Blue Robin, the Girl Pioneer

    Hark  to  the  West  Wind’s  song  of  cheer
    Bringing  blue  sky  and  weather  clear;
    Driving  away  the  clouds  so  gray
    Filling  the  earth  with  sunlight’s  ray;
    Cheering  the  hearts  of  those  who  mourn,
    Filling  the  dark  with  golden  dawn.”

When the little lecture had ended she had learned that when a slack rope tightens, when smoke beats down, when the sun is red in the morning, or when there is a yellowish or greenish sunset it means rain; how to tell which way the wind blows by pulling blades of grass and then letting the wind blow them, or to suck your thumb and let the wind blow around it, the cool side telling the tale.

To be sure, they were all simple things to learn, but they were the essentials of life, as the doctor said, who had a most jolly manner of giving his stray bits of information, all the while making so much sport, as he ambled on, that Nathalie was sure she would remember everything he had told her.

When the girls reached the wood with its cool, damp shade, moss-grown paths, and running brooklet, they set to work with renewed vigor to hunt for specimens. The Sport, notwithstanding the fun the girls had made of her garden implements, found that they were in great demand. For a time she was the star hiker, as first one and another pleaded, “Oh, Edith, just let me have that rake a minute!” or, “Oh, I see the dandiest little blue flower here in this crevice!” and so on.

When they finally grew tired of flower-hunting they pushed their way to a level space in the open on the edge of the woods, where knapsacks, frying-pans, pots, and all such camping utensils were hastily thrown on the grass, and the girls hied themselves to the spring to wash their heated cheeks and rearrange their tangled tresses. Some, more venturesome than the others, took off their shoes and stockings and waded in the brook’s cooling flow, while the older ones, summoned by a series of bird calls, hurried back to camp to prepare dinner.

To their delight, as the girls returned from the spring, they found that Dr. Homer had built an Indian “wickiup,” that is a dome-shaped wigwam, by sticking in the ground in a circle a number of limber poles. The ones the doctor had used were willow wands, but almost any kind of a bough would do, he claimed. He then showed the girls how he had bent the tops of each pair of opposites or poles forward until they met. The ends were then interlocked and tied firmly. Over this impromptu wigwam—for it had been made with no tool but his strong penknife—he had thrown a blanket shawl.

The girls were all much interested in the Indian wigwam for this was the simplest way of making a tent, and they examined it eagerly. They were especially interested when the doctor told them that one time when he had lost his trail up in the Maine woods, he had made a dome-shaped wigwam and had rested in its shelter, high and dry, during a severe storm.

When the novelty of the wigwam had worn off, every girl declared herself famished for something to eat, and the dinner committee hustled about picking up small dry twigs, which were placed in a heap, lightly, so as to draw the air. These were then covered with the heavier sticks until the desired height for a campfire was reached. Several fires were to be started, as no time was to be wasted in cooking the edibles.

When all was in readiness, there was a general call for Nathalie, who, as the new Pioneer, was to take her first lesson in lighting a fire with only one match. Every Pioneer, of course, was eager to show her how to do this feat, but Mrs. Morrow silenced the clamor by assigning the task to Helen.

“Oh, Mrs. Morrow—I think—” Nathalie stopped, a sudden roguish expression flittered over her face, and then she meekly followed Helen to the wood-pile and stood silent as she watched that young lady scratch her match, hold it in the hollow of her hand, and then, with a soft puff, kneel, and apply it to a twig.

The twig was obstinate, however, and Helen’s one match attempt was a decided failure. The Sport now offered her services as instructor, but Nathalie, feeling sorry for Helen, who with a crestfallen air had retired to the ranks of onlookers, cried, “Oh, no, Mrs. Morrow, can’t I try by myself?”

As the Director nodded an assent, while the doctor laughingly declared she would have beginner’s luck, Nathalie took her match, examined it carefully, and then scratched it on the box. A tiny blue flame quivered in the air, which she carefully sheltered with her hand as she knelt before the heap of twigs, and blew, oh, so softly. It must have been a magic blow, for as she bent down and held it to the smallest twig she could find, almost a wisp of straw, it spread itself to the air, caught the twig in its flame, and in another moment drifting spurts of smoke showed that Nathalie had lighted the fire with one match!

The doctor whistled softly as he saw that Nathalie had succeeded, but before she could regain an upright position, the Pioneers had broken forth into loud clapping, somewhat to her confusion as she stood with the blackened match still in her hand.

Should she tell, she pondered, as her glance swept from face to face of the applauding girls; then as she saw the amused look in the doctor’s eyes, as he stood with folded arms leaning against a tree watching her, she gave a little laugh. She opened her lips to speak, but when the clapping continued, as if each Pioneer was bent on seeing who could clap the loudest, she raised her hand as she had seen Mrs. Morrow and Helen do sometimes.

This appeal had the desired effect, and as the clapping dwindled, Nathalie, with a nervous laugh, cried, “Girls, please don’t clap me any more, for I do not deserve it. This is not the first time I have lighted a fire with a single match. A few summers ago I camped up in the Maine woods. The second day at camp some one upset a pail of water on the box with our match supply, and as only one dry box was left, and it was some miles to the nearest settlement, we were compelled to economize, and were allowed only one match to light a fire. I was going to tell you,” she gave a little ripple of laughter, “but you were all so anxious to show me I did not want to spoil your fun, and then as I have not attempted the feat since that summer, I did not know whether I could do it again or not.”

A circle of stones was now placed around the fires so as to prevent them from spreading in case of a strong wind, and then the lunch-boxes were opened. It was not long before the savory fumes of frying frankfurters, boiling cocoa, and flapjacks signified that a camp dinner was in progress.

The girls found a level rock on which they spread a cloth and small board, and then the bread was cut and buttered in a way that showed that they were experts at the task. Nathalie made the cocoa, counting noses as she put in a teaspoonful of cocoa to every cup of boiling water, letting it boil three minutes by the watch of the doctor, who had kindly offered to help his little hike-mate, as he called her.

The hikers now seated themselves around the fires—for there were three—and then something happened that held Nathalie with reverent awe for she saw Mrs. Morrow’s face sober with a sweet seriousness, as she gave the signal for silence. Every head was quickly lowered in response to this signal, and then a timid voice—it belonged to the Flower—broke the reverent stillness by softly chanting a blessing to the Giver of all good.

Each girl had brought her own tin cup, plate, knife and fork, lump of sugar, and napkin. Pats of butter were now distributed, followed by the molasses jug, so as to be ready for the flapjacks that were now browning to a turn. The “Ohs!” and “Ahs!” of delight that burst forth as the cakes found their way around the circle amply repaid the baker for her reddened face and hard labor over the burning fagots.

Of course there had to be mishaps; the first piece of bacon to grease the griddle dropped into the fire instead of the pan, and a number of cakes turned out failures and had to be consigned to the waste-heap. But it was a regular hike spread, and meant lots and lots of fun, especially when the pancake contest was started.

This was something new to Nathalie, and she quite enjoyed it as she watched one girl after the other take her turn in making a flapjack. She first poured the batter on the griddle in just the right quantity, and then skillfully tossed it high in air as she turned it, so that it would land in just the right place on the pan and finish to just the right shade of brown.

All the party, even the doctor, tried their hands at this feat, all but the new Pioneer, who shrank back, afraid to venture as she knew that expertness came only with many trials. But the girls were persistent and so good-natured in trying to show her that she felt a little ashamed, especially when Mrs. Morrow, who was jotting down the names of the experts for merit badges, repeated softly, “I can!”

Nathalie immediately sprang up, and although feeling that she would make a perfect goose of herself at this new trial, took the little pitcher, poured out the batter, and then with a quaking heart watched it darken. Ah, she slipped the turner under, and was just about to give it the magic toss when her hand slipped, and batter and turner fell into the flames.

She was so disgusted with this dismal attempt that she would have liked to disappear to parts unknown if the doctor had not cried, “Ah, just one more trial, I know you will get it this time!” To her unutterable astonishment the doctor’s prediction came true, and she really tossed a flapjack with such success that her hike-mate declared it was “the best ever,” and begged permission to eat it in memory of the plucky deed.

Of course Grace, Louise, and Helen each won a badge, as was discovered when the contest was over. But even feasting has its limitations on a warm day in June, and as the edibles disappeared the hike spread came to an end. The Tike and one of the Bob Whites were now despatched to the spring for some water, while the rest of the hikers—all but Mrs. Morrow, who was escorted to the wigwam for a siesta—flew hither and thither, filling the pots with water to boil off the grease, rubbing the griddle with sand, and so on.

As Nathalie and the doctor were jabbing the knives in the dirt to clean them, Helen came running up crying, “Oh, what do you suppose the water-carriers are up to? They have been gone an awfully long time and we have not a drop of water to wash the dishes?”

“I will go and see!” exclaimed the doctor, jumping up hastily, but he had not gone more than a few steps when a shrill scream broke the brooding silence of the woods. In another instant pots, pans, and dishes were flung broadcast as every one made a wild rush in the direction of the spring, headed by the doctor. As the doctor reached the spring, however, and saw that the screams did not issue from that quarter he turned, and with a few flying leaps reached the scene of disaster, some distance down the stream.

The girls started to run after him, but in a moment his loud laughter brought them to a standstill, for surely it could not be anything very serious or he would not be indulging in such levity! Helen and the Sport, however, who had rushed steadily on, were not far behind the doctor, and as they swung around the bend of the trees, they beheld a diminutive figure, sputtering and gasping, with rivulets of water trickling from bedraggled garments and locks, being assisted up the bank by the doctor’s strong arm!

CHAPTER XIII—AROUND THE CHEER FIRE

Bundled up in wraps after a few drops of stimulant had been administered to prevent her taking cold, which made her drowsy, she was left to the ministrations of the dream fairies, while the girls hurried off to wash the dishes and finish cleaning up. While this was being performed, the doctor showed Nathalie how to throw dirt or water on the fires—all but one, which was left for a cheer fire—so as to be sure that they were all out. The girls, he said, had learned a lesson last summer when they left a fire smoldering when they struck camp. It soon burst into a blaze and if it hadn’t been for a party of Scouts who had been off for a tramp the woods would have been on fire.

Camp duties done, the cheer fire blazed a welcome and the girls hastily circled around it, and were soon busily engaged in packing the roots of their wild flowers with clay, wrapping them in big leaves and tying them securely with sweet grasses or string. They were then placed in the Tike’s basket to delight the heart of some shut-in, whose only outing was from the window.

When this task was completed the flower specimens were laid in rows, and then Helen as leader, gave the names of her specimens; each girl having a like specimen laid it carefully between a sheet of blotting paper to remove the moisture, and then pressed it deftly in her note-book, where it was fastened with gummed paper across the stems and thick parts of the plant. Under each flower was now written its botanical name, its common name, the date of finding it, its habitat, and any other data that could be obtained from the Encyclopedia, who, with flower books spread before her, was kept busy supplying all the needed information.

Each odd specimen was passed around for inspection, and then the lucky finder jubilantly placed it on record, while others wrote additional information as to the insects that visit it, whether it is a pollen-bearer, if it slept at night, or closed in the sun. The doctor supplemented Barbara’s book lore by stray bits of knowledge that he had picked up from actual experience in his many scout rambles. The girls were only too pleased to listen, being particularly interested in his account of the evolution of color in flowers.

When the time came for telling cheer fire stories, Mrs. Morrow suggested that they should be flower stories, stipulating, however, that the legends told should be about the specimens that had been found in that day’s hike.

With this, the doctor, who was lying on the grass by the side of Nathalie, pulled off his hat which she had decorated with a dandelion wreath, and waving it high so every one could see it in its yellow glory, said he would start the wheel of yarns by telling about the maiden with the fluffy cobweb hair.

As he said “hair,” Lillie Bell rose, and in ready imitation of the renowned Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm tragically intoned:

    “Robaire!  Robaire!
    Let  down  your  hair!”

The girls burst into peals of laughter, for even in the sleepy town of Westport every one had seen the beloved Rebecca, and keenly appreciated Lillie’s timely pose.

“But this slim bit of a girl,” smiled the doctor, “didn’t let down her yellow tresses, they just flew with the wind, until Shawondassee—this is an Indian legend—the South Wind saw her. Instead of seeking this witching maiden, whom he admired so deeply, he was lulled to sleep by the fragrance of the summer flowers and forgot all about her. The next day he again spied his yellow charmer away off among the grasses of the meadows, but after lazily wishing she would come to him he snoozed off again. To his horror, the next day he found that the maiden’s tresses were gone, and that in her place stood an old woman who looked as if Jack Frost had sprinkled her with his silver dust.

“‘Ah,’ sighed Shawondassee, ‘my brother the North Wind has done this wrong.’ So he hurriedly arose and blew his horn loud and fierce to the whitened figure standing so forlornly out in the fields. But alas, as his soft breezes whistled gently about the old woman, her snow-white hair fell to the ground, and then she, too, soon disappeared, leaving nothing but a few upright stems and a bunch of withered leaves. She was the dandelion, whose petals turn to fluffy hair when touched by the North Wind. This yellow maiden is said to be a symbol of the sun, and has been named Dandelion because it is claimed that its petals resemble a lion’s tooth.”

The common little field flower seemed to have gained in interest after the legend, and was examined with greater curiosity, while the Scribe hurriedly wrote the legend on a stray page of her copy-pad to feature it in the “Pioneer.”

Lillie Bell, who had gathered a number of wild forget-me-nots, told a pathetic German legend about that sweetheart flower, while Helen explained that the marigold, instead of being such a common plant, was in reality the bride of the sun. It was once a maiden named Caltha, who, in reward for her faithfulness to the sun, was finally lost in his golden rays, and on the spot where she used to stand and gaze at her fiery lover the marigold grew.

Nathalie, who had been deeply interested in the legends, experienced somewhat of a shock when Mrs. Morrow suddenly said, “Now, Nathalie, are we not to hear a flower legend, or some kind of a story from you?”

“Oh, I am a poor hand at story-telling,” the girl speedily answered.

“Hear! hear! this is treason!” called Helen loudly, “for a Pioneer who has won fame as a Story Lady!”

“Oh, that is different,” pleaded her friend in mild despair, “those were only children’s stories.”

“To be able to tell stories to children, Nathalie, and to keep their attention,” spoke Mrs. Morrow, “shows ability, and if we have so gifted a Pioneer I think it is our due to hear from her.”

“And then, Nathalie,” urged Grace, “every Pioneer has to know how to tell stories, and this is a good time to make a beginning.”

“Well, I see I am doomed, notwithstanding my protests,” said the girl after a short pause. “I will try to tell one if you will let me put on my thinking-cap for a moment.” As permission was accorded to this request, Nathalie turned and glanced helplessly at the doctor, as if she might find inspiration in his merry eyes, Helen laughingly declared.

Nathalie blushed as the doctor shook his head and said, “No, hike-mate, I am at your service in everything but a story, for I ran dry when I told mine. Then I know you have nerve and brains enough to do your own thinking.”

“Oh, I know one!” the girl suddenly cried as her face lighted, and then closing her eyes for a moment, as if to invoke the aid of some unknown muse, she said, “I read it in a newspaper the other day. It is about a flower, but I will let you guess its name.”

“It was in the spring,” she continued slowly, “and old Peboan sat alone in his ragged tepee. His hair fell about his time-worn face like glistening icicles as he shivered in his fur robes; oh, so cold, so weak and hungry, for he had had no food for days. As he bent over to blow upon the smoldering embers that glowed at his feet, he besought the Great Spirit to come to his aid.

“As he thus prayed and lamented a handsome young girl stepped within the tent. Her eyes were as blue as the summer sky and were filled with a liquid light, while her golden hair floated gracefully with the wind. Her cheeks were like apple blossoms and her gown was made of sweet grasses and green leaves. In her arms she carried twigs of the pussy-willow. Going softly to the old man, she cried in a voice as sweet as the brook’s gentle flow, ‘Peboan, what can I do for thee?’

“The old man raised his head as he heard the maiden’s sweet voice, and as he saw her in her spring glory he cried bitterly, ‘I am hungry and cold. I have lost my power over nature, for the streams have refused to stand still for me. My mantle disappears from the earth as rapidly as I cover it, and the flowers are peeping from their brown beds, although I have bidden them sleep.’

“‘Peboan,’ replied the maiden, ‘I am Seguin, the summer manitou; the flowers are obeying me, for I have bidden them arise. The leaves are budding on the trees, the pussies are out in all their furry finery, for I, Seguin, now possess the earth. The snow and ice have disappeared, for they have obeyed my voice, and your power is gone. All nature pays me homage, for I am the Queen of the earth, the Goddess of spring!

“’Peboan, you are the winter manitou, and the Great Spirit calls you! Now go!’ As Seguin said these words she gently waved her wand over the old man’s head as it sank between his shoulders.

“The winter manitou made no reply, but drew his furs closer about his shivering form, and then, as he heard the song of the spring birds, and the rustling of the leaves in the sunshine, he sank to the ground.

“As a ray of the warm sun filtered through the top of the tepee and fell upon the old man, who lay exhausted on the earth; Seguin again raised her wand, and the winter manitou disappeared. His furs had turned to dancing leaves; his tepee to a tall tree. Then Seguin stooped, and gathering a handful of the leaves from the tree she breathed on them—very softly—and then threw them on the earth. They immediately stood upright, each holding forth a tiny pink flower, gay with a delicate perfume.

“‘Grow and blossom,’ cried the spring maiden softly, ‘and bloom a welcome to the hearts of those who are depressed by winter’s gales, for you are a token that Peboan, the winter manitou is gone. You are the first flower that comes in the spring.’ Now what is the name of it?” ended Nathalie abruptly.

“Snowdrop!” called Helen quickly. Nathalie shook her head.

“Violet!” timidly ventured some one.

“Violet?” the Sport repeated scornfully. “Who ever heard of a pink violet? Nathalie said this flower was pink.”

Mrs. Morrow broke the sudden silence that followed the Sport’s remark by saying softly, “I think it is the arbutus!”

“That’s it!” cried Nathalie, and then to her bewilderment every one began to clap again. As the clapping continued, the girls meanwhile, watching her with sparkling eyes, Nathalie turned and whispered to the doctor, “Why, what are they clapping for?”

But before he could reply the Sport shouted, “Hurrah for the Story Lady!”

The cry was repeated again and again to Nathalie’s confusion. In a moment, however, her wits asserted themselves, and springing to her feet, with a low sweeping courtesy she cried, “Thank you, fellow Pioneers, I am glad you liked my first cheer-fire story!”

The clapping now subsided, and after several had expressed their admiration by saying that the story was the “best ever,” Mrs. Morrow started a floral conundrum, which proved a thriller, the doctor claimed, as he sat with humorous eyes and watched the girls, who all sat up and took notice, as one after the other called out the name of a flower in answer to the questions propounded by their Director.

When the questions had all been answered, it was discovered that the names of the star actors in this little floral drama, the color of their eyes, hair, and so on, as well as the musical instrument played by the lover, the words of his proposal, the wedding, and even the time and place of the honeymoon, had all been answered by the names of flowers.

Lillie Bell, at Mrs. Morrow’s request, took her mandolin, and after thrumming it softly broke into a quaint low strain of melody, while Louise sang in her sweet little soprano voice, “All in a Garden Fair,” “Fortune My Foe,” and “Nymphs and Shepherds,” each number being one of a group of old English songs dating as far back as 1555. After receiving an encore, Louise favored them with “Polly Willis,” and “Golden Slumber Kiss Your Eyes,” two more popular ballads of the seventeenth century.

These old-time songs were a surprise for Mrs. Morrow, who had often been heard to remark that it was a pity, as they were Pioneers, that they did not know some of the songs that used to be sung in those days, instead of ragtime songs. But ragtime was not altogether displaced, for in a few minutes the girls were singing “The Sweet Little Girl with the Quaint Squeegee,” “Dry yo’ Eyes,” and “My Little Dream Girl,” with a verve and gusto that made the woods resound to the ring of their girlish voices.

By this time cramped limbs and the joyousness of life asserted themselves, and every one began to feel that they wanted to run, leap, and jump, so at the doctor’s suggestion they played the Scout game of “Stalking.” The doctor was the deer, not hiding, but standing and moving a little now and then as he liked, while the girls vied with one another in trying to touch him without being seen.

The doctor did his part so well that he was duly tantalizing, the Pioneers declared, as they watched him with strained eyes, being unable to catch him napping. When the doctor called “Time,” the game ended by all the girls coming to a halt on the spot where they were standing when the call sounded, the girl nearest the deer winning the game.

Prisoner’s Base was then started; the goals were marked off, the players divided into two sections, one stationed in each goal, and then the fun began. A girl would advance towards the opposite goal, and then run back into safety, while one of her mates came to her rescue by chasing her pursuer, who, in turn, was rescued by one of her own mates. The rushing about gave health, glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes attesting that muscles, limbs, and blood were being exercised to a good purpose. But after the doctor had again defeated them by never getting caught, the game was abandoned, the girls all vowing he was magic-limbed, for he was so quick and agile on his feet.

After a short time spent in practicing bird calls, as it was nearing the time to return home the hikers gathered up their belongings, packed their knapsacks, and with staffs in hand started out on the homeward hike. They all declared that they were not a bit fatigued by the day’s activities, and jested merrily one with another, or happily sang snatches of songs as they wended their way back to town.

By the time they had reached the cross-roads their spirits had subsided somewhat, all but the Sport’s, who teasingly whisked off Barbara’s hat and the next instant was whizzing down the road with it clutched in her hand.

Barbara, notwithstanding her weighty nickname of the Encyclopedia, was agile, and lost no time in flying after her, urged to speed by the girls. Although inclined to poke fun sometimes at Barbara for her absent-mindedness and love of books, the girls were her firm friends. They loved her for her kindly heart and sincere efforts to help others.

There was a shout of victory when it was seen that the Encyclopedia had captured her head-gear, and they were all clapping vociferously when an automobile rounded the bend in the road. The car turned out to be the doctor’s, whose chauffeur had promised to meet him near the cross-roads as he had to be in his office by five that afternoon.

The doctor quickly assisted Mrs. Morrow into the car as she had decided to ride, and then stood and waited while the Pioneers—two of whom had been invited to join their Director—urged Kitty with her iron pot, and the Flower with her griddle to accept the invitation.

The girls finally consented, and with many waves of the hands to the pedestrians, and a loud honk, honk, the car glided down the road and out of sight.

Helen, Nathalie, and Edith, as they lived near one another, bade their mates good-by, and, as they had decided to take a short cut home, turned down a side path. As they strolled slowly along a road running by a low stone wall hedging a pasture, where a brook twisted like a silver cord in the undulating grass, Edith asked her companions if they did not want to walk to the Bluff, where they would have a fine view of the bay in the distance.

“Oh, yes,” assented Helen, “it is a lovely view, Nathalie, and will only be a step out of the way if we go by the brook.”

Nathalie, although feeling somewhat tired, was anxious to visit the Bluff, and a minute later the three girls climbed the stone barricade and were keeping pace with the brook’s windings as it leaped boisterously over a bed of stones, or crept lingeringly, with murmuring ripples, between grass-fringed banks.

Presently they wandered into the shade of the trees, where, to Nathalie’s surprise, she found the old brook bed. Instead of being earth and stones, however, it was green and flower-starred, overshadowed by weeping willows and silver birches, their interlaced tops bending low as if seeking their old-time friend with its murmuring song.

Lulled by the mossy dell and the fragrance of the woodland posies, the girls loitered, and did not realize that the afternoon was waning until they reached the Bluff. They raced to the top, where Nathalie’s joy at being the fleetest was forgotten, as with stilled eyes she gazed upon the fertile strip of valley below, its green specked by tiny white cottages and washed by the waters of the bay that shone in the glow of the setting sun like a sheet of brass.

The air was becoming chilled by the mist that was hovering in the distance, and they turned and quickly made their way back to the road. Whereupon, Edith insisted that they take the summit road, leading over a small hill at one end of the town, which she declared would save time.

Her companions assented, and in a short space they were pantingly trudging up the slope, and then, beginning to realize how tired they were, they sat down on a rock near the edge of the summit to rest. Lured by the changing colors of the afterglow they grew silent, awed, perhaps, by the calm that hushes all nature when the light of day is fading into the misty shadows of twilight.

Nathalie had turned from the mountains of pink foam that floated up from the golden west, and was gazing down at the town, where little twinkling lights were beginning to peep here and there between the tree-tops, when Edith suddenly cried, “Oh, look at that smoke!” pointing to a street just below the slope where black columns of smoke were rushing upward.

“Some one must be making a big bonfire,” answered Helen inertly, as her eyes followed the direction of Edith’s finger.

“Why, Helen, that is not a bonfire,” was the Sport’s quick retort. “Oh, I saw a flame shoot up!” she added excitedly.

“So did I!” exclaimed Nathalie, springing on her feet. “And oh, there’s another.”

“Why, the church is on fire!” shouted Edith. “There—don’t you see—the flames are coming out of the back!”

The girls with dazed eyes and beating hearts looked at the old Methodist church, set back from a tree mantled road, within a few feet of a white cottage, the parsonage, that nested like some white bird in the shelter of the waving boughs of the trees.

“Oh, girls,” wailed the Sport, as she turned abruptly and gazed at them with an awe-struck countenance; “it is the church—and the new organ—they were to finish it to-day!” She wrung her hands frantically.

Her companions made no reply, their eyes were glued on the columns of smoke that hurtled in dense masses up into the air.

“I don’t believe any one knows about it!” exclaimed Helen. “Oh, what shall we do? It will be of no use to shout ‘Fire!’ we are too far away.”

“Oh, I know what we can do,” cried Edith heatedly. “We can run to the fire-house and give the alarm!”

But Helen had already started forward, and Nathalie followed blindly, not even knowing where the fire-house was. Edith, like the flash of a flame, shot ahead of the two girls, and the next instant was tearing like some wild thing down the hill. In a few moments she had turned up a road and was speeding in the direction of a red house with a funny little cupola that loomed up above the small cottages surrounding it.

“Fire!” yelled the Sport, as she tore frantically along. Helen took up the cry, but Nathalie, although she tried to follow her example, only succeeded in making a hoarse sound that died away almost as soon as it left her whitened lips.

As her breath began to come in gasps she was half tempted to stop and let the other two girls give the alarm. But something told her that would not be the act of a Pioneer, and she struggled on until she arrived in front of the old ramshackle building with the red cupola which looked as if it had once done service as a barn.

“Oh, there is no one here!” panted Helen as she beat frenziedly with her two hands on the big wooden door. “It is barred inside.”

But the Sport, like a whirlwind, had flown around to the rear of the building, and the next moment was crawling through a window she had found unfastened. It took but a moment’s time to speed across the floor, give the bar a pull, and fling wide the door.

“We must ring the bell,” gasped Helen, as she glanced up at an old rope that dangled in the center of the fire-house from a big bell which hung motionless in the small tower above their heads.

The three girls sprang for the rope, but the Sport was the quickest and caught the dangling rope in her hands. Summoning all her strength she gave it a hard pull. The next instant, as the loud clang of the bell rang out, the girls heard a sudden imprecation, and looked hastily down to see the Sport with a rueful countenance sitting on the floor—the rope had broken in her grasp!

CHAPTER XIV—OVERCOMES

Up the ladder climbed Edith, high to the top, but alas, she was just a few inches short of touching the swaying rope, which she now perceived was fastened to a chain that hung from the bell.

“Oh, what will you do?” cried Helen, as the two girls stretched their necks almost off their shoulders to see if there was not some way out of the difficulty.

“I know what I will do,” exclaimed the Sport suddenly. “I will climb up on the beam, walk a few steps, and then I can reach it.”

“You will fall!” exclaimed Nathalie in nervous fear.

“Oh, no, she won’t,” called out Helen hastily. “You don’t know Edith; that’s an easy feat for her, for she’s a regular acrobat. But, Edith, be careful!” she finished, with sudden anxiety, as she saw the girl climb up on the beam and then lift herself upright.

Nathalie, with her breath held, watched Edith for a moment, and then as she saw her reach out to catch the dangling rope, she closed her eyes, thrilled in every nerve with silent terror for fear she would miss her footing.

But she didn’t, for when Nathalie opened her eyes just for a hurried peep, she saw Edith with the rope in her hand. The next instant she had bent to her task and a loud “Clang! Clang!” rang sharply out.

“One, two, three!” a moment’s pause, then, “One, two, three!” Twice this was repeated as the girls stood waiting below with their eyes fixed on the ringer’s every movement; Helen, fearful that she would become reckless and reach too far, while Nathalie obeyed an impulse she could not define and just watched in nervous tension.

Ah, she had dropped her arms and was looking down at the girls. “What are you standing there for, ninnies?” she emphasized with a stamp of her foot that sent a shiver of horror through Nathalie’s wildly beating heart. “Why don’t you go and get the engine out?”

“Oh, so we can,” rejoined Helen quickly. “I never thought! Come, you help me!” catching Nathalie by the arm.

Nathalie turned and followed Helen, who had swiftly run to the fire-engine, a newly painted affair, a box on wheels, standing in the rear of the fire-house. With an alert spring she was close at Helen’s heels, and in a moment more had grabbed one of the two ropes tied to the front axle. Helen, who stood with the other rope in her hand, now cried, “Quick, let’s run it out to the road!”

It rolled easily, and the two girls were just about to wheel it through the open door, when a man in a red shirt, leather hat, and his trousers tucked into his rubber boots dashed hurriedly up to them.

“Where’s the fire?” he panted. With heated face and eyes bulging excitement he seized the rope from Nathalie’s hand, and the next minute, with Helen’s help, had run the engine out into the road.

“The Methodist church is on fire!” yelled the Sport from her high perch on the beam, but there was no need to say more, for several other men had arrived, all in red shirts and firemen’s helmets, while others were seen racing from all directions towards the fire-house. In a few moments’ time a crowd had collected, each one bent in lending a hand, and all shouting with full vocal power as if they thought—so it seemed to Nathalie—their shouts would put out the fire.

In the midst of this clamorous din, another rubber-booted individual appeared, not only in fireman’s regalia, but with a big brass trumpet. On this he blew a mighty blast, and then with much gesticulation bellowed his orders to the men.

A final order from the chief, as the man with the trumpet proved to be, and the six or eight men holding the ropes of the engine started at breakneck speed down the hill. They were followed by a crowd of shouting men, women, hooting boys, and crying children, each one frenzied with excitement and with the avowed purpose of being first at the fire.

The girls, for by this time Edith had descended from her perilous perch, stood silent and watched the engine whiz down the slope leading to the town, the red-shirted firemen in front of it shouting angrily in their endeavors to stop the rear men from pushing it down on their heels too rapidly.

But Edith, who was never still two minutes if there was anything going on, with a wild, “Hoopla, I’m going to see the fire!” started in the wake of the hooting mob, running at a speed that soon made her one of the rank and file that went plunging down the hill.

Helen’s eyes followed the flying figure, and then, with a “Come on, don’t let the Sport outdo us!” she was racing after her. Nathalie, bewildered by this strange and novel experience that had leaped into her life, stood still, uncertain what to do. She felt a sudden abhorrence of mingling with the fire-crazed crowd that surged before her. Brought up to keep away from these spectacular affairs of the city, she felt she would be transgressing all laws of decorum if she followed her friends. But the impulse to do as the other Pioneers did spurred her on, and with a quick leap forward she cast all conventionalities to the wind, and started on a dead run to catch up with Helen.

The girls were too quick for her and she arrived in front of the church only to make one more of a densely packed crowd of fire-seekers standing opposite the burning building, wild-eyed and weirdly pale from the reflection of the flaming tongues of red, which darted upward with a licking greediness that made the wooden building crack and snap under their devouring greed.

Spying Edith a few feet away, she hastily pushed through the jam of people to her side, only to hear her scream frantically, “Look out, Nathalie!” But the warning came too late, for a shower of water had already struck her in the back with terrific force, almost bowling her over. Ugh! it was running down her back with such icy spray that she screamed aloud, and then shrank back as jeering laughter from those standing by greeted her mishap.

But their merriment was short-lived, as the water deluge came again and Nathalie saw the contortions that shot from face to face of her neighbors as with shrill cries they tried to dodge to one side in their frantic endeavors to escape. In the midst of the confusion some one suddenly bellowed, “Run for your lives, the hose has burst!”

There were more shouts of dismay from the crowd of struggling, fighting figures, and then they had scattered. Edith by this time had grabbed Nathalie by the hand and in a moment or so she was safe on a neighboring porch.

“O dear, what will they do?” lamented Edith. “That hose is the only one in town!” For a few moments it looked as if not only the church but the parsonage and the adjacent buildings were to fall victims to the blazing flames that swept upward and outward with shooting jets between tall columns of black rolling smoke.

“They are going to form a bucket brigade!” shouted Edith suddenly into Nathalie’s ear. The words had barely passed her lips when she dropped her companion’s cold fingers, and was racing with a crowd of men, women, and boys towards a pond a short distance away.

Nathalie stood still and gazed with suppressed excitement at this new development of the fire-crazed people. It seemed to her as if every one in Westport must have owned a bucket from the number of people that sped—as if magic swept—towards the pond, where a long line of human beings, with a deftness and quickness that amazed her, were already passing buckets from one to the other and then on to the firemen who formed a line across the road in front of the church.

Each fireman would grab a bucket, pass it on to his mate, who in turn passed it on to the next one, and so on, until its contents had been splashed on the seething flames. Then just as quickly it was shoved by way of another line back to the pond to be filled again and once more hurried on its journey of rescue.

“Come, get busy!” some one suddenly yelled at this crisis. “They are forming another line at the pump!” Nathalie swung about to see Fred Tyson holding out to her an empty bucket. The unexpectedness of this new demand upon her overwrought nerves tempted her to scurry to parts unknown, as she backed away from Fred with the startled exclamation, “O dear, no!”

Fred, realizing how she felt, looked down at her with a reassuring smile as he answered, “Come, you must help; you are a Pioneer—it will be a fine experience for you!” Nathalie, without a word, grabbed the bucket and in another second was running swiftly by the side of this new friend as he guided her to the pump.

An hour later Nathalie appeared at the corner of the street leading to her home. Weary, bedraggled, sooted from head to foot, and with gleaming beads of perspiration running over her face, she was still jubilant. She had been to a real fire, and, what is more, had helped to put it out. For the buckets had done their work, and although the church stood a framework of glowing embers, the parsonage and other buildings had been saved.

She was so glad when she saw she was nearing her home, that, as she informed Fred, who had accompanied her, she felt like dancing a jig on her head from sheer joy, although she was not only tired to the verge of distraction, but faint from hunger.

“Oh, and there’s Mother! I guess she’s been almost worried to death,” she exclaimed as she spied her mother standing on the veranda anxiously peering down the path.

“Well, I guess she has been almost worried to death!” exclaimed a voice, as a white-robed figure stepped out from the shadows of the trees on the lawn.

It was Lucille. “If it hadn’t been for me, Nathalie Page,” she emphasized with upheld finger, “your mother would have been down to the fire herself. She was sure you were the first one burned to death. Why, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Nathalie Page!” she averred indignantly.

But there was no need to lecture Nathalie further, for her heart had been thumping violently in nervous dread all the way home, and she was already scurrying up the walk to the stoop. “Oh, Mother,” she panted, “did you think something dreadful had happened to me?”

“Well, I was quite nervous about you for a time,” replied her mother rather cheerily for one who had been almost worried to death, as she put her arm around the tired girl. “Lucille obligingly started to look for you, and met Dr. Homer, who said you were all right, helping put the fire out as a bucket maiden. But, my dear, you are all wet, and hungry, too, I’ll warrant.”

“You just believe I am,” cried Nathalie. “But, oh, Mother, I have had such an adventurous day! Do let me have something to eat, for I’m just about starved, but, O dear, where’s Fred Tyson; he came home with me?”

Fred was all right, having the cosiest of chats with Lucille—whom all men adored from youth to old age—as they walked up the path to the veranda. Would he come in and have supper? Why, he guessed he would, for he hadn’t had a mouthful since noon.

“By the Lord Harry, is that you, Blue Robin?” spoke a voice from the couch as Nathalie ushered Fred into the hall. “Gee, but you are as black as a colored ‘pusson,’” quoth Dick, as he rose from the couch and hobbled towards her.

It was a most exciting supper, eagerly devoured by Fred and Nathalie, as between bites, with glowing eyes, each one told of her or his experience. Nathalie told of the ringing of the fire bell, the exploits of the Sport, and how she did duty at the pump.

“Oh, Mother, it has just been a regular red-letter day!” she cried at length, “and I’m never again going to despise Edith Whiton for being sporty, for if it hadn’t been for her, I just believe the whole town would have burned down!”

The second day after the fire was a Pioneer Rally day, a Camp Fund day it had been called, for it was at this meeting that the Pioneers were to decide upon the entertainments they proposed having in order to raise the money to pay the cost of two or three weeks at camp that summer. One or two affairs had been held during the winter and spring, so that a small nucleus had been banked, but if this was not increased the hearts of the Pioneers would be “wrung with woe,” as the Sport had put it.

After the usual formalities of the Rally were over, Mrs. Morrow called the names of those who for some meritorious act or word were to receive badges of merit. To Nathalie’s astonishment her name was called, and at a shove from Helen the dazed girl went forward, and received three white stars, one for suggesting the search-party and sticking to her colors in the face of discouragement, another for telling stories to Rosy, and the last for planning and getting up the Story Club. She received the stars, Mrs. Morrow explained, as badges of merit were not given until a Pioneer had passed all tests and was a member of the first order.

The Sport received two badges—being a first class Pioneer—one for winning a contest in wigwagging, and another for ringing the bell for the church fire. Helen was also the recipient of a badge for her planning and excellent supervision of the Flower hike, while the Scribe received one for her skill in editing the “Pioneer,” which had come to be a journal not only of news, but of information.

“And now,” cried their Director, as she finished distributing the badges, “I am going to talk about the Camping Fund. As you all know, we must have one or two entertainments to raise money for that purpose. Several ideas have been submitted in compliance with my request for suggestions from the girls, but unfortunately, while a number are very good, only a few will suit our purpose. There is one, however, that is both patriotic and colonial, but it would require a large lawn and I am at a loss what to say about it. I think you all understand that the Pioneer who suggests the best entertainment, although her name is to be kept secret until the end of the season, is to receive some kind of a reward.”

“Could we not ask Mrs. Van Vorst again if she would let us have her grounds?” ventured Louise Gaynor somewhat timidly, realizing that the lady in question was not in favor with the Pioneers because of her rather eccentric ways.

“Well, I should say not!” broke in Edith. “She has refused two or three times already, and if there is an insane person there—” She stopped abruptly, rebuked by a warning look from Mrs. Morrow.

“No, I do not think I would bother Mrs. Van Vorst again,” said that lady. “But suppose I name a committee to see if they cannot scour the town and find a lawn.” Helen, Louise, and Nathalie were then named to perform this duty.

During this discussion Nathalie’s eyes had sparkled with suppressed emotion as she remembered her visit to the gray house, accompanied by an overwhelming desire to tell what she knew. Oh, wouldn’t it create a sensation? But she had given her word, and like the Spartan boy, although desire was gnawing at her vitals, she kept still and smiled in evident ease.

“There is another entertainment that has been suggested,” continued the Director. “It is an excellent idea for it will put you all to work thinking. It is to be called Pioneer Stunts, which means that each one of you is to be responsible for a recitation, a tableau, a song, a playlet, in fact anything that is colonial or pioneer in character. Each Pioneer is to work out her own idea, and all ideas are to be kept secret until after the performance, when a vote will be taken as to the best stunt—that is, the best idea, and the stunt acted the best—and then the name of the author will be revealed.”

The girls received this notice with applause, and each one immediately began to suggest one thing and another until warned by Mrs. Morrow again that the ideas were to remain secrets. After some further discussion it was decided to have the Pioneer Stunts the first part of June, at Seton Hall, Mrs. Morrow suggesting that the girls make it a Rose party and serve ice-cream and strawberries on the lawn.

Nathalie came home very enthusiastic about the Pioneer Stunt entertainment, and immediately set to work to jot down the idea that had come to her at the Rally. In the midst of writing her mother joined her and sat down to sew.

“Oh, Mother,” exclaimed the girl happily, “I’m awfully busy.”

“And working very hard, I see,” interposed Mrs. Page, smiling at her daughter’s animated face, as she patted the sunburned arm resting on the table.

“Yes,” replied Nathalie, “I have an awful lot to do.” And then she told about the entertainment, and what she was planning. With a long drawn sigh she cried, “Oh, Mumsie, I’m learning a terrible lot of useful things.”

“I see you are,” assented her mother, “and I am proud of you.”

“Oh, but they have not been a bit easy!” The girl’s face grew grave. “Sometimes I have thought I would have to give right up, but I haven’t,” she added with an emphatic little nod. And then for the first time she told her mother about the motto, “I Can,” and what a great help she had found it.

“Yes, Daughter, every little thing Miss I Can has helped you to do has been an overcome.”

“Indeed they have been overcomes,” assented the girl with another emphatic shake of her brown head. “Washing dishes—oh, how I used to hate that job—now I don’t mind it so much; cooking, telling stories to Rosy, going to the fire, yes, and even getting up the Story Club. I have just braced up, and then the first thing I knew, presto! the job was done!

“Yes, they have all been overcomes,” repeated Nathalie, “but it will be all right if I only manage to earn—” She paused abruptly, suddenly remembering, as she saw the lines of worry about her mother’s mouth, that she and Dick had pledged themselves not to talk about his operation, or to hint that they were trying to save in any way for it. They had both been troubled when they realized that when an anxiety was mentioned her mother’s face lost its happy look and she became sad and worried.

“Yes,” added Mrs. Page, not noticing Nathalie’s sudden pause, “I have been watching you for some time grappling with these try-outs that have come into your life, but I have said nothing, for I wanted to see if you or they would conquer.”

“Oh, you dear Mumsie,” cried Nathalie joyously, jumping up and giving her mother a good hug. “Do you know, I felt dreadfully the other day to think you had not said one word of praise; not that I want to be praised all the time, but still a word now and then comes in handy, you know; makes one feel so goody-goody.” This was said laughingly.

Nathalie could not help feeling encouraged after this comforting talk with her mother; she felt as if she had conquered the whole world, that there was nothing she could not overcome. But the next morning such a big overcome, or try-out, as her mother had expressed it, appeared, that it sufficed to lessen the glory of her former victories.

Lucille was ill; she had retired to her bed with a fit of indigestion, and the planning for the Pioneer Stunt, the survey work that Nathalie and her committee were to do, all had to be laid aside as she was instituted head nurse in her cousin’s room.

“Oh, Mother,” she moaned dolefully, as she kissed her mother good-night, “Lucille has been dreadfully cross; nothing pleases her. It has been, ‘Oh, Nathalie, don’t let that wind blow on me! Didn’t I tell you I don’t like rice pudding! Oh, you’re the slowest poke!’ Oh, Mother—” there was a lump in the girl’s throat, “if I hadn’t felt so humiliated at being spoken to in that way, I just believe I would have given her a good shaking.”

“Never mind, Nathalie,” replied Mrs. Page consolingly, “just remember it is another overcome and have patience. She will soon be herself again, you know she has been terribly upset, as she expected to spend a few days with her friend and she is disappointed.”

“Of course, no one ever had a disappointment but Lucille!” exclaimed Nathalie irritably.

“Nathalie!” reproved her mother, with a quick glance at the girl.

“Oh, well, it’s so, Mumsie,” replied her daughter with the tears very near the surface, and then with another kiss she hurried to her bed.

“Have you got your Stunt written?” inquired Helen a few days later from her window as Nathalie sat writing on the veranda. She held her hand up and flourished a couple of typewritten pages as she spoke.

“No, I’m discouraged,” Nathalie lowered her voice. “Lucille has been ill, and I have been kept awfully busy waiting on her. Then when I finally managed to get time to go to the library to get some dates, I lost the whole thing.”

“What—the idea?”

“Yes, the idea, and everything. I had been in the library some time and had just finished. I did not discover my loss until I was almost home, so I hurried back, but the librarian knew nothing about it. I hunted until I was distracted, and then I came home; so that is the end of that. This morning I am trying to think up another one.”

“Couldn’t you remember it?” questioned Helen concernedly.

“No, I tried to, but I’ve been so busy it has just flown away.”

“Well, you are a lucky girl to have brains enough to have more than one idea in your head to write up. You should have seen the Sport; she was over here last night, the picture of unadulterated woe, for she could not even scare up one idea. She hung around trying to get some suggestions from me, but I just told her she would have to do her own work. She’s the best ever when it comes to anything in the way of sports, or any activity, but she will not use her brains. She has a few, at least.”

“If she would spend more time reading instead of—” Nathalie stopped with slightly reddened face, for here was another overcome to win. She was thoughtless at times, never having been disciplined, and so, without meaning any harm, she was apt to express her opinion too freely about the people around her. “Oh, well,” she ended lamely, “she is a good Sport; if it hadn’t been for her the other night the town would have burned down.”

“That’s true,” laughed Helen good-naturedly, and then with a wave of her typewritten pages she disappeared from the window, as Nathalie turned and with a dimpling face greeted Dr. Morrow, who had just driven up to visit Lucille.

“You haven’t come to see me this time,” she suggested archly.

“Oh, it’s half and half this time, Blue Robin, for I have come to ask—oh, it is a message from the princess.” The doctor lowered his voice cautiously as he noted Dick at the other end of the veranda. “She wants to know if you will make her another visit.”

Nathalie’s bright face sobered and an embarrassed silence followed as she vainly tried to think of something that would excuse her from the unpleasantness of having her eyes blindfolded again.

“Why, yes, I would like to go, only you see I am very busy just now, helping Mother and doing Pioneer work, and—”

“Yes, I see,” interrupted the doctor somewhat coldly, with a keen glance at Nathalie’s downcast face. “Then I will tell her you are busy.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” cried the girl in desperation. “It sounds—well—tell her I will come some time later.” She felt the blood rush to her face.

“Oh, I’ll manage to make her understand somehow,” answered the doctor. Nathalie sensed a note of disappointment in his voice, and then without further parley he hurried up the stairs to Lucille.

“Mother,” questioned Nathalie a few minutes later, for she had confided to her all about the adventure at the gray house, “do you think I ought to visit the princess again?” She then told what had transpired between her and the doctor.

“You must be your own judge, Nathalie,” replied Mrs. Page slowly. “I agree with you that it is a foolish thing for the child’s mother to ask you to visit her in this way, but perhaps she may be induced to change her mind. But, after all, Nathalie, it is a small thing to overcome”—Mrs. Page emphasized the word—“when you can give the little girl so much pleasure by going.”

“O dear!” thought Nathalie, as she stood waiting for the doctor to come down-stairs a moment or so later, “it does seem that since I have become a Pioneer I am just overcoming things all the time. Funny, but these things never troubled me before.” “Oh, Doctor,” she exclaimed eagerly, as that gentleman’s genial face appeared in the doorway, “I have changed my mind, and if you like I will go with you to see the princess.”

An hour later Nathalie was greeted with a cry of delight from her new friend, who clapped her hands and called, “Oh, Mother, she has come!” Nathalie, imprisoned behind the muffler, rejoiced at heart to think she had won another overcome.

“How do you do?” spoke Mrs. Van Vorst’s low voice, and then the girl’s hand was taken in a cordial clasp. “It is so good of you to come; oh, if you could only realize the joy you have brought into my child’s life, and mine, too!” she added quickly.

“I am very glad,” replied Nathalie simply, as Mrs. Van Vorst led her to a seat by the couch.

“Here, sit by me—no, not on that chair,” commanded her Royal Highness. Nathalie felt a tug at her skirt, she was jerked suddenly down, and then two arms were thrown around her neck. A hand touched her face, softly at first, and then with a loud, “There, you are not going to sit with that horrid thing on your face again, I just hate it!” there came a sudden wrench, something gave way, the blinders were on the floor, and Nathalie was looking at the face of the princess with free, untrammeled eyes!