ON THE ROAD FROM ATLANTIS
"Would you like to come along?"
Agony, sitting alone on the pier, idly watching the river as it flowed
endlessly around its great curve, looked up to see Mary Sylvester
standing beside her. It was just after quiet hour and the rest of the
camp had gone on the regular Wednesday afternoon trip to the village to
buy picture postcards and elastic and Kodak films and all the various
small wares which girls in camp are in constant need of; and also to
regale themselves on ice-cream cones and root beer, the latter a
traditionally favorite refreshment of the Camp Keewaydin girls, being a
special home product of Mrs. Bayne, who kept the "trading post."
Agony had not joined the expedition this afternoon, because she needed
nothing in the way of supplies, and for once had no craving for root
beer, while she did want to finish a letter to her father that she had
commenced during rest hour. But the hilarity of the others as they piled
into the canoes to be towed up the river by the launch lured her down
to the dock to see them off--Miss Judy standing at the wheel of the
launch and Tiny Armstrong in the stern of the last canoe, as the head
and tail of the procession respectively. Beside Miss Judy in the launch
were all the Minnows, gazing longingly back at the ones who were allowed
to tow in the canoes. Only those who had taken the swimming test might
go into the canoes--towing or paddling or at any other time; this rule
of the camp was as inviolable as the laws of the Medes and the Persians.
And of those who could swim, only the Sharks might take out a canoe
without a councilor, and this privilege was also denied the Sharks if
they failed to demonstrate their ability to handle a canoe skilfully.
Sahwah and Hinpoha were among the new girls who had qualified for the
canoe privilege during the very first week; also Undine Girelle. The
other Winnebagos had to content themselves thus far with the privilege
of towing or paddling in a canoe that was in charge of a councilor or a
qualified Water Witch; all except Oh-Pshaw, who had to ride in the
launch.
Agony looked at Oh-Pshaw standing beside Miss Judy at the wheel,
laughing with her at some joke; at Sahwah and Undine sitting together in
the canoe right behind the launch, leaning luxuriously back against
their paddles, which they were using as back rests; heard Jean
Lawrence's infectious laugh floating back on the breeze; and she began
to regret that she had stayed at home. She found she was no longer in
the mood to finish her letter; she lingered on the pier after the
floating caravan had disappeared from view behind the trees on
Whaleback.
She looked up in surprise at the sound of Mary Sylvester's voice coming
from behind her on the dock.
"I thought you had gone to the village with the others," she said. "I
was almost sure I saw you in the boat with Pom-pom."
"No, I didn't go, you see," replied Mary. "I am going off on an
expedition of my own this afternoon. The woman who took care of me as a
child lives not far from here in a little village called
Atlantis--classic name! Mother asked me to look her up, and Mrs. Grayson
gave me permission to go over this afternoon. I'm going to row across
the river to that landing place where we got out the other night, leave
the boat in the bushes, and then follow the path through the woods. It's
about six miles to Atlantis--would you care to walk that far? It would
be twelve miles there and back, you know. I'm just ripe for a long hike
today, it's so cool and clear, but it's not nearly so pleasant going
alone as it would be to have someone along to talk to on the way.
Wouldn't you like to come along and keep me company? I can easily get
permission from Mrs. Grayson for you."
Agony was a trifle daunted at the thought of walking twelve miles in
one afternoon, but was so overwhelmed with secret gratification that the
prominent Mary Sylvester had invited her that she never once thought of
refusing.
"I'd love to go," she exclaimed animatedly, jumping up with alacrity. "I
was beginning to feel a wee bit bored sitting here doing nothing; I feel
ripe for a long hike myself."
"I'm so glad you do!" replied Mary Sylvester, with the utmost
cordiality. "Come on with me until I tell Mrs. Grayson that you are
coming with me."
Mrs. Grayson readily gave her permission for Agony to go with Mary.
There was very little that Mrs. Grayson would have refused Mary
Sylvester, so high did this clear-eyed girl stand in the regard of all
Camp directors, from the Doctor down. Mary was one of the few girls
allowed to go away from camp without a councilor; in fact, she sometimes
acted as councilor to the younger girls when a trip had to be made and
no councilor was free. Mrs. Grayson would willingly have trusted any
girl to Mary's care--or the whole camp, for that matter, should occasion
arise, knowing that her good sense and judgment could be relied upon. So
Agony, under Mary's wing, received the permission that otherwise would
not have been given her.
"Yes, it will be all right for you to go in your bloomers," said Mrs.
Grayson, in answer to Agony's question on the subject. "Our girls
always wear them to the villages about here; the people are accustomed
to seeing them. That green bloomer suit of yours is very pretty, Agony,"
she added, "even prettier than our regulation blue ones."
"I spilled syrup on my regular blue ones," replied Agony, "and had to
wash them out this morning; that's why I'm wearing these green ones. Do
you mind if I break up the camp color scheme for one day?"
"Not at all, under the circumstances," replied Mrs. Grayson, with a
smile. "If it's going to be a choice of green bloomers or none at all--"
She waved the laughing girls away and returned to the knotty problem in
accounts she had been working on when interrupted.
"Isn't she lovely?" exclaimed Mary enthusiastically, as they came out of
the bungalow and walked along the Alley path toward Gitchee-Gummee to
get Agony's hat. "She has such a way of trusting us girls that we just
couldn't disappoint her."
"She is lovely," echoed Agony, as they went up the steps of
Gitchee-Gummee.
"I think I'll leave a note for the girls telling them I won't be back at
supper time," said Agony, hastily pulling out her tablet. "They will be
wondering what has become of me."
It gave her no small thrill of pleasure to write that note and tuck it
under Hinpoha's hairbrush on the table: "Gone on a long hike with Mary
Sylvester; won't be back until bed time." How delightfully important and
prominent that sounded! The others admired Mary, too, but none of them
had been invited to go on a long hike with her. She, Agony, was being
drawn into that intimate inner circle of the Alley dwellers to which she
had hitherto aspired in vain.
They were soon across the river, with the boat fastened in the bushes,
and, leaving the shore, struck straight into the woods, following a path
that curved and twisted, but carried them ever toward the north, in the
direction where Atlantis lay. The way was cool and shady, the whiff of
the pines invigorating, and the distance uncoiled rapidly beneath the
feet of the two girls as they fared on with vigorous, springy footsteps
along the pleasant way. Ferns and wild flowers bordered the path; there
were brilliant cardinal flowers, pale forget-me-nots, slender blossomed
blue vervain, cheerful red lilies. In places where the woods were so
thick that the sun never penetrated, great logs lay about completely
covered with moss, looking like sofas upholstered in green, while the
round stones scattered about everywhere looked like hassocks and
footstools which belonged to the same set as the green sofas.
Once Mary stopped and crushed something under her foot, something white
that grew up beside the path.
"What was that?" asked Agony curiously.
"Deadly amanita," replied Mary. "It's a toadstool--a poisonous one."
"How can you tell a poisonous toadstool from a harmless one?" asked
Agony. "They all look alike to me."
"A poisonous one has a ring around the stem, and it grows up out of a
'poison cup,'" explained Mary. "See, here are some more."
Agony drew back as Mary pointed out another clump of the pale spores,
innocent enough looking in their resemblance to the edible mushroom, but
base villians at heart; veritable Borgias of the woods.
"Aren't you afraid to touch it?" asked Agony, as Mary tilted over a
sickly looking head and indicated the identifying ring and the poison
cup.
"No danger," replied Mary. "They're only poisonous if you eat them."
"You know a great deal about the woods, don't you?" Agony said
respectfully.
"I ought to," replied Mary. "I've camped in the woods for five summers.
You can't help finding out a few things, you know, even if you're as
stupid as I."
"You're not stupid!" said Agony emphatically, glad of the opportunity to
pay a compliment. "I'm the stupid one about things like that. I never
could remember all those things you call woodcraft. I declare, I've
forgotten already whether it's the poisonous ones that have the rings,
or the other kind."
Mary laughed and stood unconcernedly while a small snake ran over her
foot. "It's a good thing Miss Peckham isn't here," she remarked. "Did
you ever see anything so funny as that coral snake business of hers?"
she added, laughing good naturedly. "Poor Miss Peckham won't be allowed
to forget that episode all summer. It's too bad she resents it so. She
could get no end of fun out of it if she could only see the funny side."
"Yes, it's too bad," agreed Agony. "The more she resents it the more the
girls will tease her about it."
"I'm sorry for her," continued Mary. "She's never had any experience
being a councilor and it's all new to her. She's never been teased
before. She'll soon see that it happens to everybody else, too, and then
she'll feel differently about it. Look at the way everybody makes fun of
Tiny Armstrong's blanket, and her red bathing suit, and her gaudy
stockings; but she never gets cross about it. Tiny's a wonder," she
added enthusiastically. "Did you see her demonstrating the Australian
Crawl yesterday in swimming hour? She has a stroke like the propeller of
a boat. I never saw anything so powerful."
"If Tiny ever assaulted anyone in earnest there wouldn't be anything
left of them," said Agony. "She's a regular Amazon. They ought to call
her Hypolita instead of Tiny."
"And yet, she's just as gentle as she is powerful," replied Mary. "She
wouldn't hurt a fly if she could help it. Neither would she do anything
mean to anybody, or show partiality in the swimming tests. She's
absolutely fair and square; that's why all the girls accept her
decisions without a complaint, even when they're disappointed. Everybody
says she is the best swimming teacher they've ever had here at camp.
Once they had an instructor who had a special liking for a certain girl
who couldn't manage to learn to swim, and because that girl was wild to
go in a canoe on one of the trips the instructor pretended that she had
given her an individual test on the afternoon before the trip, and told
Mrs. Grayson the girl had passed it. The girl was allowed to go in a
canoe and on the trip it upset and she was very nearly drowned before
the others realized that she could not swim. Tiny isn't like that," she
continued. "She would lose her best friend rather than tell a lie to get
her a favor that she didn't deserve. I hate cheats!" she burst out
vehemently, her fine eyes flashing. "If girls can't win honors fairly
they ought to go without them."
This random conversation upon one and another of the phases of camp
life, illustrating as it did Mary's rigid code of honor, was destined to
recur many times to Agony in the weeks that followed, with a poignant
force that etched every one of Mary's speeches ineradicably upon her
brain. Just now it was nothing more to her than small talk to which she
replied in kind.
They stopped after a bit to drink from a clear spring that bubbled up in
the path, and sat down to rest awhile under a huge tree. Mary leaned her
head back against the trunk and drawing a small book from her sweater
pocket she opened it upon her knee.
"What is the book?" asked Agony.
"_The Desert Garden_, by Edwin Langham," replied Mary.
"Oh, do you know _The Desert Garden_?" cried Agony in delighted wonder.
"I've actually lived on that book for the last two years. I'm wild about
Edwin Langham. I've read every word he's ever written. Have you read
_The Silent Years_?"
Mary nodded.
"_The Lost Chord_? I think that's the most wonderful book I've ever
read, that and _The Desert Garden._ If I could ever see and speak to
Edwin Langham I should die from happiness. I've never felt that way
about any other author. When I read his books I feel reverent somehow,
as if I were in church, although there isn't a word of religion in them.
The things he writes are so fine and true and noble; he must be that way
himself. Do you remember that part about the bird in _The Desert Garden,
_ the bird with the broken wing, that would never fly again, singing to
the lame man who would never walk? And the flower that was so determined
to blossom that it grew in the desert and bloomed there?"
"Yes," answered Mary, "it was very beautiful."
"It's the most beautiful thing that was ever written!" declared Agony
enthusiastically. "It would be the greatest joy of my life to see the
man who wrote those books."
"Maybe you will, some day," said Mary, rising from her mossy seat and
preparing to take the path again.
It was not long after that that they came to the edge of the woods, and
saw before them the scattered houses of the little village of Atlantis.
Mary's old nurse was overjoyed to see her, and pressed the two girls to
stay and eat big soft ginger cookies on the shady back porch, and quench
their thirst with glasses of cool milk, while she inquired minutely
after the health of Mary's "ma" and "pa."
"Mrs. Simmons is the best old nurse that ever was," said Mary to Agony,
as they took their way back to the woods an hour later. "I'm so glad to
have had this opportunity of paying her a visit. I haven't seen her for
nearly ten years. Wasn't she funny, though, when I told her that father
might have to go to Japan in the interests of his firm? She thought
there was nobody in Japan but heathens and missionaries."
"Shall you go to Japan too, if your father goes?" asked Agony.
"I most likely shall," replied Mary. "I finished my school this June and
do not intend to go to college for another year anyway; so I might as
well have the trip and the experience of living in a foreign country.
Father would only have to remain there one year, or two at the most."
"How soon are you going?" asked Agony, a little awed by Mary's casual
tone as she spoke of the great journey. Evidently Mary had traveled
much, for the prospect of going around the world did not seem to excite
her in the least.
They were sitting in Mrs. Simmons' little spring house when Mary told
about the possibility of her going to Japan. This spring house stood at
some distance from the house; down at the point where the lane ran off
from the main road. It looked so utterly cool and inviting, with its
vine covered walls, that with an exclamation of pleasure the two girls
turned aside for one more drink before beginning the long walk through
the woods.
Seated upon the edge of the basin which held the water, Mary talked of
Japan, and Agony wheeled around upon the narrow ledge to gaze at her in
wonder and envy.
"I wish _I_ could go to Japan!" she exclaimed vehemently, giving a
vigorous kick with her foot to express her longing. The motion disturbed
her balance and she careened over sidewise; Mary put out her hand to
steady her, lost _her_ balance, and went with a splash into the basin.
The water was not deep, but it was very, very wet, and Mary came out
dripping.
For a moment the two girls stood helpless with laughter; then Mary said:
"I suppose I'll have to go back and get some dry things from Mrs.
Simmons, but I wish I didn't; it will take us quite a while to go back,
and it will delay us considerably. I promised Mrs. Grayson I'd be back
in camp before dark, and we won't be able to make it if we go back to
Mrs. Simmons's. I've a good mind to go on just as I am; it's so hot I
can't possibly take cold."
"I tell you what we can do," said Agony, getting a sudden inspiration.
"We can divide these bloomers of mine in half. They're made on a
foundation of thinner material that will do very well for me to wear
home, and you can wear the green part. With your sweater on over them
nobody will ever know whether you have on a middy or not. We can carry
you wet suit on a pole through the woods and it'll be dry by the time we
get home, and you won't have to lose any time by going back to Mrs.
Simmons's."
"Great idea!" said Mary, brightening. "Are you really willing to divide
your bloomers? I'd be ever so much obliged."
"It's no trouble," replied Agony. "All I have to do is cut the threads
where the top is tacked on to the foundation. It's really two pairs of
bloomers." She was already cutting the tacking threads with her pocket
knife.
Mary put on the green bloomers and Agony the brown foundation pair, and
laughing over the mishap and the clever way of handling the problem, the
two crossed the road and entered the woods.
"What's that loud cheeping noise?" Agony asked almost as soon as they
had entered into the deep shadow of the high pines.
"Sounds like a bird in trouble," answered Mary, her practised ear
recognizing the note of distress in the incessant twittering.
A few steps farther they came upon a man sitting in a wheel chair under
one of the tallest pines they had ever seen, a man whose right foot was
so thickly wrapped in bandages that it was three times the size of the
other one. He was peering intently up into the tree above him, and did
not notice the approach of the two girls. Mary and Agony followed his
gaze and saw, high up among the topmost swaying branches, a sight that
thrilled them with pity and distress. Dangling by a string which was
tangled about one of her feet, hung a mother robin, desperately
struggling to get free, fluttering, fluttering, beating the air
frantically with her wings and uttering piercing cries of anguish that
drove the hearers almost to desperation. Nearby was her nest, and on
the edge of it sat the mate, uttering cries as shrill with anguish as
those of the helpless captive.
"Oh, the poor, poor bird!" cried Mary, her eyes filling with tears of
pity and grief. At the sound of her voice the man in the wheel chair
lowered his eyes and became aware of the girls' presence. As he turned
to look at them Mary caught in his eyes a look of infinite horror and
pity at the plight of the wretched bird above him. That expression
deepened Mary's emotion; the tears began to run down her cheeks. Agony
stood beside her stricken and silent.
"How did it happen?" Mary asked huskily, addressing the stranger
unceremoniously.
"I don't know exactly," replied the man. "I was sitting here reading
when all of a sudden I heard the bird's shrill cry of distress and
looked up to see her dangling there at the end of that string."
"Can't we do something?" asked Mary, putting her hands over her ears to
shut out the piercing cries. "She'll flutter herself to death before
long."
"I'm afraid she will," replied the man, "There doesn't seem to be any
hope of her freeing herself."
"She shan't flutter herself to death," said Mary, with sudden
resolution. "I'm going to climb the tree and cut her loose."
"That will be impossible," said the man. "She is up in the very top of
the tree."
"I'm going to try, anyway," replied Mary, with spirit. "Let me take
your knife, will you please, Agony?"
The lowest branches of the pine were far above her head, and in order to
get a foothold in them Mary had to climb a neighboring tree and swing
herself across. The ground seemed terrifying far away even from this
lowest branch; but this was only the beginning. She resolutely refrained
from looking down and kept on steadily, branch above branch, until she
reached the one from which the robin hung. Then began the most perilous
part of the undertaking. To reach the bird she must crawl out on this
branch for a distance of at least six feet, there being no limb directly
underneath for her to walk out on. Praying for a steady balance, she
swung herself astride of the branch, and holding on tightly with her
hands began hitching herself slowly outward. The bough bent sickeningly
under her; Agony below shrieked and covered her eyes; then opened them
again and continued to gaze in horrified fascination as inch by inch
Mary neared the wildly fluttering bird, whose terror had increased a
hundred-fold at the human presence so near it.
There came an ominous cracking sound; Agony uttered another shriek and
turned away; the next instant the shrill cries of the bird ceased; the
man in the chair gave vent to a long drawn "Ah-h!" Agony looked up to
see the exhausted bird fluttering to the ground beside her, a length of
string still hanging to its foot, while Mary slowly and carefully
worked her way back to the trunk of the tree. In a few minutes she slid
to the ground and sat there, breathless and trembling, but triumphant.
"I got it!" she panted. Then, turning to the man in the chair, she
exclaimed, "There now, who said it was impossible?"
The man applauded vigorously. "That was the bravest act I have ever seen
performed," he said admiringly. "You're the right stuff, whoever you
are, and I take my hat off to you."
"Anybody would have done it," murmured Mary modestly, as she rose and
prepared to depart.
"How could you do it?" marveled Agony, as the two walked homeward
through the woods. "Weren't you horribly scared?"
"Yes, I was," admitted Mary frankly. "When I started to go out on that
branch I was shaking so that I could hardly hold on. It seemed miles to
the ground, and I got so dizzy I turned faint for a moment. But I tried
to think of something else, and kept on going, and pretty soon I could
reach the string to cut it."
The boundless admiration with which Agony regarded Mary's act of bravery
was gradually swallowed up in envy. Why hadn't she herself been the one
to climb up and rescue that poor bird? She would give anything to have
done such a spectacular thing. Deep in her heart, however, she knew she
would never have had the courage to crawl out on that branch even if she
had thought of it first.
Silence fell upon the two girls as they walked along in the gradually
failing light; all topics of conversation seemed to have been exhausted.
Mary's clothes were dry before they were through the woods, and she put
them on to save the trouble of carrying them, giving Agony back her
green bloomers.
"Thank you so much for letting me wear them," she said earnestly. "If it
hadn't been for your doing that I wouldn't have been in time to save
that robin. It was really that inspiration of yours that saved him, not
my climbing the tree."
Even in the hour of her triumph Mary was eager to give the credit to
someone else, and Agony began to feel rather humble and small before
such a generous spirit, even though her vanity strove to accept the
measure of credit given as justly due.
When they were crossing the river they saw Dr. Grayson standing on the
dock, shading his eyes to look over the water.
"There's the Doctor, looking for us!" exclaimed Mary. "It must be late
and he's worried about us." She doubled her speed with the oars, hailing
the Doctor across the water to reassure him. A few moments later the
boat touched the dock.
"Mary," said the Doctor, before she was fairly out, "a message has come
from your father saying that he must sail for Japan one week from today
and you must come home immediately. In order to catch the boat you will
have to leave for San Francisco not later than the day after tomorrow.
There is an early train for New York tomorrow morning from Green's
Landing. I will take you down in the launch, for the river steamer will
not get there in time. Be ready to leave camp at half past five tomorrow
morning. You will have to pack tonight."
Mary gasped and clutched Agony's hand convulsively.
"I have--to--leave--camp!" she breathed faintly.
"I'm--going--to--Japan!"