CHAPTER VIII
THE SCOUTS ARRIVE
Great was the surprise of the girls when the next afternoon they beheld walking towards the Camp two young men in Scout costume. They were none other than Harvey Bigelow and young Teddy Kip, the Master and assistant Scout Master of the "Flying Eagles" Scout Patrol. Each wore a small flag, and upon a red ground was a black and white eagle. As they advanced they gave their cry—"Yeh—yeh—yeh!"
"Oh! Harvey," screamed Ethel, and rushed forward, greeting them warmly.
Then Cousin Kate came and welcomed them cordially, introducing them to the nine girls.
"Why, Mrs. Hollister," said Harvey, catching sight of her in her tent, "it does seem good to see you here," and he gazed at her thoughtfully and curiously. "'Pon my word you've grown so young I thought you were Ethel at first."
She wore one of her daughter's costumes and really she did look wonderfully youthful.
"Well, you can't complain. The Camp life has done you some good, and there you were so down on it."
"Yes, I was, but people change. Look at yourself," replied she seriously.
"Mrs. Hollister," said he, "I've been here only one week, but I already feel that I'm another man. It's splendid for both boy and girl. It's a boon to be able to get away from city people and fashionable resorts. Nan has put up a big fight and, Ethel, she's coming out to see you next month," he said.
"Oh, how lovely! Kate, hear this: Nannie Bigelow is coming here to see us next month."
"I shall be here until the middle," said Harvey, "and she'll go home with us. I've an aunt in Springfield and she'll go there for a visit first. After that she'll come on here and spend a few days if you girls want her to."
"I'm so glad," said Ethel, and she ran to tell her mother.
Teddy Kip was a handsome lad of about eighteen. Immediately Patty Sands suggested that he must see everything, so she took him off under her wing. The rest sat on the ground while Harvey related several anecdotes and funny experiences that had befallen his patrol since they came to Camp.
"Now you must stay and dine with us," said Kate. "Our cooking may not surprise you, as it is the Scouts' way as well, but we'll give you a change—a shore dinner. Father sent up some very fresh clams. We'll steam them, and we'll have roasted potatoes, corn, and broiled chicken, a little salad and a ripe watermelon to finish."
"Well, I declare—'pon my word, one might imagine himself in Rhode
Island. We'll stay," and he smacked his lips.
"Nora, will you take Mr. Bigelow and show him our cellar. And the boys—perhaps they'll help us to prepare our meal," said Kate.
The young fellows were delighted to help the girls. Nora arose slowly and
Harvey followed.
Kate remarked to Ethel that Nora had changed so since her mother's death and asked her if she had noticed it.
"Yes, I do notice that she seems more quiet," replied Ethel.
"But you still dislike her though?" asked Kate.
"I don't know," replied Ethel. "I'm ashamed to admit it, Cousin Kate, but I can never seem to overcome that antipathy to her. If only her voice would lower a little, and if she'd cease to come up and slap one on the back I might feel differently, but she's so rough and unladylike."
"Ethel, environments may have had much to do with that. She seems to love your mother. But here comes Patty with young Kip."
"What a dandy site you have here for a Camp," said the young man. "Gee! it's choice. It beats ours."
When dinner was ready how they ate! They pronounced it equal to the best shore dinner ever prepared, and when finished there was nothing left excepting clam shells and corn cobs.
That was Mrs. Hollister's last day in Camp. She had been with the girls for two weeks. After leaving Camp she was to spend half of her time with Kate's parents and the remaining with Aunt Susan.
Harvey and Teddy stayed until nearly five o'clock, and it was with regret on both sides that they had to go.
The next day being Sunday, Kate read the prayers while they all sung several hymns, after which each girl was left to do as she chose. Ethel proposed to ride horseback. Several joined together and hired a buckboard for the afternoon.
"We'll meet you at the Lake," they said to Ethel, and off they went.
It was a warm afternoon. The sky looked alternately bright, then cloudy, but they started not minding though it rained.
Nora declined to join the buckboard party and strolled off by herself. She looked almost pretty in her clean, white linen suit and her hair tightly bound by a broad black ribbon. The goldenrod and sumac were opening, but the summer flowers looked old and tired, as though they needed new gowns and freshening up a bit. The girl thought of how alone she was and sighed. Then her mother came into her mind. To think that she had to be taken while so young—not yet forty-five, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. But "Thank God," she thought, "I never caused her any unhappiness, and I still have my dear, kind father," and Nora wiped her eyes. "It's Miss Ethel who dislikes me. No matter what I say to her nor how friendly I am, she won't like me. And when I try to joke or do her a little kindness, if she smiles sure her smile chills me. It's like a piece of ice going down me back. And her 'thank you, Honora' is as cold as charity. I like her mother the best. And yet Miss Ethel kissed me goodbye at the train last summer; but she was kissing everyone and I suppose she had to kiss me, for she's too much of a lady to slight a body. Yet she'd be glad to see the last of me—that I know."
CHAPTER IX
NORA GIVES SERVICE
Honora was an unconscious lover of Nature. She turned and beheld the sun slowly sinking.
"Ah! it must be nearly six o'clock," she thought. "I must make haste," but she stood spellbound, watching the glowing crimson, purple and yellow changing into orange, green, and greyish pink, and she gazed at the fiery ball sinking slowly behind the hills.
"How lovely!" she thought, "and it's gone down in a cloud. That means rain. It's growing very dark. Me for a quick walk down these hills before I lose my way."
She started down the path not a little worried. She had strayed off the main road and was on a side one leading through the woods. If only it would keep light until she reached Camp, and then if she could strike the broad road she'd be all right.
Walking rapidly through the woods she suddenly fancied that she hard a low moan, as though from someone in pain.
"It's a tramp perhaps," she thought. "He may be in trouble. Well, tramp or no tramp I must help him. I'll see."
Unafraid, Nora walked to the spot whence the cry had proceeded. Her eye fell upon an object huddled together on the ground. As it was out of the beaten path she stepped from branches and logs to stones and rocks before she reached it. She stooped down and gazed at it intently; then she uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"It's Miss Ethel!" she gasped. "God help her."
She was right. There lay Ethel Hollister—the girl who had never liked her—the girl from whom, no matter how hard she might try, Nora could get nothing beyond a cool "Thank you very much, Nora."
From the arm of this young woman trickled a stream of bright, red blood.
Honora wondered if she was dead. She gently shook her.
"Miss Ethel!" she called once and twice, "Are ye much hurt?" Then she half lifted her to a sitting posture and Ethel opened her eyes.
"Oh, Miss Casey—Honora!" she gasped feebly. "Thank God it is you who have found me. I have been so frightened. Two men were searching for me. I passed them on the road before my horse took fright and threw me. I heard them say: 'It must be the same girl. She rode a white horse. Now I know who she is. She's the niece of John Hollister. Her father is a rich New Yorker. We can sell the horse. We've got him safe, and we can keep the girl for a ransom. Probably she's injured and is lying somewhere around here.' Nora, I dared not breathe lest they should find me. I prayed to God as I've never prayed before to let them pass me and to send me help. He has answered my prayer and I'm grateful. When I heard your footsteps I thought they had returned. Oh! I am so glad that it's you," and she burst into tears.
Nora knelt down and took her by the hand.
"Where is your pain, my dear?" she asked.
"My leg. I guess it must be broken, and my arm—-I have had that nearly cut off. The horse became frightened and unmangeable. He turned into these woods and started to run. I was knocked off by the branch of a tree. I don't know how long I've lain here—it seems for hours. I must have fainted, but Nora the pain in my arm and leg is terrible. Whatever can we do?"
The girl's hat hung from the tree. Her hair was unloosed and hanging about her face. Evidently she was suffering agony, and to make matters worse upon the leaves overhead Nora heard a pattering of rain.
"This will never do," she said to herself. Not a sign of a house or a vehicle in sight. A damp chill pervaded the air. They were too far from the main road to seek assistance.
"Your arm has been cut by this jagged stone, Miss Ethel," said Nora, kneeling and starting to roll from the girl's arm the sleeve of her blouse. "I don't think there are any bones broken. But first I must stop its bleeding."
Nora, having had considerable experience with cuts, wounds and bruises, went to work as though she were about to teach the girls "first aid."
Her handkerchief was soiled. Ethel had lost hers. Both women wore silk petticoats. How could she manage to secure a bandage?
Suddenly her mother wit came to the rescue. She slipped off her linen skirt. It was perfectly clean. With her strong teeth she tore into strips the front breadth.
"Hark!" she exclaimed. "Glory be to God! I think I hear running water." She said it devoutly and in gratitude, for now it was water that she needed. Taking Ethel's hat from the tree she started up the road where to her joy she beheld a watering trough that was fed by a little waterfall trickling down the side of the rocks.
After thoroughly washing the long linen strips so as to be sure that the starch was out of them she filled Ethel's hat with water and hurried back.
"Here, dearie," she said, "Let me wash your face. I brought the water in your hat," and with the balance of her skirt she washed the girl's face and then proceeded to tear open the sleeve, cleansing the wound with a fresh hatful of water. She did it carefully and thoroughly, with the skill of a surgeon. It was an ugly wound, but she bound the arm firmly with the strips.
"There now! So much for that," ejaculated Nora, rising and pushing back from her brow one curly lock that always insisted upon falling over her eyes.
"Oh, Honora! you are an angel," exclaimed Ethel, "and I have always been so unfriendly."
Nora appeared not to hear but went on:
"Can you stand, my dear?" she asked.
"No," sobbed the girl, "I guess my leg must be broken. However are we to reach Camp? Oh, Nora, for God's sake don't leave me. I should die of fright were you to do so, and the men may be hiding near even now. Don't go, I beseech. I know I am selfish and I've been unkind to you, but forgive me, Nora. I'll be your slave after this if only you'll stay with me. Don't go for help. Just stay here until I die," and the girl fell to sobbing.
"I'm cold," she murmured—"I'm so chilly, Nora," and she shivered.
Quickly Nora removed her heavy white sweater that she had just put on, and raising Ethel to a sitting posture she first put in her good arm. Then she fastened the sweater about the girl's neck.
"There, dear, that will keep you warm, and I'll not be after leaving you—never fear—not if we stay together all night in these woods. But I must think how we can manage with you and your injuries. Faith it's raining and you may catch your death."
"And I have your sweater on, Nora!" exclaimed Ethel. "Oh, how selfish I am."
"Keep still," replied Nora. "I couldn't wear it now, for I'm going to try and carry you home."
For a moment Nora gazed tentatively at Ethel. Then suddenly there appeared a dawn of hope in her strong honest face.
"Miss Ethel, listen," she began. "When a child did ye ever play pig-a-back? Perhaps I might get you home that way."
"Yes, Nora. Papa always carried me up to bed that way," and the girl burst into tears.
"Ye mustn't cry," said Nora. "If ye do I shan't be able to carry ye. Now wipe your pretty eyes and help me carry ye as Papa used to. Forget your pain and try to be patient, for, Ethel, we must reach camp some way. Doubtless they are searching for us even now, but this is a side road far from the main one. They'll never think to look here, nor could they hear us were we of call. And then those men you spoke of. They may be near. There's no time to lose. Get on my back and cling for dear life."
Nora had great sense. She realized that until she had thoroughly frightened Ethel she would not exert herself and forget her pain. Then, too, if what she had told her were true, the men might really be lying in wait to capture the supposed wealthy New York girl.
Sitting on the ground with her back before Ethel she first gently raised the wounded arm, bringing the other one around to meet it. Thanks to the low branch of a tree and to Nora's recent physical culture exercises, making an almost superhuman effort she arose with her burden on her back. Then grasping the girl's knees she held them firmly, thereby supporting her injured leg, and started for the road, stopping now and then by a fence or stone to take breath and rest. On and on in that failing light she bravely walked.
As she descended the hill she seemed to have gained new strength. Now and then she'd speak cheering words to the wounded girl, trying to encourage her to bear her pain. The rain pelted in Honora's face, often blinding her. The thunder rolled and the lightning played, but she showed no sign of faltering. Onward she went, even faster.
Soon to her joy she beheld the main road, and after a few more rods a light from the Camp Fire.
"Shure," she thought, "now I know why men in olden times looked for the fire from their camps. It does cheer a body and give them new life."
She was ready to drop when she reached Camp. Ethel was no light weight. While in Camp she had gained, and now she weighed nearly a hundred and thirty-seven pounds. As Nora neared home she saw parties of men about to start on searching tours. They had sent word by Mr. Adams to Harvey, and there he and his patrol stood ready to start. Uncle John with the second party were there as well. In some way the horse had escaped from the two men and had returned to Camp, but without Ethel. Then they knew that she had been thrown. And as for Nora, something dreadful must have happened to her, for Nora was so strong and self-reliant.
A shout rent the air when they beheld Nora Casey drenched to the skin, hatless, coatless, with nearly all of her skirt missing, and carrying on her back a hysterical, shrieking girl, while with no apparent effort she walked steadily towards them. Harvery Bigelow's admiration for one so strong and courageous showed itself on every line of his face.
Uncle John took Ethel from Nora and laid her on the Camp bed that had been brought from the tent.
"By Jove!" ejaculated Harvey as he examined Ethel's ankle and pronounced it a compound fracture, "you're all right, Miss Casey, first to staunch the blood and bandage her arm, and second to bind her ankle in such a surgeon-like manner, say nothing of carrying her on your back for over a mile and a half and holding her leg so that you saved her pain. I take off my hat to you, Miss Casey. You have the nerve and strength of a man."
"I don't see," said Uncle John, "how in the name of heaven you managed to raise her, wounded as she was, upon your back—let alone bringing her through the pouring rain a dark night like this. Why! it's been a regular thunder shower. I'm glad that her mother knows nothing of it."
Nora sighed. She was very tired. Miss Kate came forward and put her arm around her.
"My dear, you are an honor to the Camp Fires. We owe a vote of thanks to this brave girl," and taking Nora's face between her hands she kissed her affectionately.
"I've done nothing wonderful," replied Nora simply, taking her sweater from Patty Sands. "Luckily I heard her moan and found her. I couldn't go away and leave her helpless and alone in a blinding storm, and two men waiting to seize her." Then she told Ethel's story of the conversation that she had overheard.
"Nor could we stay in the woods over night alone."
A buckboard appeared and Mrs. Hollister jumped out. She had heard of the accident through Mr. Adams and had made him bring her up.
After seeing Ethel for a few moments she rushed out and threw her arms about Nora.
"You are a dear brave girl," she sobbed, kissing her. "You have saved
Ethel's life. Never while I live shall I forget it."
"Nor I," broke in Uncle John, grasping the hands of the girl. "Miss Nora, you're a fine young woman and you're father has cause to be proud of his daughter."
"Miss Nora," ejaculated Harvey, "allow me to congratulate you. You're a dead game sport," and he wrung her hands heartily, after which Teddy Kip grasped her by the arm saying:
"Why, Miss Casey, you're a regular Scout—you are, and no mistake."
Nora smiled faintly.
"Thank you all," she said. "I am very tired. I think I shall go to bed.
Good night."
CHAPTER X
A HEROINE
So Nora Casey became the heroine of the Camp. An account of her bravery was in all the papers and the entire Camp was written up. The once neglected and disliked girl was now in a fair way to be spoiled. But Nora could not be spoiled. She was too sensible.
"I say, Miss Nora," exclaimed Harvey the next day, "I don't think I'd dare marry a woman with your strength. You'd put me to shame."
Nora laughed good naturedly.
"Quit yere blarney," she said.
As for Ethel, she couldn't bear to let Nora out of her sight, and Nora whose heart was tender and whose nature was forgiving devoted herself to the girl, reading aloud, relating funny stories of her father, and when tired of talking Patty, Mattie, she and Ethel would play bridge.
The men considered that Ethel had had a narrow escape. Uncle John consulted with Judge Sands as to what was best to do about the kidnapers. A few days later two suspicious looking creatures were arrested. They had escaped from Joliet jail and admitted having been for days in the woods. Ethel rode to the trial and identified their voices but she had not seen their faces. They were returned to jail in Joliet and before they left they confessed that they had contemplated finding the girl and holding her for a ransom. They were intending to sell the horse but they had not tied him securely and he had broken loose. They were ugly looking customers.
The next week before the breaking up of camp, when Mr. Casey came to take Nora home, everyone flocked around him telling of his daughter's brave act. He took Ethel by the hand and remarked simply:
"It was like Honora to do that. There's none more brave than she—God bless her."
From that day Nora had no better friend than Ethel. She felt that the girl had saved her life and her gratitude was boundless.
"Tell me," asked; Nora, "why did you dislike me so?"
"I was wicked, Nora," replied Ethel, "I am ashamed of it now."
"But," persisted the girl, "did you think me vulgar?"
"No," replied Ethel. "I thought you had a loud voice, and there's something about a loud voice that I dislike. But even so I should have overlooked that, had I been a good girl. You are so far above me, Nora, that I am ashamed to even acknowledge it."
"Miss Ethel—" said Nora.
"Call me Ethel in future," said the girl—"please do."
"Well—Ethel—you are not the first one who has criticised my voice. My teachers have always done so, and even my mother used to say, 'Not so loud, Nora dear. Speak more gentle like.'"
"Did she?" asked Ethel.
"Yes, my mother had her faults, Ethel, but at heart she was a lady. So your dislike of me was not so strange after all."
"But," interrupted Ethel, "Nora, perhaps I wasn't thankful to hear your loud voice when I lay there wounded and helpless, and I'm ashamed to even have told you."
"I wish you to help me," broke in Nora. "I wish to make myself different—more of a lady. Will you tell me when I talk too loud? It will be a favor if you will."
Ethel assented and kissed Nora affectionately.
Nannie Bigelow arrived and the girl became a general favorite. She at once fell in love with Nora.
"Why, she's a heroine," she said. "She'd give her life for another. I think she's splendid."
Nannie had much to say of their New York Camp Fire, and of the girls who belonged.
"You know some of them are quite unlike us, but Miss Westcott says they'll improve—that being with us will make them more gentle. And you have no idea how they are improving. And as for Dorothy's nursery, it's just booming. There is a waiting list a mile long," and she chatted on, entertaining the girls with her talk.
At the next and last Council Meeting, the girls received honors for having slept three months out of doors, for learning to swim, and rowing twenty miles on the Muskingum River, and for sailing a boat without help for fifty miles. They also received extra honors for cooking, and for learning and making a mattress out of the twigs of trees; for long walks, and for washing and ironing, which the girls did well.
Whenever she looked at Nora, Ethel's conscience troubled her. She seemed to feel her own unworthiness. Mrs. Hollister suggested to Mr. Casey that Nora should visit them for a couple of months in the city.
"I'll gladly let her go to ye next winter, Ma'am, but not to visit. I would like her to be wid a grand lady like yourself, and if you'll let me pay her board I'll consider it a great favor. And if she might go to some fine school, Ma'am, where she could learn how to be a lady and stay at your house I would pay any price."
At first Mrs. Hollister objected to the money part, but Mr. Casey begged so hard that, realizing what Nora had done for Ethel, she felt she should be willing to do anything to benefit her. So she consented.
"You can put me anywhere," said Nora, "I will be like one of your family."
Mrs. Hollister put her arm around the girl.
"My dear," she said, "the best I have ought not to be good enough for you. It's little enough for me to take you, and I should like to do so without having your father pay me a penny."
So it was all arranged. In November, Nora was to become an inmate of the
Hollister household.
Ethel had made up her mind to give the girl her room, she taking one on the top floor.
"I would gladly sleep on bare boards for her," she said to her mother,—"the brave girl to whom I have been so unjust. I'm glad she's coming. I'll devote all my extra time to her happiness."
CHAPTER XI
BREAKING UP OF CAMP AND A SURPRISE
The time had arrived for the girls to separate. The Scouts came up and carried Nannie off. She had become a great favorite. As Patty expressed it, Nannie was a comfortable visitor because she seemed to "belong." She made no fuss and adapted herself to their ways.
She promised to return the following summer and Harvey pronounced their camp as fine as any place they might select.
"So there's no reason why we boys should not come back, too; but you must let us entertain you Camp Fire girls next year. It's been all on your side this."
So they all went to the train to see them off, and people crowded around as though they might be a circus troupe, staring curiously at them and making remarks.
Then after saying goodbye the different members went to their homes.
Ethel and her cousin Kate were to go to Akron for a week or so, as
Uncle Archie Hollister was coming up to spend his vacation.
The girls met him at the train and Ethel was overjoyed.
"Oh, Papa," she said, "if only you could have been here before Camp broke up. But we are going up for the day and give you a regular Camp Fire dinner," and she kissed him affectionately.
"Next year I'll get off earlier," replied Mr. Hollister, "but our
President was very ill and none of us liked to leave."
They gave Mr. Hollister a rousing dinner. Nearly all of the girls were present. They did their cooking like desserts, bread, etc., at home, but the meat, corn and potatoes were roasted on the coals. They had Uncle John, Judge Sands, Mr. Casey and Mr. Hollister for guests, and everything went off finely. Mr. Hollister was loud in his praises of the cooking, and in fact, the whole organization.
"It's great," he said, smacking his lips. "I think the person who invented it should have a gold medal."
They spent a few days at Columbus. Ethel went to see Mattie and her mother. She also spent the night with Nora. Their home was very handsome and Ethel could not help but respect kind-hearted Mr. Casey, who tried to make it so pleasant for her. She had grown very fond of Nora. She saw her good traits,—her splendid unselfishness, and her tenderness towards her father as she tried to take her mother's place with him.
"What a narrow, selfish girl I've been," she thought, "never to have noticed them before. Why, the way Nora shielded Mattie when the girl took her ring was a lesson to me, and I never took it."
During their stay at Uncle John's Mrs. Hollister came up, and the meeting between her husband and self was like lovers. Ethel was glad.
"And it was I that kept them apart," she told Kate—"I with my society and expensive schools. Poor Father! what could he do but grind from morning until night; and Mother with her hopes and ambitions—what could she do? Why, they had no time to speak to each other except on business and money. It was all so false and wrong. Now they are as they should have been, but think of the lost years, and all for me." "Never think of it, Ethel," said Kate, "it's past and over. Everything has come smooth. Forget it, dear; you were not to blame."
Judge Sands called nearly every evening. He and Uncle Archie struck up quite a friendship. The Judge took him on auto trips far into the country, Kate, Patty, and Ethel going along.
One evening, after they all had gone back to Akron, Judge Sands called
Patty into the library.
"I wish to have a little talk with you, my dear," he said.
"Are you going to scold me for running over my allowance last month?" she replied, "because if you are I just couldn't help it. I wanted to give all of the girls a little remembrance, and—"
"Patty, my child, have I ever scolded you for anything—think? Haven't you done exactly as you chose since your childhood?"
"Yes," replied the girl, "but I know that there are times when you should scold me, Papa, for I know I am self-willed and disobedient."
"Well, we shall forget that. You're a pretty good girl considering that you have but one parent. Now this is what I wish to see you about. Your mother died when you were three, dear, and you've been with me ever since. It's been lonely for both of us at times, and for me especially so while you are away at school. Patty, how should you like a mother? Of course, no one can take the place of her who has gone, but I mean another one."
The girl began to cry.
"I should not like it, Papa."
Then she looked at him. He was a handsome man, and if ever she were to marry he would be alone, in the prime of life.
"I suppose I'm selfish," she sobbed, clinging to him, "but I should hate a stepmother. Think of her taking Mamma's place. Oh, Papa! I couldn't bear it."
"But supposing she was a woman of whom you were fond. Would you feel that way then?"
"I couldn't be fond of her."
"You might be fond of her already," said the Judge.
"Who—who can it be?" asked Patty, wiping her eyes and pushing back her hair.
The Judge smiled.
"Think, my dear."
"Is it Miss Kate Hollister?" cried the girl joyfully. "Tell me quick."
Then Judge Sands blushed like a schoolboy.
"Yes," he said, "she is the only woman who can take your mother's place, Patty. No—not that—no one can take her dear place; but she is the only woman upon earth whom I should ask to be my wife."
Then Patty jumped up and kissed her father many times.
"Oh, Papa!" she said, "why didn't you tell me at first and not frighten me to death. Oh! I should love her so, and I should never be jealous of her. Are you engaged?"
"No," laughed the Judge, "I have never asked her. I thought you deserved the compliment of being first consulted on the matter."
"But, Papa, perhaps she'll refuse you."
"That's my end of it," laughed her father, "but when I do ask her I wish to say that you desire it, too, for Kate might not think it agreeable to you."
"Papa, she's got to say 'yes.' I'll go along and make her if you wish. I'd just love her for a mother," and the girl clung to his neck and wept. "I only now realize how lonely you must have been all these years, and you've done it for me. But don't let her refuse. Tell her I desire it above all things."
"All right, dearie," said the Judge. "I'll go tonight."
"And wake me up, Papa. I shall be so anxious."
Judge Sands laughed and promised.
That night no matter how hard Patty tried she couldn't keep awake. Now that she knew who it was that her father desired she was happy, and one can always sleep when one is happy.
The Judge ran up the stairs two steps at a time and woke his daughter with a kiss.
"Will she, Papa?"
"Yes, dear," he answered. "She has been good enough to say 'yes.' We'll make her happy, won't we, Patty?"
"We shall," replied the girl. "And how young you seem to have grown!" she gasped. "I never noticed it before. I'm glad for you and I'm glad for her. She's a dear. I've always loved her and she's such a stunning looking woman, too. I tell you, we'll be proud of her, Papa."
They talked for half an hour over the virtues of Miss Kate, and each went to sleep thinking of how lovely she was.
When Kate and Patty met they said not a word, but from the quiet, sincere embrace each knew that the other would try and make her happy.
Congratulations poured in from all sides. Archie and his wife with Aunt Susan, Grandmother and Tom, motored all the way over to Columbus to offer theirs. Ethel was wild with joy.
"Why," she exclaimed, "everything is getting better! People are doing such sensible things lately, just as they should do. Isn't it wonderful? But, Tom, I always thought that you cared for Cousin Kate."
"So I have all along, but just as I was considering, in walked the Judge and took her off under my very nose. While I was a poor lawyer I felt that she might refuse me and I took no chances, but I never imagined she'd look at a man of his age. She's certainly met the one for her. What a splendid couple they'll make."
"You always were slow, Tom; that's your fault," laughed Ethel, "and you'll always get left. It serves you right."
"Yes, that's going to be my fate, I fear. Before I can muster up courage to propose, these girls will be snatched up—every one of them."
Judge Sands and Kate were to be married in November. They were to go to New York, Washington, etc., on a wedding trip, after which they were to meet Patty and sail for Egypt to be gone indefinitely.
"Oh, dear! who can take your place at Camp?" said the girls. "We'll never find another Guardian like you."
"I'll ask Louise Morehouse," said Miss Kate. "She's lovely, and very much interested in this Camp Fire movement. She'll be one of you just as I have been."
"Yes, and then she'll meet someone and go off and marry," said Mollie
Long. "There should be a law against it. A Guardian should be obliged to
serve for five years unmarried—it isn't fair," and the girls voted that
Mollie was correct.
CHAPTER XII
MATTIE MAKES GOOD
After Camp had broken up, Mattie Hastings, who was now associated with a Woman's Exchange in Columbus, started one afternoon to call for Patty Sands. It was Saturday and the Exchange closed early. Mattie was doing well. She received a good salary and her heart was light. Her sister was beginning to walk. The doctors considered that next year she could discard her brace. The child was not only attending school but she was learning many useful things and Mattie was happy. Her mother had entirely given up the drug habit; her father was with Judge Sands and everything seemed as though it had come straight like a fairy story.
This lovely autumn afternoon they were going to Sallie Davis's to look at a wonderful centerpiece done by her mother. Mattie, whose fingers were extremely clever, had offered to do the work of copying it, while Patty was to pay for the silks, linen, etc. Then, jointly, they were to give it to Miss Kate for an engagement present. In case the servant should be out Sallie had given Patty her latch key.
"This is Sophronia's day out, and mother is going to a bridge party. I have an engagement, so here's the key. When you leave the flat, put it on the hall stand. Sophronia and mother will be back before I am, and they will let me in. I'll leave the centerpiece on the piano."
The apartment was on the seventh story and commanded a wonderful view of the city. After looking at the centerpiece and studying the different stitches the girls went to a window and looked out.
"Have you put the key on the hall stand?" asked Mattie.
"Yes," replied Patty. "I put it there when I first came in."
Suddenly Mattie exclaimed:
"I smell smoke."
They looked around. The odor was plainly perceptible.
"Let's go into the kitchen," said Patty.
Together they ran through the pantry and opened the kitchen door. The smoke was very thick.
"Why, Mattie, the house is afire!" said Patty Sands. "Let's get out quickly."
They opened the hall door, closing it tightly after them. They had far better have stayed in the apartment and have descended by the fire escape, but they thought of it too late. The hall door had locked behind them. The outer halls were black with smoke. People were rushing wildly up and down. The entrance leading to the roof was locked. The elevator boy called "last trip," and opened the iron doors. Frightened women and little children crowded in with servants and elderly people.
"Room for one more," yelled the boy, "quick, for God's sake!"
"You go, Mattie," said Patty.
"You go." Then Mattie Hastings lifted Patty Sands up bodily and fairly threw her into the crowded elevator.
"If the cable holds I'll come back, Miss," cried the boy half choked with smoke.
Through the smoke Mattie peered at the cable. Through the shaft she saw the angry flames shooting upward. The sparks were flying. The elevator had made its last trip and she realized it. She turned to the hall window and looked down upon the crowd. A ladder was raised. Someone had seen her.
"Thank God!" she said, "I may yet be saved."
The smoke was now black and the flames came nearer and nearer to the brave girl, who so unselfishly had given her place to her friend. She leaned out of the window. She watched the fireman ascending. Then she knew no more but fell back into the flames unconscious.
"I've got her," said the fireman, "but I guess she's gone. No one could live in the smoke up there. She's badly burned, too, poor girl—her back and arms. Lift her carefully, boys."
Patty rushed forward. "She has given her life for me," she shrieked.
"Mattie, Mattie dear! don't you hear me? Speak—oh! speak to Patty."
The dying girl opened her eyes and half smiled. Patty knelt beside her and put her ear close to Mattie's mouth.
"Patty," she whispered, "tell Ethel that I made good."
Then she closed them wearily and the brave soul of Mattie Hastings passed on.
It took Patty Sands many years to recover from the shock of her friend's death. She was too ill to even know when the funeral took place. She had told her father and Kate of Mattie's last words. Ethel Hollister sent a telegram requesting that Mattie's funeral might be postponed until she arrived. The Camp Fire girls were the pallbearers.
Fortunately the cruel flames had left Mattie's face untouched and she looked lovely. The church was crowded to overflowing, as well as the street. The text of the sermon was:
"Greater love hath no man than he who lays down his life for a friend."
Mattie had "given service" as well as laying down her life for a friend, and the whole town marvelled at her bravery.
CHAPTER XIII
JUDGE SANDS AND KATE MARRY
In November Kate was married. The wedding was quiet, as Patty was still an invalid. They took her with them and left her at Mrs. Hollister's while they went on their trip. Nora had arrived for the winter two weeks before. Mrs. Hollister had entered her in Madam La Rue's school. Ethel had insisted upon giving Nora her room and had moved up stairs.
The three girls were sad. They talked of Mattie and Patty cried constantly. So after a while they avoided speaking of her in her presence.
Nora looked like one to the manner born. Mrs. Hollister, having carte blanche to buy for her anything she saw fit, purchased the loveliest second mourning costumes imaginable, and Nora wore them remarkably well. She had grown more quiet since Mattie's death. A great change seemed to have come over her. She was one of Madam's brightest pupils and very popular. Mrs. Hollister was genuinely fond of her and they went everywhere together.
When Mr. Casey came to New York he was surprised at the change. He'd say to Mrs. Hollister:
"Faith, ma'am, it's a perfect lady you're afther makin' of my girl. Her mother would bless you were she here," and Mrs. Hollister would reply:
"She is naturally a perfect lady, Mr. Casey, so it's not hard work. I consider Nora a very superior girl and I'm very fond of her," at which the father's eyes would grow half tearful, and he'd seem proud to hear it.
Nannie Bigelow and Nora became very intimate and she was made much of by Dorothy Kip and Sara Judson. Nora took an active interest in the Day Nursery and donated generously for its maintenance. Twice a week she'd go and read to the elder children and get on the floor and play with the younger ones, for she adored babies. She was especially sweet and generous to Grandmother, spending hours with her lest she should become lonely. It was like a mother and daughter, instead of a girl and chaperon, to see Mrs. Hollister and Nora go about together.
"I wish I had a son, Nora," said that lady one day. "Then I should never have to see you leave me."
Nora blushed rosy red, saying:
"I wish you had, Mrs. Hollister. I dislike to think of our separation."
Mr. Casey sent the most wonderful barrels of apples and potatoes from his own place to the Hollisters, and when he came to New York he'd order fruit from the most expensive fruiterers to be sent three times a week, say nothing of boxes of flowers which came regularly throughout the entire winter.
CHAPTER XIV
A BIRTHDAY PRESENT
On one of Mr. Casey's flying trips to the city it happened to be Mrs. Hollister's birthday. Nora told him of the fact and after school together they whisked away in a taxi to shop. Upon their return he presented Mrs. Hollister with a large box, and in the most delicate manner begged her to accept it as a slight token of his gratitude for her interest in and kindness to Nora.
"Ye've been a mother to my girl and she loves ye well. Her own mother—God rest her soul—as I've often told ye, would be proud of her, and she'd know better what to give a lady, but if ye'll accept these, ma'am, Nora and I will be pleased."
Mrs. Hollister was visibly affected. She actually wiped her eyes.
"I will accept them with pleasure, Mr. Casey," she said, "but don't forget Nora is a great comfort to all of us. We have grown to love her as our own," and she opened the box thinking it might contain a pretty waist or something of that sort when to her surprise there she beheld a most magnificent set of sables. She couldn't speak. The poor woman had never dared to dream of owning such a thing. Her heart stood still and she turned and took Nora in her arms, kissing her fondly. Then she shook Mr. Casey's hand as though she would never stop.
"Mr. Casey, you are too generous. I have always loved sables, but I never expected to own a set. I don't know how to thank you for your kindness."
"Say nothing about it," replied the man. "Nora and I consider it a privilege if ye'll wear our gifts, don't we, Nora?"
"Indeed we do," replied the girl. "There are so many things that you do for me, Mrs. Hollister, that money can not compensate."
Ethel was now eighteen. One evening Harvey Bigelow invited her to the theatre. On their way home he asked her if she ever could care for him enough to become his wife.
"Oh, Harvey!" gasped Ethel, "I am so sorry. Why did you spoil our lovely friendship? I'll have to answer 'no,' and I dislike to hurt your feelings."
"That's all right, little girl," said Harvey, swallowing hard. "I was an ass to even imagine that you could care for me, but you see I'm coming on so well that I shall soon put out my sign, and I felt that you might be such a help to me; that is, if you could care for me a little bit."
"And there are so many nice girls," she said, "waiting for just such a good man as yourself."
"But, Ethel, I don't want any girl. I want one. If I can't have her I guess I'll stay single. Anyway, I suppose a man needs to practice a lot before he marries. There's a couple of years in the Hospital. But I'm glad I know the truth, Ethel. By Jove! it's off my chest. I've tried to speak of it before but I couldn't."
"I wish I could say 'yes,' Harvey; but can't we still remain the good pals that we are?"
"Why, sure," replied the man, and he took her hand. "A man needs a woman friend, don't you think?"
"Yes," replied Ethel, "and I hope to prove my friendship for you."
Ethel never spoke of her proposal, nor did Harvey; but there was a firmer bond between them than formerly.
Patty wrote often. "You never saw two people so in love as Papa and Kate. It is wonderful and remarkably right. I only feel sorry to think that through all of these years they might have been so happy, and I'm sure papa kept single for me. How selfish daughters are, Ethel; and at the same time how little they realize that they are selfish."
Ethel folded the letter and said:
"What she writes is true. You and Papa might have had all of the years of my youth to be happy in, but you sacrificed them for me, and they'll never, never come back."
"That's all right," said her mother, kissing her. "My happiness since you entered college has compensated for it, believe me, my dear little girl," and she kissed her tenderly.
CHAPTER XV
MRS. HOLLISTER ENTERTAINS
That winter Mrs. Hollister again had her teas and bridge parties, but there was no more worry about where the money was coming from; in fact, thanks to Mr. Casey's generosity she was able to pay all of her bills and put some away for a rainy day. Her little functions were delightful as usual, and the young people came in throngs to the house.
Ethel was happy in seeing her mother so contented, and in knowing that her father had no more worries. Grandmother had grown younger, and better than all, after Christmas Tom was coming to bring Aunt Susan. He had business East and he was to leave her for three weeks, after which he was to return for her.
Nora seemed less sad. She had developed into a very stylish up-to-date young woman and everyone admired and liked her.
Mrs. Hollister was in her glory. Things for her were now so comfortable and easy that she couldn't believe but what it was a dream from which she might awaken and find everything the same old way.
Mrs. Bigelow made much of Nora, taking her around and introducing her to her friends. Harvey called regularly and invited her twice a week to the theatre. He was now a young surgeon in Roosevelt Hospital on the ambulance, with a fine career open before him, and what's more he worked very hard—often until late at night. People prophesied a great future for Harvey and his parents were delighted, but none more so than Ethel, whose encouragement was genuine and like the encouragement of a sister.
Teddy Kip kept up a great correspondence with Patty, who sent him postals from every place.
"By George!" he said to the Hollisters, "do you know I correspond with three girls who are abroad and they never write letters—only postals—and if you believe it, I've got nearly a hamper filled with them—'pon my word I have. If only Miss Patty would write a fellow a real letter once in a while I'd be grateful."
Nora received a letter from Edna Whitely.
"I have some news for all of your girls. Mollie Long and Sallie Davis are going to marry clergymen. They are brothers. Sallie's husband is going to be a missionary to China."
"Isn't that awful?" said Mrs. Hollister. "Sallie will be massacred as sure as fate—that's the end of missionaries. I had a second cousin who went and both she and her husband were victims. I wouldn't allow a child of mine to marry one. Let him stay in his own country, but to drag a young girl out into those heathen places—it's an outrage."
"Well, our Ohio Camp Fire will resolve itself into only half, I fear," said Nora. "There's poor Mattie, Miss Kate, Sallie and Mollie from right there. I wonder who's going to take their places."
"Perhaps," said Ethel, "little Mollie Hastings if she's pronounced cured.
It may be of great benefit to her. Let's see what can be done."
"Dorothy Kip might become an Ohio girl and spend her summers up there with us too," suggested Nora. "And if Dr. Bigelow goes with the Scouts Nannie can join."
"We'll see," replied Ethel. "It's quite a few months before next summer.
'Sufficient unto the day, etc.'"
Ethel was getting along famously at Barnard.
"What profession shall you follow—the law or ministry?" Harvey would ask jokingly.
"Something that shall enable me to become self supporting," Ethel would reply seriously.
"There's where you make a mistake," said Harvey. "A woman was made to be supported by a man—not to support herself."
"Why not?" asked Ethel. "How many wives today support their husbands?
Have you any idea of the number?"
"Oh, well, then it's because the men are lazy or sick. No decent, self-respecting man would allow it."
"Supposing a woman can not marry. She can't propose to a man. What can she do in that case—starve? No, Dr. Bigelow, you can't even argue. Every woman should have in her hand, say, a weapon or trade with which to take care of herself. Then when the time comes she's ready to start in the battle of life, and not sit around helpless while others do for her, or become dependent upon charity, or worse. The day of Elsie Dinsmores has gone. In her place we have strong, capable, broad-minded women. Seldom do we hear of a woman fainting today, yet look back sixty years and recall the Lydia Languish females with long ringlets and wasp waists, who invariably carried smelling salts. I'm proud to belong to the women of today—healthy, strong, athletic, and brave—women who do and are not ashamed of it. Look at Aunt Susan. There's a woman who is an example. I hope I may amount to as much as she before I die."
"Ethel, I fear you are strong-minded," laughed Harvey.
"Don't fear, but know it. I try to be strong in mind and body. I believe in a woman getting all that's coming to her and working for that end."
Harvey laughed.
"Well, I shan't argue with you."
"Because you agree with me, and you know it," said Ethel quietly. "You have made yourself amount to something. Look where you were three years ago. What were your views of life then? A rich marriage. Behold the change! Now you are a man."
"Thanks," said Harvey, rising and making a low bow.
CHAPTER XVI
CHRISTMAS EVE
Christmas was near. The Hollisters wrote and invited Mr. Casey to spend the Christmas holidays with them. They also wrote Tom Harper to see if it were possible to bring Aunt Susan to be with them during the holidays. Tom replied he would make it possible. So they were to have a house full.
Nora and Ethel vied in dressing up the rooms tastefully with holly and mistletoe. Every chandelier and door had a piece of mistletoe fastened above it.
"What a grand kissing time there'll be," said Archibald. "When do we begin—on Christmas morning?"
"Now, Papa, don't you get gay," laughed Ethel. "You've led an exemplary life for fifty years. Please keep on and don't let this mistletoe make of you a different man."
Well—first came Mr. Casey. Every day he and Nora boarded a taxi and went shopping, returning with huge boxes and parcels which gradually filled Nora's closets as well as under her bed.
Then came Tom and Aunt Susan, even looking younger than before.
"Really it's ridiculous, Aunt Susan," said Ethel, "for you to keep growing so much younger and more stylish. You've got to stop."
And the bell rang so often that Mrs. Hollister was obliged to hire an extra maid for Christmas week. Everyone was so perfectly happy that it was a joy to enter the house. Harvey was there as often as his hospital practice would admit of, and he was the first to kiss Aunt Susan under the mistletoe; and Aunt Susan, if you please, now appeared in the daintiest of gowns—up-to-date and rather youthful. Ethel and Grandmother laughed over it.
"Why, Grandmother, how old is Aunt Susan?"
"She's about sixty-one," said her sister—"why?"
"Nothing, but I've been thinking wouldn't it be funny if she should marry again? She's mighty attractive in her up-to-date gowns."
"I don't see whom she could marry," said Grandmother with some asperity, "unless Mr. Casey or Dr. Bigelow." Ethel laughed.
Christmas eve arrived. They had a large tree and distributed the gifts. Everyone received exactly what he or she desired. Mr. Casey's generosity was boundless. He gave Mrs. Hollister a small limousine with the understanding that all bills should be sent to him.
"Madam," he said, "you and Nora have a great deal of shopping and social duties to perform. Nora tells me that you go by the cars and rarely in a taxi, and that you seldom allow her to pay her fare. Now this will set everything right, and Grandmother—God bless her—must have her ride daily. It is money well invested, for you and Nora can take comfort. I have engaged a good chauffeur and have made arrangements with a garage near by. All bills are to be sent to me. Nora will attend to the sending of them."
Mrs. Hollister couldn't speak. They stood under the mistletoe. She just raised herself up and gave Mr. Casey two hearty smacks, at which there arose a shout.
"I shan't try to thank you," she said, "for I can not."
Then another surprise came in shape of a wonderful diamond la valliere or pendant, and poor Mrs. Hollister was most embarrassed.
"Mr. Casey," she said, "you are going to get me in wrong. People may criticise me."
Then Tom's present came—a lovely grey silk evening wrap trimmed with chinchilla, and verily Mrs. Hollister was nearly off her head.
Grandmother received a long silk coat lined with fur and trimmed with a large lynx collar and cuffs—from Mr. Casey also.
"Don't think that I bought out a furrier," he said, "but I know people always need them."
Ethel received a lovely pendant from Mr. Casey and one from Tom, while
Nora presented her with a beautiful diamond ring.
Everyone was happy this Christmas eve and strange to say Mr. Casey took
Aunt Susan right under the mistletoe and kissed her, which made
Grandmother laugh immoderately.
During one of the moments when people were rather quiet, Harvey Bigelow took Nora by the hand and walked up to Mr. Casey who was standing under the mistletoe; in fact, he had stood nowhere else during the evening.
"Mr. Casey," he said, "I ask of you the most valuable gift that a father can give. I ask the hand of this dear girl," and he kissed Nora gently.
Mr. Casey, who had imbibed somewhat plentifully of punch, and who was quite warm, looked at the two for a moment.
"An' is it this that ye two have been up to?" he said. "Nora, me child, do ye wish it to be?"
"Yes, Papa," faltered the girl, "I love Harvey."
"An' suppose I withhold my consent—what then?"
"Then I shall still love him, but I shall never marry without it."
"Hear that now. Nora, my good girl," and taking her hand he placed it in
Harvey's, "I give her to ye. All I ask is that ye shall make her happy.
Let her niver regret this day—that's all," and he wiped his eyes.
Nora flung her arms around him while Harvey wrung his hand.
"You'll never have cause to regret, nor shall she," he said. "I'll love and cherish her until death parts us, and I'll work for her so that she'll be proud of me."
Ethel kissed them both; in fact, so did everyone. Aunt Susan and Tom were delighted.
"I always liked him," she said. "Anyone who looks me square in the eye,
Mr. Casey, I'll bank on every time."
It was long after midnight when the Xmas party broke up. The young man who had always played at Mrs. Hollister's teas for the sum of three dollars played the Virginia Reel, and everyone danced,—even Grandmother. Mr. Casey took so many funny fancy steps that it was hard to get him through with the figures, after which Nora and Ethel showed the elderly people how to dance the turkey trot, which of course was shocking. When the young musician left he was richer by fifty dollars—gifts of Mr. Casey, Tom Harper, and Mrs. Hollister, for she told of how lovely his mother was and how she had been her bridesmaid.
"And here's a gift for her," said Mr. Casey. "Take it and buy her a fur-lined coat," at which everyone shouted, for poor Mr. Casey's gifts had all been so comfortable and warm.
"Niver mind," he laughed, "I bet she'll like one. And give her me compliments and a Merry Christmas. And let me have your address, sir."