THE GIRL SCOUTS’ VACATION ADVENTURES
[Illustration: Hanging “The Pansy Tea-Room” sign just outside the
hedge.]
THE GIRL SCOUTS’
VACATION ADVENTURES
By EDITH LAVELL
Author of
“The Girl Scouts at Miss Allen’s School,”
“The Girl Scouts at Camp,”
“The Girl Scouts’ Good Turn,”
“The Girl Scouts’ Canoe Trip,”
“The Girl Scouts’ Rivals,”
“The Girl Scouts’ Motor Trip.”
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
THE
GIRL SCOUTS SERIES
A SERIES OF STORIES FOR GIRL SCOUTS
By EDITH LAVELL
The Girl Scouts at Miss Allen’s School
The Girl Scouts at Camp
The Girl Scouts’ Good Turn
The Girl Scouts’ Canoe Trip
The Girl Scouts’ Rivals
The Girl Scouts on the Ranch
The Girl Scouts’ Vacation Adventures
The Girl Scouts’ Motor Trip
Copyright, 1924
By A. L. BURT COMPANY
THE GIRL SCOUTS’ VACATION ADVENTURES
Made in “U. S. A.”
THE GIRL SCOUTS’ VACATION ADVENTURES
CHAPTER I
A NEW ENTERPRISE
It was spring vacation for the girls of Miss Allen’s school. Easter was
late this year, so the holiday had been long in coming; but now it was
here—ten delicious, lazy days in the very heart of April—and Daisy
Gravers meant to enjoy them.
Until a week ago she had not looked forward to this time with any
particular longing, for her mother would be visiting her married
daughter Olive, and the house would probably seem lonely. But then came
that wonderful invitation from Florence Evans, to spend a whole week
with her in New York, to see Marjorie Wilkinson and Lily Andrews who
would be home from college, and to attend some of the parties the latter
was planning. Daisy’s newer friends had never taken the place of the old
ones—the seven girls of that senior patrol from Pansy Troop who had been
together the previous summer on the ranch in Wyoming. Any vacation, no
matter how brief, which afforded an opportunity for her to see them
promised to be most delightful.
So Daisy sat in the comfortable living-room of the Evans home and waited
contentedly for her hostess to join her again. The day was beautiful;
the prospect of a walk was alluring. It did not matter in the least to
Daisy that her spring suit was not this year’s, and that her hat was
inexpensive; in her joyous frame of mind New York was a wonderful place
to be visiting, even if one’s clothing did indicate one’s country
origin. The girl was perfectly happy.
One glance at Florence’s face, however, as she entered the room, told
Daisy that her hostess did not share her exultant mood. In fact, she was
literally pouting.
“Mother and Edith make me tired!” she exclaimed, “with their everlasting
social work! You can’t have a day to yourself, or plan an innocent
little walk without their dragging charity into it!”
“What’s the matter now, Flos?” asked Daisy, rather amused at her
friend’s petulance.
“Why, instead of going for our nice stroll in the Park, we’ve got to go
hunt up some poor female on mother’s church visiting list! She’s sick or
something—”
“But what can we do?” asked Daisy, as she drew on her gloves. She was
beginning to feel a little reluctant herself; charity work was not in
her line.
“‘Investigate the case,’ as mother told me! I wish she’d investigate her
own cases—or send Edith! Now if it were a basketball game to referee, I
wouldn’t mind.”
“But what’s the matter with the woman?”
“She’s sick, and poor, and has a baby, of course,” replied Florence, as
if all three of the things she mentioned were proofs of criminality.
“Poor woman!” sighed Daisy, as they stepped out of the door.
But once they were in the open air, even though it was city air, and
felt the soft April wind against their cheeks, both girls forgot all
about the distastefulness of their errand, and lapsed into their old,
happy, gossipy vein. They began to discuss school—their class affairs,
(they were both seniors at Miss Allen’s), and their scout activities. It
was Daisy who first mentioned the luncheon to which Lily Andrews had
invited them.
“Do you suppose it’s in honor of Marj?” she asked. “You know she’s
visiting Lily for a few days during the college vacation.”
“No, not entirely,” replied Florence, “because it’s in honor of somebody
whose engagement is soon to be announced. We’re all to send something
for the linen shower, you know.”
“And it isn’t possible that Marj is engaged?” laughed Daisy.
“No, I don’t think so. Marj has set her heart on finishing college, and
she has three years more. It might more likely be Lily herself.”
“Yes, it might. Oh, I wonder who will be there!”
“As many of the old senior patrol as she can get together, I think. Oh,
Daisy!” She stopped suddenly, confronted by a flower vendor. “Let’s buy
some violets! We city people can’t go find them like you can, you know.”
Having arranged their bouquets at their waists to their satisfaction,
they continued their walk. They were having too good a time to shorten
it by riding, and they were not particularly anxious to reach their
destination. Indeed, it seemed to them that they arrived all too quickly
at the dingy little house corresponding to the address Mrs. Evans had
given. Mounting the dirty steps, Florence knocked timidly at the door.
“What is it?” asked a woman, opening the door only an inch or two, and
peering cautiously out.
“We’re from St. Andrew’s Church,” said Florence; “and we came to find
out whether there is anything they could do to help Mrs. Trawle.”
“Come in,” said the woman, grudgingly, widening the crack only
sufficiently to allow the girls to enter singly.
The room presented a most unattractive appearance; even in the dim light
of the drawn shades, both girls could see that what furniture there was
was disreputable. Soiled clothing and threadbare towels hung about on
the chairs, and one small frayed piece of carpet about the size of a
window-frame was the only floor covering. In a darkened corner a woman
lay on an untidy bed—a woman too sick even to notice the entrance of the
strangers.
“That’s her in bed,” said the other, who had admitted the girls; “but
she’s that sick she don’t know her own baby.”
“Why doesn’t she go to a hospital?” asked Florence, rather
unsympathetically.
“She keeps talkin’ in her delirium about dyin’, and the poor baby a
goin’ to an orphan asylum, and somehow she connects that with a
hospital. But if she dies, which she probably will, that’s what’s got
t’happen, for none of us neighbors could take care of ’er!”
A groan escaped from the lips of the sick woman, as if she were
conscious of the portent of their conversation, and a pathetic little
sob seemed to come as an echo from the baby. Daisy’s tender heart was
touched immediately; she crossed the room and leaned over the bed.
“Mrs. Trawle!” she said, softly. “Please, listen!”
The invalid wearily responded, though she hardly looked capable of
taking in what Daisy was about to say.
“We girls will take care of your baby if you will go to the
hospital—really we will! Promise me you’ll go!”
The woman’s face brightened for a moment; she seemed to know
instinctively that she could trust Daisy. But she shook her head, as
another thought crossed her mind.
“But what if I die?” she asked, in a hoarse whisper.
Daisy stretched out her fresh young hand and touched Mrs. Trawle’s
wasted one, trying to put comfort and assurance into the grasp.
“Then we will care for the baby.”
“Thank God!” sighed the woman, fervently. “Then I will go to the
hospital—the one around the corner. You will take little Betty with
you—now?”
“Yes! Yes!” cried Daisy; “if your friend will pack her things.”
“She has nuthin’ but what she’s got on,” put in the other woman; and
while Daisy prepared to take the baby, she attended to the sick woman.
It was all arranged in an incredibly short time; within fifteen minutes
the ambulance had called for Mrs. Trawle, and the girls, with their
charge in Daisy’s lap, were whirling home in a taxi-cab. It was not
until they were half way there that Florence expressed her opinion.
“Daisy, I honestly think you’re crazy!” she announced, surveying the
baby coldly. She had never cared for children.
But Daisy was ecstatically happy, not only because she was doing
something benevolent for someone else, but also because she naturally
loved babies. Already she had fallen in love with the helpless little
creature.
“You don’t mean to say you wouldn’t have offered, if I hadn’t!” she
exclaimed, incredulously.
“Certainly not!” announced Florence, emphatically. “It’s sheer nonsense!
But of course we can easily send her to an orphan asylum later on—when
the woman dies.”
“Florence! You cruel, heartless girl!”
Daisy held the baby close up in her arms, as if she were afraid it might
understand the cold-blooded remark, and be hurt.
“But Daisy, we can’t afford to pay somebody to take care of it—to assume
its support. Neither one of our families is rich enough. And you
certainly don’t expect to lug it with us back to Miss Allen’s?”
“No,” admitted the other, smiling at the absurdity of such an idea. She
was almost beginning to regret her action, viewed from Florence’s
common-sense point of view. “Will your mother be angry?”
“No; she and Edith will both think you were wonderful to do it. They’re
both dipped on the charity stuff.”
Daisy breathed a sigh of relief; it was something to have Mrs. Evans’s
and her oldest daughter’s approval of her impetuosity.
The girls were greeted at the door by all the members of the Evans
family. Edith had noticed the taxi from the window, had seen Daisy’s
bundle which she identified as a baby, and had rushed out in breathless
curiosity.
Daisy entered the hall first, vainly attempting to hide her excitement,
while Florence followed in haughty disdain.
“Where did you get the baby?” demanded Edith, in amazement. “Do let me
see!”
“Oh, the poor thing needs a bath!” said Mrs. Evans, taking it from
Daisy’s arms. “And is probably hungry, too!”
In broken sentences, Daisy managed to tell her story, apologizing
profusely for her audacity in bringing the child to her hostess’s home.
But both Mrs. Evans and Edith immediately silenced her by assuring her
of their sanction of her deed.
“It’s exactly what I would have done myself,” said Mrs. Evans, “and I am
so glad you were there to offer, for such a thing never would have
occurred to Florence.”
“Hardly!” remarked her younger daughter. “I’m too practical; I’d have
counted the cost first.”
“Oh, we’ll get the money somehow!” asserted Daisy, confidently. “I’ll
put it up to Marj Wilkinson, and she’ll find a way!” Ever since Marjorie
had been so instrumental in uniting her sister Olive with her husband,
Daisy had come to regard her as resourceful in a crisis of almost any
variety.
“The important thing now,” remarked Mrs. Evans, “is to care for the baby
at the present, and let the future take care of itself. If the woman
lives, Daisy will be responsible for saving her life; for I am sure she
would have died if you had not sent her to the hospital. Now—suppose you
girls all get to work! Edith, run across the street and borrow enough of
little Bobbie’s clothing to dress the baby clean! Florence, you go to
the drug store for a nursing bottle; and Daisy, you help me to bathe
her. Once we get her comfortable, we can begin to think about what to
buy.”
The girls separated to carry out the older woman’s orders, Daisy
secretly delighted that the task she had been assigned kept her there
with the baby.
Almost immediately Edith returned with the borrowed outfit, and Mrs.
Evans proceeded to undress the child. The state of her clothing was
really pitiful; indeed, it could hardly be dignified by that name, but
rather resembled rags, held together by safety-pins. Moreover, they were
soiled, and little Betty herself was none too clean.
But soap and warm water wrought wonders, and under Mrs. Evans’s skillful
handling the little creature was soon snugly tucked in bed, sucking at
the bottle of diluted milk which was propped up by her side. All of the
girls felt a secret thrill at the transformation they had witnessed, and
even Florence began to regret her hastiness in denouncing Daisy’s
action.
It was not until the baby was asleep and they were all down in the
living room that Mrs. Evans remembered that she had a telephone message
for the girls.
“Marjorie Wilkinson phoned,” she said, “and said she would stop here on
her way to Lily’s, so I persuaded her to stay to supper. She finally
admitted that she was not expected there until after supper, because it
seems the Andrews all have to go to a wedding.”
“Oh, Joy!” cried Daisy, jumping to her feet in delight. “Just the very
person we want to see! Who ever heard of such luck?”
“Of course it will be great to see Marj,” agreed Florence; “but why do
you say she is ‘just the person we want to see’—any more than any other
of our best friends?”
“Why, because she’ll be able to help us plan how to take care of little
Betty!” replied Daisy, immediately.
They did not have long to wait for their visitor. In less than half an
hour, while Mrs. Evans and Edith were out making their purchases,
Marjorie arrived.
In spite of the fact that Daisy had not seen her since the previous
fall, she found her unchanged; Marjorie Wilkinson was the same
sparkling, vivacious girl she had been at Miss Allen’s. A year at
college had not even seemed to make her a day older.
“You look wonderful, Marj!” she cried, as both she and Florence embraced
her at once. “I don’t have to ask whether college agrees with you!”
“It’s great!” announced Marjorie, smiling from one girl to the other;
“and rooming with Lily makes it ten times nicer. I’m so thankful I was
able to persuade her to go.”
“You wouldn’t have much trouble persuading me, if I had the money,”
remarked Daisy.
“Oh, you’ll get the scholarship,” said Florence, with assurance. Then,
turning to explain to Marjorie, “You know we have a college scholarship
now at Miss Allen’s, founded by some rich donor. And there isn’t a doubt
that Daisy will get it this year!”
“How about you and Alice?” asked Daisy, flushing at the other girl’s
tribute.
“We don’t stand a ghost of a chance,” replied Florence.
The mention of Miss Allen’s naturally sharpened Marjorie’s curiosity for
news, and both Florence and Daisy told her all they could think of,
about the girls she knew, the scout troop, and their new captain.
“And what are the troop’s plans for this summer?” asked Marjorie,
secretly envious of the girls who were still active members.
“The usual camping trip, I believe,” replied Daisy. “But Flos and I have
decided not to go.”
“Why?” asked Marjorie, her eyes, wide open with astonishment at the
thought of losing such an opportunity.
“We’d miss the dear old senior patrol too much,” replied Daisy, sadly.
“Girl Scouts will never be the same to me without you and Lily and
Doris—”
“And Ethel Todd and Mae Van Horn,” added Florence. “The bunch that was
together last summer on the ranch.”
“Well, I guess we’ll see most everybody tomorrow at Lily’s luncheon,”
remarked Marjorie. “I understand it’s to be a sort of reunion.”
“And an engagement shower, too,” put in Daisy. “But we don’t know whom
it’s for. Not you, Marj?”
“Mercy, no! Far from it! I haven’t the slightest idea—unless it’s Mae or
Doris. I haven’t heard from them much during the year.”
“It isn’t Lily herself?”
“Oh, no! Positively not! How about you two?”
Both Daisy and Florence laughed at the suggestion, and the former seized
the opportunity to tell Marjorie about the baby. She related the story
just as it had happened, omitting, however, any mention of Florence’s
opposition.
“So you see I’m dying to keep her,” she concluded: “but of course I
can’t afford it. Can you think of any possible way?”
Marjorie was silent for a moment, lost in thought.
“Yes,” she said, finally. “Couldn’t you put it up to Pansy Troop to
provide for her as another of their good turns?”
Daisy’s spirits, which had brightened at the intimation of a solution,
sank again when she heard the reply. She shook her head sadly.
“Couldn’t be done, Marj! We run on a budget now, and all the money we
can possibly raise for charity next year is already pledged. I’m afraid
that’s out of the question.”
Marjorie appeared disappointed, and Florence drew down the corners of
her mouth to hide a smile. Before anything further could be said they
were reminded of the baby’s presence by a sudden cry. Daisy dashed up
stairs at once, with Marjorie and Florence at her heels.
“Oh, she’s adorable!” exclaimed Marjorie, for she was a girl who loved
babies under any circumstances, even when they cried.
Daisy lifted the little girl tenderly in her arms, and the wails
instantly ceased.
“And her name’s Elizabeth—the same as Mrs. Remington’s!” she remarked,
referring to the former, beloved captain of Pansy Troop.
“That settles it!” announced Marjorie, emphatically. “Now we have to
adopt her. The old senior patrol will do it!”
“Wonderful!” cried Daisy, kissing the baby on both cheeks.
“But how?” demanded Florence, abruptly.
“Earn the money, of course!” answered Marjorie.
“But you know we can’t, Marj!” insisted Florence. “Do be practical.
Think how scattered we are.”
“Yes, I know,” admitted the other, slowly. “I’ll think hard, though, and
maybe have something to suggest by tomorrow.”
The entrance of Mrs. Evans and Edith put an abrupt end to the
conversation, and the girls all turned their attention to the delightful
task of unwrapping the dainty wardrobe which had just been purchased.
Nor was any further mention of the scheme made during the remainder of
Marjorie’s visit; it was only when she was going out of the door that
she whispered to Daisy not to despair.
“For I’ll find a way,” she assured her; “at least, if there is one to be
found!”
“I believe you will!” replied the other girl admiringly.