CINDERELLA
“I wonder how Limpy is,” said Jean, as she awoke next day to find Carol
at her bedside. “Can’t we go down and see her right after breakfast?”
“Your majesty can’t,” said Carol. “You’re to have your breakfast in bed,
and take a rest cure. Mrs. Brook’s going to see her herself this
morning, so I’ll stay and take care of _you_.”
Jean was quite willing to lie still a while longer, for she was worn out
after the fatigue and excitement of yesterday. When her breakfast was
brought to her, it was a subdued and pensive Frances who carried in the
plate of flapjacks, with which Marie insisted upon regaling the heroine.
She was up and dressed by ten o’clock, but there was no exercise on the
lake for her that morning. Carol settled her cozily in a hammock, with
pillows at her back, and all Jean’s pleading could not induce Cecily and
Betty to forsake her.
“No, your majesty, your battle maids are going to stay and wait on you,”
said Cecily. “I’ll be Court Reader, and Betty’ll be Court Swinger.” She
seated herself on the grass with a book to read aloud; Betty began to
swing Jean gently to and fro; and Frances, who had been condemned to
pass a day of sackcloth and ashes within the bounds of Huairarwee,
proved the sincerity of her repentance by assisting Nanno to hold a wake
for Katy, thus distracting the camp baby from her determination to
“jounce up and down” on the feet of her guardian-in-chief.
“Joan of Arc, can I trust you not to jump out of the hammock and skip
off to better the world the minute my back’s turned?” Carol gave this
parting admonition before going out on the water.
“Yes, Big Sister, I’ll be good,” Jean promised.
“I’ll hold her down,” said Frances, drawing the Navajo blanket over
Jean’s head.
“Frisk is a reformed character this morning,” said Carol, as she and
Eunice and Nancy went down to the landing.
“Poor little soul! She must have cried oceans, last night!” said Nancy.
“I know one thing,” said Carol. “If it hadn’t been for Frisky we
wouldn’t have found out what stuff my Jeanie’s made of! I’m going to
write to Miss Carlton to-day, and tell her what a heroine she is! And
I’ll tell her she’s in dead earnest about trying to make the world
better. Pretty big job she has on her hands! If we three had an ounce of
energy between us, we’d do a little bettering on our own account!”
“I think you and Jean are a pretty good pair,” said Eunice. “But I
really _do_ think I might stir up my lazy bones and do something for
somebody!”
“Come along then!” said Carol. “I have an _idea_. Let’s go over to
picnic island and have a pow-wow.”
The girls came back from their pow-wow to find Mrs. Brook just returned
from her visit to Limpy. They seized her and drew her away to a private
consultation.
Early in the afternoon Douglas drove up in a surrey. He was whistling in
high good humor, and gave Jean a mischievous look when she called from
the hammock, “Why, Douglas! Who’s going out driving?”
“Miss Carol and Miss Eunice,” said he.
“What on earth are you going off alone for?” asked Jean, as Eunice and
Carol came out of their tent.
“Mayn’t I have my chum to myself once in a while?” said Carol. “Jump in,
Una! Bye-bye, Queenie,” and she sprang into the surrey after Eunice.
“Are you going to stop and see Limpy?” Jean asked.
“Yes, we’ll look in on her,” answered Carol.
As they drove away Mrs. Brook said, “Cecily, I think it would do Jean
good to have a row this afternoon. You and Betty take her over to Water
Lily Cove, and bring some lilies for the table.”
The three girls managed to dispose of a good two hours in their visit to
the Cove. They returned with a big bunch of the white and yellow
beauties, and down to the dock to meet them rushed Frances, her spirits
already on the rebound.
“What do you think Motherling and I’ve been up to?” said she. “We’ve
been rigging up a cozy corner! Come and see it!” She hurried them away
to Mrs. Brook’s tent, and they found that a part of it had been screened
off.
“Now you look as sweet as a peach, and sweeter!” They heard Carol’s
voice from the hidden cozy corner, and there came a soft laugh in
answer. Frances pushed aside the screen and revealed a new bedroom.
There on a cot sat a fair-haired girl, in Carol’s pink kimono, which
Carol herself was fastening at the throat with one of her own
brooches,—a tiny enameled daisy.
“Limpy!” Jean and Cecily flew to the pinkrobed girl, who sprang up with
her arms outstretched.
“I’m comin’ to visit! to stay all summer!” said Limpy.
“All summer! How perfectly gorgeous!” cried Jean. “Carolie, that’s what
you and Eunice went off alone for!”
“That was it!” Carol acknowledged. “We went to steal Cinderella and
carry her off to the ball! And wasn’t she surprised when she found what
her fairy godmothers had come for!”
“Now I know why Mammykins sent us off after water-lilies,” said Cecily.
“It was a trick to get rid of us while she fixed up this room and you
brought Limpy. It’ll be lovely to have you here, Limpy!”
“And we’ll take splendid care of you,” said Betty.
“I’m so happy I don’t know what to do!” said Limpy. “But, oh! Jean, I
was so frightened about you last night. Pa come home an’ said they was
all out lookin’ for you. Oh, wasn’t you grand an’ brave!”
“Cinderella, you’ve danced enough jigs,” said Carol. “Let me try on your
glass slippers, and then you must have a nice long rest.” Limpy dropped
down on the bed obediently, and Carol completed the new costume by
adding a pretty pair of moccasins.
“She’s given ’em to me!” said the happy little Cinderella. “An’ she give
me this!” She smoothed out the rosy kimono reverently. “Ain’t it
beautiful! I’m so afraid I’ll muss it. An’ this pin! Ain’t it just the
loveliest! I didn’t think I’d ever have any _jewelry_!” Then she threw
her arms around Carol’s neck and gave her a kiss of passionate
gratitude. “An’ just look at the room they’ve fixed for me!” she added.
Her happy eyes roamed again over her little nest, with its rustic table
fitted up as a washstand, a mirror hanging over it, its green wicker
chair with scarlet cushions, and the snug cot with its flowered chintz
coverlet. “Oh, it’s just too sweet!” she murmured.
Limpy was too tired to be at supper with twenty lively girls all
laughing and talking at once, so a little tea-table was set on the tent
veranda, and there the queen and her maidens entertained the damsel no
longer distressed.
“I don’t know what’s the matter with me! I just can’t stop laughin’, an’
yesterday I couldn’t stop cryin’!” said Limpy. “Oh, I’m so happy! I
can’t never tell you how happy I am!”
“We’re just as happy as you are,” said Cecily. “And we’re not going to
let Jean keep you all to herself. We’ll all be your sisters.”
“Oh, Jean, let’s make her a member of the Order!” said Betty.
“Splendid! Of course she must belong!” cried Jean. “I’ll knight her
right away.” She ran to Cecily’s flower bed and came back with a long
spray of gladiolus. Then she made Limpy kneel before her and struck her
on the shoulder with the sword-flower. “Stella Olympia,” she said, “I
dub thee battle maid of the Order of the Silver Sword. Be always
faithful to the sword of love and the shield of truth. Rise, Battle
Maid!” And up rose Limpy, radiant at this overwhelming honor.
Carol, Eunice and Nancy had planned to pay Limpy’s board themselves, but
Mrs. Brook refused to accept a penny. And while from their own wardrobes
they were making up an outfit to take the place of the forlorn little
bundle of clothes with which Limpy had arrived, and of which she seemed
ashamed, Jean, Cecily, Betty and Frances rushed to their own tent, fired
with eagerness to despoil themselves likewise. They found this
self-robbery so fascinating that when Carol looked in upon them, she
declared that the sacrificial pyre reached to the ridge-pole of the
tent. Jean’s contribution included her new organdie with its pink
ribbons, her jaunty white duck suit, and the only warm coat that she had
brought to camp.
“_My_ dresses won’t fit her at all,—I’m such a shorty!” Frances
lamented. “I know—I’ll give her my Sunday hat!”
When Mrs. Brook saw the lavish display she made a small and judicious
selection from it, and insisted that nothing more should be given. The
girls’ faces fell; but when the simple and tasteful outfit was complete,
it had in Cinderella’s delighted eyes all the splendor of a rich bridal
trousseau.
But it was not the new clothes that soon changed Limpy almost beyond
recognition. It was the love and brightness around her that brought out
all the long hidden sunshine of her nature.
“I wish I had a pretty name like you girls have,” she said one day to
Jean. “I can’t bear _Limpy_! I used to like _Olympia_, but I don’t now.
Do you?”
“No,” answered Jean frankly. “But I love _Stella_, and it means a star!”
“Does it? Honest? Ain’t that pretty,—I mean _isn’t_ it?” said Limpy,
whom Miss Hamersley was drilling in the rules of grammar.
“Yes, it’s the Latin for _star_,” explained Jean. “Wouldn’t you like to
have us call you Stella? I wanted to all the time, but I was afraid it
would hurt your feelings if I said I didn’t like ‘Limpy.’”
“Why, I wouldn’t have minded. I’ll be awful glad if you’ll call me
Stella,—it _is_ real pretty, I think.”
“All right, we will,” said Jean. “Now you’ll be our _star_!” And so the
old name was discarded with the old unhappy life.
“But _I_ shall always call you _Limpy_,—it’s the name I’ve known and
loved you by!” said Frances, her black eyes dancing with fun. She
unclasped her pretty coral necklace as she spoke, and slyly slipped it
around Stella’s throat, with a little kiss on the ear of the new maid of
honor.
* * * * *
Cinderella made her début in her new world of sunshine in good time,—not
to attend the “prince’s ball,”—but to enjoy the merry-makings on the
camp-mother’s birthday.
“I didn’t know folks ever got presents on their birthdays,” Stella said
to Cecily when, a few days before the important occasion, she heard the
question of gifts discussed. “Do you girls _always_ get presents?”
“Yes, indeed we do,” replied Cecily. “I got all my best painting
materials on my last birthday. What a pity yours isn’t coming this
summer, instead of way off in December! It would be such fun to
celebrate yours too!” Then through Cecily’s mind flashed an idea which
sent her away to hold private consultation with the other battle maids.
The birthday dawned, bright and clear, and the gay notes of Carol’s
_reveille_ summoned the campers to begin the festivities. Five minutes
after the bugle call, Mrs. Brook and Stella heard a merry chorus outside
their tent. “Many happy returns of the day, Motherling! Many happy
returns, Stella!”
“What are they saying that to _me_ for?” asked the wondering girl.
“This is _your_ birthday too, Stella!” Cecily’s voice answered. “Your
half-past fifteenth birthday! You’re only a very little over fifteen and
a half, you know.”
“We’re going to celebrate Nanno’s too!” called Jean. “She’s only _just_
over six.”
“And Leila Myra’s,” added Carol. “We knew if Nanno got any more toys to
quarrel over, the carnage would be ghastly, unless her poor abused
_company_ had something to console her!”
When breakfast time came, Stella, her pale cheeks turning pink with
happy excitement, learned that the exhibition of water sports to be
given that morning had been planned partly in her honor. At half-past
ten she and Mrs. Brook were escorted down to Camp-Fire Rock, now the
grand stand, draped with the Stars and Stripes, and a troop of girls in
bathing suits entertained them with a varied program.
First came a swimming race between five of the “freshies,”—Winifred
Russell, Lou Phillips, Ethel Merryman, Dorothy Stone and Jean.
“Did you ever see anybody take _fun_ in such dead earnest as Queenie!”
said Carol to Nancy. “Look at her! Even her pigtail says ‘do or die!’”
The youngest “freshie” did indeed have the air of one going into battle,
as she stepped into the skiff to be taken by Douglas out to the float.
“Go in and win now, Jean!” said he, before the others joined them.
“I’ll do my level best!” she answered. But she knew that she had
formidable rivals, and that the majority of the campers expected
athletic Winifred to carry off the prize.
The girls took their places, some in Douglas’s boat, some in Miss
Hamersley’s, and were rowed out to their starting point. Standing on the
float, they formed in line with arms extended above their heads. Miss
Hamersley blew her whistle, and they dived as one, and coming up again
struck out, all five abreast, for the anchored canoe,—their goal.
“Jean’s dropped behind!” cried Betty.
“No, that’s Dot!” said Cecily.
“Which is which, anyway?” exclaimed Carol. “They look like so many
seals!”
The watchers on the shore saw three competitors one after the other drop
back from the line, until a blond head and a dark one were in advance of
the rest.
“Good for Win! She’s going to be winner!” cried Helen Westover, who had
taught Winifred of the light locks to swim. “Go in and _Win_—ifred!” she
called.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Wild Woolly One,” said Carol. “Jean’s going to
leave her _nowhere_ in a moment!”
“I bet a cookie on Win!” Helen returned.
“I bet the whole cookie-jar full on Jean!” Carol stoutly declared.
Winifred was a strong swimmer, but Jean proved a determined little
antagonist, keeping up with her neck and neck.
“Get ahead of her, Winnie,—for the honor of the Juniors!” called Grace
Gardner. “Don’t let a little lower classman beat you!”
“Oh, Jean,” cried Cecily, “Beat! for the honor of the Silver Sword!”
Stella squeezed Betty’s hand in her suspense. And now there remained
only a few strokes before the finish. “Jean’s ahead!” screamed Cecily. A
moment more and cheers burst forth. Jean was clinging to the canoe! Two
more strokes brought Winifred up to the goal. The others came up one by
one. The five clung to the canoe till they had regained their breath,
and then came swimming back to shore.
Carol waded out to meet the victor. “Come to my arms, my pupil! I’d
rather lose a hundred races myself than have _you_ beaten!” she cried,
extinguishing Jean in a watery embrace. “Little Sister, I’m so proud of
you,—I feel like cabling the news to Brazil!”
“I thought I was going to give out just before I got there,” said Jean.
“I felt as if I _couldn’t_ keep it up; but I knew you wanted me to beat,
terribly, and I was bound to do it, so I just struck out again as hard
as I could, and the first thing I knew there I was at the goal!”
“Three cheers, Joan of Arc!” cried Cecily, splashing up to them. “I’m so
tickled we’ve beaten the Juniors, I don’t know what to do! Come and get
your prize.”
They led Jean up to the grand stand. “Oh, Jean!” said Stella, “I’m so
glad! I was just crazy to have you beat!”
“Congratulations, my battle maid,” said Mrs. Brook, and placed in her
hands the prize, a well-appointed picnic luncheon basket, with straps to
sling it from her shoulders.
Races between expert swimmers followed. Then came walking the wet pole.
The Huairarwee flag staff had been uprooted for the occasion and had
been fastened horizontally to the dock, so as to stretch out over the
water; and the feat consisted in walking the length of it to capture the
tiny flag at the end. Olive Spencer was the first to make the attempt.
She slipped at the third step and jumped into the water. Grace tried
next, reached the middle of the pole, swayed, and went down
ignominiously. Then, with arms outstretched to balance herself, Cecily
walked confidently along the slippery way; but as she neared the end the
pole wobbled: she took two running steps and snatched at the flag, only
to knock it into the water, she herself plunging in with a splash. She
had struck the colors, not captured them, and in great chagrin she
returned to the dock. Girl after girl tried unsuccessfully. Poor Jean
lost her balance the instant she heard Frances call, “Go it, Giraffe!”
and reappeared, declaring, “That was _your_ fault, you wretch!”
“Now you watch _me_ get the flag!” said the Mouse, who had furtively
slipped on an extra pair of stocking-feet, while the eyes of the other
spectators were fixed on Cecily. She was standing on a rain-cloak meant
to wrap around chilly competitors, and now, as she raised her right foot
to step upon the pole, a sleeve rose with it. She kicked herself free,
but at the next step the cloak stuck fast to her left sole. Giggling,
she tore it away.
“Hold up, Mousie!” cried Jean. “You must have glue on your paws!”
She and Carol arrested Frances, and obliged her to display her soles.
Carol burst out laughing. “Plaster!” she exclaimed. “Adhesive plaster!
The Brown Mouse is guilty of fraudulent methods!”
“No, I’m not!” Frances answered coolly. “This is a ‘Go-as-you-please
race,’ and I pleased to go sticky! I was going to own up as soon as I
got the flag.”
“All right, Mousie, _go_ as you please!” said Carol. “Let’s see how the
experiment works. That’s _my_ rain-cloak you were obligingly walking off
with, I beg to inform you, Miss Francie-Prancie-Dancie!”
“Stick tight, Frisk!” laughed Jean. “_Adhese_—I mean adhere—as hard as
you can!”
But even the best surgeon’s adhesive plaster could avail nothing without
the art of poising. Frances should have added a balancing-pole, for at
the fifth step she dropped with a shriek.
“Oh, dear! My Mammy gave me that plaster in case I got hurt, and now
I’ve used it all up on that old pole!” complained the discomforted
Mouse. “I don’t care—it was a cheat anyhow! It hadn’t any _stick_! Now
let’s see Betsy tumble off!”
Betty was the poorest swimmer in camp, and was expected, at best, to
carry off only a consolation prize that day; but to the astonishment of
all beholders she kept her equilibrium where even the most athletic had
failed, and when at last she did plunge down it was amid vociferous
cheers, for the flag was clutched triumphantly in her hand. Cecily and
Jean together led her to the grand stand to receive her prize,—a new
trout-pole.
Betty’s rivals repeated their attempts till three more flags had been
captured, Jean failing to the last, but Cecily carrying one off at her
second essay. Then, after an interval of rest on the sunny beach, came
guide-boat and canoe races; and that day, as on many a preceding one,
Carol and Cecily gave proof that they excelled all the others in skill
at the paddle.
The water contests were followed by the birthday dinner. Mrs. Brook and
Stella, with Nanno and her much enduring guest, Leila Myra, were ushered
into the living-room to find the long camp dining-table in gala trim. In
a corner a small round table was set for two, and in its center was a
frosted cake with six candles. Here Nanno discovered a gay doll’s
tea-set at her place, and Leila Myra sat down on the floor in rapture
over a red go-cart, the exact counterpart of Nanno’s. At the main table
were two more cakes, one at Mrs. Brook’s place and one at Stella’s, both
elaborately ornamented with designs in chocolate icing, wrought by
artistic Cecily. These cakes blazed with candles, the camp-mother’s
having a double row, and Stella’s fifteen, with a half taper twinkling
in the center. Around each was a ring of small parcels; but before
Stella could untie any of hers, exclamations were heard all up and down
the table.
“Hello! What’s this?”
“I didn’t know it was _my_ birthday!”
“Why, everybody has a present!”
“This must be a birthday for all Camp Huairarwee!”
Every one of Stella’s summer sisters had found a parcel on her plate;
and so had Mrs. Brook, Fräulein and Miss Hamersley. A general unwrapping
took place. Jean and Cecily, Betty and Frances found jewelry
cases—little boxes covered with tiny varnished fir-cones and acorns. The
other girls and the teachers had all been presented with miniature
cocked hats made of odds and ends of silk, and lined with layers of
chamois skin.
“Motherling, did _you_ make us these darling ducks of pen-wipers?” asked
Marion. But Mrs. Brook shook her head.
“I know who made these jewelry boxes!” said Jean, and she and Cecily
fell upon Stella, who was blushing and giggling between them.
“And I saw somebody _sewing_ something the other day, and she wouldn’t
tell what it was!” said Dorothy Stone. The girls crowded around Stella,
and she was brought to confession.
“I wanted to do _something_ for you,—you’re all so lovely to me!
Fräulein showed me how to make the hats, and I worked while you were off
bathing and out walking, and when you thought I was taking naps in my
tent!”
“You Sly-boots!” cried Carol.
“I thought Mrs. Brook’s birthday would be a nice time to give ’em to
you. But I never dreamt it was going to be _my_ birthday too!” laughed
Stella.
She was kissed and thanked, and her little offerings heartily praised.
Then she was allowed to open her own parcels, of which there were no
less than twenty-three. Jean had donated her own favorite book, _Lorna
Doone_; Cecily had made her a roly-poly pincushion; Betty and Frances
had bought Indian baskets; Carol had contributed her new belt with its
oriental buckle; Eunice one of her dainty handkerchiefs; Nancy a pretty
necktie; and the other girls had added each some trifle to swell the
birthday store. When she had thanked the givers, Stella sat brooding in
delight over her riches, while Mrs. Brook was making a speech in
acknowledgment of her own gifts.
“Stella acts as if we’d given her a gold watch, a diamond necklace, and
an automobile at least!” remarked Nancy. “I believe if I’d presented her
with a spool of darning cotton she’d have said it was ‘simply
_elegant_!’” And Stella declared: “I _know_ I’m the happiest girl in the
world! Nobody _ever_ had such lovely things done for her! I don’t wonder
folks keep birthdays! I think they’re just _grand_!”