is still childish enough to show it."
"Yes, I'm afraid there will be trouble between Bengal and Miss Peckham,"
echoed Gladys, "and we'll be constantly called upon to make peace. It's
a role I'm not anxious for."
"Let's not worry about it beforehand," said Migwan, charmed into a
blissful attitude of mind toward the whole world by the sheer beauty of
the scene that unrolled before her. The river, tinged by the long rays
of the late afternoon sun, gleamed like a river of living gold, blinding
her eyes and setting her to dreaming of magic seas and far countries.
She stood very still for many minutes, lost in golden fancies, until
Gladys took her gently by the arm.
"Come, Migwan, are you going to day-dream here forever? There is the
spring we are looking for, just at the end of that little path."
Migwan came slowly out of her reverie and followed Gladys down the hill
to the spring.
"It's all so beautiful," she sighed in ecstasy, turning to look back
once more at the shimmering water, "it just makes me _ache_. It makes
everything unworthy in me want to crawl away and lose itself, while
everything good in me wants to sing. Don't you feel that way about it,
too?"
"Something like that," replied Gladys softly. "When Nature is so lovely,
it makes me want to be lovely, too, to match. I don't see how anyone
could ever be angry here, or selfish, or mean. It's just like being made
over, with all the bad left out."
"It does seem that way," replied Migwan.
"Here is the spring!" cried both girls in unison, as they reached the
end of the path and came upon a deep, rocky basin, filled with crystal
clear water that gushed out from the rock above their heads, trickling
down through ferns to be caught and held in the pool below, so still and
shining that it reflected the faces of the two girls like a mirror.
"Oh-h!" breathed Migwan in rapture, sinking down among the ferns and
lilies that bordered the spring and dabbling her fingers in the limpid
water, "I feel just like a wood-nymph, or a naiad, or whatever those
folks were that lived by the springs and fountains in the Greek
mythology."
Withdrawing her fingers from the water and clasping her hands loosely
around her knees, she began to recite idly:
"Dian white-armed has given me this cool shrine,
Deep in the bosom of a wood of pine;
The silver sparkling showers
That hive me in, the flowers
That prink my fountain's brim, are hers and mine;
And when the days are mild and fair,
And grass is springing, buds are blowing,
Sweet it is, 'mid waters flowing,
Here to sit and know no care,
'Mid the waters flowing, flowing, flowing,
Combing my yellow, yellow hair."
"That poem must have been written about this very place," she added,
dreamily gazing into the shadowy depths of the pool beside her.
"Who wrote it?" inquired Gladys.
"I've forgotten," replied Migwan. "I learned it once in Literature, a
long time ago."
Both girls were silent, gazing meditatively into the pool, like
_ gazing into a future-revealing crystal, each absorbed in her
own day dreams. They were startled by the sound of a clear, musical
piping, coming apparently from the tangle of bushes behind them. Now
faint, now louder, it swelled and died away on the breeze, now fairly
startling in its joyousness, now plaintive as the wind sighing among
the reeds in some lonely spot after nightfall; alluring, thrilling,
mocking by turns; elusive as the strains of fairy pipers; utterly
ravishing in its sweetness.
Migwan and Gladys lifted their heads and looked at each other in wonder.
"Pipes of Pan!" exclaimed Migwan, and both girls glanced around, half
expecting to see the graceful form of a faun gliding toward them among
the trees. Nothing was to be seen, but the piping went on, merrily as
before, rising, falling, swelling, dying away in the distance, breaking
out again at near hand.
"Oh, what _is_ it?" cried Gladys. "Is it a bird?"
"It can't be a bird," replied Migwan, "it's a _tune--sort_ of a tune.
No, I wouldn't exactly call it a tune, either, but it's different from a
bird call. It sounds like pipes--fairy pipes--Pipes of Pan. Oh-h-h! Just
_listen_! What _can_ it be?"
The clear tones had leaped a full octave, and with a mingled sound of
pipes and flutes went trilling deliriously on a high note until the
listeners held their breath with delight. Then abruptly the piping
stopped, ending in a queer, unfinished way that tantalized their ears
for many minutes afterward, and held them motionless, spellbound,
waiting for the strain to be resumed. They listened in vain; the
mysterious piper called no more. Soon afterward a bugle pealed forth,
sounding the mess call, and coming to earth with a start, the two girls
raced back to Ponemah with their water pitcher and then hastened on
into the dining room, where the campers, now all clad in regulation blue
bloomers and white middies, were already assembled.