CHAPTER XII
ETHEL LEARNS TO COOK
Here is a page from her letter to her grandmother:
"Oh! my dear Grandmamma, you don't know how happy I am—not being away from those I love, but things are so different. I get up early and after breakfast I help Aunt Susan with the housework, for her maid is too old to go up and down stairs. I have learned to churn—to make butter and pot cheese as well. I dust, make my bed, and sweep my room. (Don't let mother see this. She may consider that I am doing a servant's work).
"I am invited everywhere and lovely people call, but that is because I am the niece of a wealthy woman. And yet people's love for Aunt Susan seems so genuine—not as though they were toadying to her for her money. And Grandmamma, 'Mr. Tom,' as I call him,—Tom Harper—is the finest man I ever met. He is a man—not a man like Harvey Bigelow, mind you,—and people respect him and look up to him. He comes here every other night. He has a buckboard and on Sundays he takes me for long drives. Doesn't he love Aunt Susan though? He told me that there never lived such a good and unselfish woman, and then he told me of all that she had done.
"His brother and he were left orphans without a penny. His father was a clergyman and his mother and Aunt Susan had been friends for years; in fact, he says, 'My mother had been one of Aunt Susan's pupils.' I must have shown surprise for he answered when I said 'What?'—'Yes, before her father died she taught in the High School.' Did you know it, Grandmamma? Well, she did. She's awfully intelligent and now I know the cause of it. Why, she's like a walking dictionary.
"Mr. Tom said that his father and mother died inside of a month, and he and his little brother Fred were left alone. Then brave Aunt Susan, who had loved his parents, came forward and legally adopted them. Think, Grandmamma,—but for her they might have had to go to the Orphan Asylum and wear blue gingham uniforms.
"Then Aunt Susan sent them each to college. Poor Fred contracted typhoid fever and died during his third year. Mr. Tom and Aunt Susan say he was lovely—so gentle and sweet. It is sad to die so young, isn't it? But Mr. Tom graduated from college and studied law with Ex-Judge Green, and if you will believe it, all of the Judge's practice came to him at his death—Judge Green's death I mean—and he told me that he could never repay dear Aunt Susan for her goodness to him and to his brother. It was more than that of a mother, for they were not of her blood.
"I'll close now, for Mr. Tom has come to take me for a long drive.
I hope the girls get in to see you often. What do they think of
Mamma's giving me permission to join Cousin Kate's Camp Fire Girls?
Isn't it great?
"With love and lots of kisses to all,
Your affectionate grandchild,
Ethel."
CHAPTER XIII
A LITTLE DRIVE
That afternoon when Tom took Ethel for a drive he asked: "Do you see that large house on the hill?"
"Yes," replied the girl. "It used to belong to Aunt Susan, didn't it?"
"It did," replied the man, "and she presented it to the town of Akron for an asylum for partially insane people—men and women who have hallucinations only—so that by gentle and humane treatment they may be helped if not permanently cured, for she believes that many who might gain their reason are made hopelessly insane by ill usage. She not only gave the house and land but she added to it a couple of wings, and she has created of it a most charming Sanitarium. I'll take you there tomorrow. You see, Aunt Susan gave it out that if the prominent business men of Akron could raise fifty thousand dollars she would give fifty more, making the sum total of one hundred thousand dollars as a fund for the future support of the Asylum, and by George!" said the young man, "they raised it. So you see so far as money is concerned they are independent. The capital is invested in bonds and stock, and the Asylum is run with the dividends, and is well run, too. Aunt Susan is the head—the President—and at any moment she may surprise them and walk in. The patients are treated with courtesy and a great many are discharged cured; in fact, nearly all. It accommodates only fifty patients—twenty-five of each sex. There's a continuous waiting list and it's seldom that one isn't greatly benefited after having gone there."
No wonder Aunt Susan was beloved by the inhabitants, for Tom told Ethel that she was invariably the first to help anyone in distress.
"So she wasn't a miser, after all," thought the girl—"She gives away everything in charity and she saves her money to do so."
Ethel couldn't fail to observe that Aunt Susan was growing fond of her and her conscience smote her. She felt that she was a hypocrite. Even as she pondered she held in her hand a letter received from her mother which advised her to be tactful and make herself agreeable and invaluable to the old lady,—alter her gowns and make and trim her hats, etc. "You're clever, and from helping me sew you have become proficient and have acquired considerable knowledge of dressmaking. If she's miserly and won't buy new, my child, you can flatter her by remodeling her old gowns, etc. Then she'll grow to depend on you. She'll consider you a good manager and feel that her money will not be wasted by you. Then, when you marry we'll go abroad to associate with peers and duchesses and members of the nobility. You'll feel that your period of imprisonment with Aunt Susan has brought forth fruit."
With a flushed face Ethel read and reread her mother's letter. She blushed with shame. Already she had remodeled some of Aunt Susan's gowns. She was glad that she had done so before the letter came. From an old silk tissue skirt she had fashioned her a lovely neckpiece with long ends. She had also made her a dainty hat of fine straw and lace. She had persuaded her to allow her to dress her hair which grew quite thick on her head. First, as her hair had originally been black, she washed and blued it, making it like silver. Then, parting it in front, she waved it either side and coiled it loosely in the back, and really Aunt Susan looked like another woman,—most lovely and aristocratic. Tom was delighted with the metamorphosis and insisted upon Ethel's taking twenty dollars from him to buy her aunt a new stylish wrap.
"Oh, I'm so glad it all happened before I received this," she said to herself, tearing up the letter. "At least I'm not so contemptible as I might have been had I done as Mamma suggested, for gain only."
CHAPTER XIV
SOME CONFIDENCES
Aunt Susan now looked up-to-date, younger and happier, and she was most grateful for everything that Ethel had done for her. They all went to theaters, moving picture shows, and twice a week Tom would hire a motor and they'd take long drives far into the country.
Ethel now knew why Aunt Susan loved the man so dearly. She praised him constantly and the girl thought: "Well, if as Dorothy Kip expresses it he's doing these kind acts to 'build character' with Aunt Susan, at least he's an excellent actor."
They visited the Insane Asylum. It was like a lovely summer hotel and the nurses were most solicitous and polite to the patients. Ethel could understand how they might be cured,—how their poor tired and sick brains were rested and strengthened by humane treatment. It was a wonderful revelation to the young girl—this charity of Aunt Susan's. What a good, worthy woman, and after her death what a reward awaited her if we are to be rewarded according to our good deeds.
Ethel was changing. She had lost a good deal of her worldly pride. Cousin Kate was expected the following week and she was looking forward to trying on her Camp Fire costume, and to the happy days that were to come.
One morning Aunt Susan sat by the window sewing. She looked actually lovely, or at least Ethel thought so, and longed for Grandmamma to see the change that she had wrought. As she gazed upon the old lady she said to herself: "Perhaps, it is because I'm growing so fond of her."
Aunt Susan had on a white silk sacque that Ethel had made, trimmed with rare old lace ruffles at the wrist and collar, while her hair was very white and pretty. There was a gentle breeze blowing in at the window, and little curly locks fell upon her forehead.
Ethel was knitting a sweater. She had learned the stitch in the town where she had bought her wool, and she was making one for her mother. In after years she never knitted that she didn't think of the conversation that took place between Aunt Susan and herself. The ground was covered with white petals of apple and cherry blossoms and it was as though the snow had fallen in May. She remembered everything connected with that conversation, and later in life she could close her eyes and hear the robins calling and see the butterflies flitting among the bushes, for that morning was the turning point in her life.
"Aunt Susan," began the girl, knitting very rapidly, "Mr. Tom tells me that his mother was your pupil. Did you teach very long?"
"Yes, Ethel," she replied, "I taught for years. Father, although a rich man, expected his girls to do something, and there he was wise. He always said that a girl should have some occupation the same as a boy; then, when ship-wrecks came, they'd know how to swim. In other words, when one's money was taken away there would be something to fall back upon. Your grandmother took music lessons and taught for a while, but she was pretty and during her first visit to New York, Archie Hollister fell desperately in love and married her. Tom's mother was a fine character and my favorite pupil. In so many ways Tom resembles her. She was clever and bright, and so is Tom. Why, Ethel, he has more than paid me for what I have done for him and Freddie. Today he's not twenty-five and he's one of our cleverest lawyers. I shouldn't be surprised if some day Ohio would send him to Congress. You know some of our cleverest men come from this state,—presidents and statesmen—and Aunt Susan's cheeks grew pink with excitement.
"And dear little Fred," she continued—"he was more like a baby. He sort of clung to me; but, Ethel, they were like my own children, and you've no idea how happy they made me."
"Aunt Susan," said Ethel, with her cheeks aflame, "don't think me impertinent but you seem different from an——"
"An old maid," laughed Aunt Susan, "that's what you dared not say."
Ethel nodded and continued: "From the different photographs I have seen of you, you must have been lovely. Why have you never married?"
Aunt Susan blushed and said in a low voice: "Ethel, I have been married."
The girl started.
"Haven't you noticed that people call me Mrs. Carpenter?"
"Yes," replied the girl, drawing nearer with wonder in her eyes, "but I know several maiden ladies who are called 'Mrs.' Mamma has a second cousin—she's dead now, I mean—but I remember her. She speculated in Wall Street and had an office, and she insisted upon being called Mrs."
"Yes, I've heard of women like her," replied Aunt Susan, "but I married a man by the same name, although no relation. Has your grandmother never spoken of him?"
"Never," replied the girl.
"Well, Alice has always hidden the family skeleton, but I will tell you all about it.
"When I was about thirty-six years of age I married Robert Carpenter. I was alone and wealthy. I loved him and tried to make his life happy, but he drank. He had inherited that habit from his father, and drinking led to gambling. He grew worse and worse. One night under the influence of drink he came home and seemed determined to pick a quarrel. Seeing that he was irresponsible I made no reply to his very insulting remarks. That angered him beyond endurance. He struck and threw me across the room. Then he left the house.
"Over on the hill by the Asylum is the grave of my little son who was born and died that night."
Ethel started.
"Yes, my dear, I have been a wife and mother. Of course, I knew nothing until the next day. I recovered consciousness but Robert had gone. He had taken all of my money that he could find in the house and he had not gone alone. His companion was a disreputable woman from the town."
Aunt Susan paused and looked over toward the little grave on the hillside.
"It seemed," she continued, "as though God, who knew my sorrow at losing my little one, sent me my two dear boys—Tom and Fred. They came into my life when I most needed them and were my greatest comfort, for I was a lonely woman, my dear. One day I received a letter written in a strange hand saying that my husband was ill and not likely to live—that he wished for me, to ask my forgiveness, and he begged me for God's sake to go to him. I went. He was in Detroit in a squalid boarding house. I was shocked at the change. I had not realized that a man could so lose his good looks as he had done. I took him to a clean place kept by a woman who had been highly recommended. Upon my arrival he wept bitterly and begged my pardon. Then I was glad that I had never divorced him as my friends had advised, for the poor man had been deserted by his companion when the money had gone. He had kept on sinking lower and lower, ashamed to appeal to me until when what he thought to be his last illness came upon him he sent for me to ask my forgiveness."
"Did you give it?" asked the girl.
"Yes, Ethel, I did, and I gave it freely, because for the year past he had been stone blind. I was so glad that I could cheer him up and make the few remaining days of his life liveable."
"Did you ask him of his companion?" asked Ethel.
"No, he never spoke of her, nor did I. Had he wished to have told me he would have done so. Robert had many loveable traits—yes, many noble traits—but it was drink that ruined him. He was not mercenary. I had money, but until he began to drink he was too proud to take it from me. He was truly fond of me and would have married me had I been poor, but of course after he had started the downward course he lost his pride.
"Well, I joined him in Detroit and stayed until after he died. His sight never returned, but I read to him and cheered him up, and I had the satisfaction of knowing that I made the last part of his life happier. That's all, my dear. It is almost too sad to tell to a young girl."
Ethel sat and gazed upon her,—the woman who had shown such mercy to a brute,—a wife deserted by her husband,—a mother never able to feel the hand of her little child upon her cheek,—a woman whose life had been spent in helping others, with no thought of self. The tears came into the girl's eyes. She seemed to behold a bright halo about Aunt Susan's head, and it filled her with awe. Suddenly she saw herself as she really was,—the daughter of a selfish, mercenary mother, whose sole ambition was for her future position in life. And this was her mission—to visit this noble woman with a view to ingratiating herself and becoming her heiress,—to make her think she loved her,—to make herself indispensable to her. Yes, those were her mother's words. She had destroyed the letter lest it should be seen, but she knew it by heart. The young girl saw it all. Her lips quivered and she felt so utterly unworthy that she fell on her knees and buried her face in Aunt Susan's lap, sobbing bitterly.
CHAPTER XV
A NEW ETHEL
"Oh! Aunt Susan, you don't understand and I am afraid to tell you, but I am such a wicked girl—such a hypocrite, and so unworthy of your relationship and love. I am a cheater and a waster. My life is all lies and sham. It always has been lies and sham. I wish to tell you everything so that you may see me as I am.
"I came here to get into your good graces—to win your love that thereby I might gain your fortune and marry into one of our old families—a man of great social prominence—and I've been trying to make you like me and make myself necessary to you. I've tried to give you the impression that I was clever so that in case you wished to make me your heiress you would not hesitate for fear that I might be extravagant and a spendthrift. I can't tell you how bad I am. I've been ashamed of being seen with you on account of the queer way you dressed. I'm not fit to put my head in your lap—no, I'm not fit to stay under your roof any longer," and Ethel's sobs were pitiful to hear. She became hysterical. Then Aunt Susan took her in her arms.
"Child," she began, "don't cry. You have told me nothing new. I understood from the first why you came home with me. You have many noble traits of character. Your grandmother and I thought that under different influences you might become a splendid woman. It was she who suggested my inviting you. You are a good girl, Ethel, and above all you have a kind and tender heart. You are a Carpenter in spite of your mother, and anyone bearing my father's name can not go far from right. You have shown that this morning. Now, my dear, in this world environments have much to do with one's character, and you have never had a chance, my poor little girl," and Aunt Susan kissed and soothed her as a mother might have done. "Now forget it all, my dear child, just as I shall forget. Let us begin anew from this morning."
"But, Aunt Susan," sobbed the girl, "I feel so unworthy, and you are so sweet to forgive me. I should think you'd hate me and want me to leave your house. But, believe me, I do love you—I love you as dearly as I love Grandmamma and Papa. Excepting in books I never knew that any one woman could be so good and self-sacrificing as you are. Oh, will you believe that I don't want your money, and that I only care for your respect and forgiveness, and your love, if you can give it?"
"Yes, my dear, I believe every word that you say. I believe in you from now on," and Ethel threw her arms around Aunt Susan's neck and wept for joy.
CHAPTER XVI
AUNT SUSAN'S TRIALS
"And now sit down, my dear, and I will tell you something. First you can never be my heiress, for I have no money to give away or leave to anyone. Tom supports me entirely. You look surprised and I don't wonder. I never told your grandmother. She is old and, owning the house in New York as she does, would probably insist upon my living with her; and until a year ago I had hopes of recovering some of my property that I had been cheated out of, but I have given it up. I love pretty gowns and pretty things as well as anyone, but I am saving the money that Tom insists upon giving me to spend on myself for him. I wish to leave him something at my death. Now I will tell you about it and how I lost my fortune.
"At the time I adopted the boys I was a very wealthy woman. Previous to that year I had given away a great deal for charity, but I had a hobby and that hobby was to establish a humane Insane Asylum. I had seen so much cruelty practiced in different institutions where I happened to know some of the inmates, and I had heard of such shocking treatment received by patients, that I resolved to establish a reform. I gave my handsome home for the Asylum. I spent large sums in fitting it up, so that it might seem like a beautiful resort to the poor souls, and as Tom told you, I succeeded in what I undertook. The boys went through school and college,—or Tom did, and poor Fred would have graduated had he lived a year longer. It was sad that he had to die, and so young, too." Aunt Susan wept as she told of his death.
"Perhaps, you remember, Ethel, of reading or of hearing your father speak of the failure of the Great Western Cereal Company four years ago. No? I was under the impression that your father owned a few shares of stock. Well, all I possessed in the world was invested in that Company. It produced the greatest excitement known in years; in fact, throughout the entire West there were panics. Everyone who had a little money saved up bought stock. The dividends were enormous, but they were bogus; that is, they were paid to each one from his or her own money. It was one of those unprincipled concerns. They had been after me for a long while. They knew that I was honest, wealthy, and respected, and that my name would attract. At first, I put in only a few thousand; then, as it prospered, I put in more, and finally I put in all that I possessed, for I wished to make another fortune that I might build more 'Homes' and do greater good to suffering humanity. The week before its failure what do you think? Three of the principals sailed for Europe. Two were caught, tried and are now serving a long term in prison. Two others committed suicide. Being one of its directors, when the bubble burst I gave up everything I possessed to help pay some of its poorer creditors, but it only went a little way; and I, too, was a victim with the rest. Had I confided my business to Tom he would have advised me not to invest in it, for Tom has a wonderful way of advising people for the best, but I kept it a secret so that when he should come of age I could surprise him, for then I intended to give him full charge of all my affairs. So you see, Ethel, I may have appeared close and penurious, but now you understand why. Tom, although getting on finely, works very hard for every penny, and at times he is almost too generous."
"Oh, Aunt Susan," said the girl drying her eyes, "I feel happy now that you know all and don't despise me. I'm glad that you're poor and that I shan't get any of your money. I only wish that I might go to college. Yes, I'd work my way through to get a good education so that I could be able to earn my living and not take everything from poor Papa, who works so hard," and Ethel kissed the old lady many times.
CHAPTER XVII
COUSIN KATE ARRIVES
Ethel was too loyal to read her mother's letters to Aunt Susan who always smiled when she received one, but Mrs. Hollister wrote often asking her how she was progressing.
"Aunt Susan writes Grandmother that she has grown to love you very dearly, Ethel, and I see that you have followed my advice like my own daughter. It is now the sixth of June; probably, you will go with Cousin Kate to camp soon. I wish it was all over. I don't like the idea at all. It will throw you in with a common set of girls, I'm sure. We have saved quite a little this summer by staying home. The girls come in when they are in town and Grandmother enjoys their visits. Mrs. Bigelow and I met on the Avenue. She inquired all about you and I told her that upon Aunt Susan's death you would probably be a very wealthy girl. She admires you immensely and she told me in confidence that Harvey says when you are a few years older and 'come out' you will take Society by storm."
Everyone in the younger set of Akron liked Ethel. She acted in private theatricals; she sang and played, attended teas, and was sought after for bridge. She gave card parties, and the young people raved over the quaintness of the old-fashioned house. She took long walks with Tom. She inveigled him into high collars and discarding shoestring ties or wearing cravats in a bow with loose ends. She even persuaded him to give up slouch hats and dress more up-to-date. He and Aunt Susan dubbed her the "Rejuvenator and Reformer," and she was contented and happy.
Cousin Kate arrived and Ethel was overjoyed upon seeing her, she looked so fine and strong. Her father came with her just to see 'Archie's girl,' and Ethel loved him instantly. He was so like her father that the tears came into her pretty eyes when at the depot she kissed him goodbye.
CHAPTER XVIII
SELECTING THE COSTUME
"You like Father, don't you?" asked Kate of Ethel, as they briskly walked toward the shopping district.
"Like him!" replied the girl, "why, Kate, I just love him. He reminds me of Grandmamma and Papa, but he's more like Grandmamma."
"He is like her," replied her cousin, "and I tell you, Ethel, he's just a dear. But, by the way, wasn't Aunt Susan clever to get your mother to consent to your becoming a Camp Fire Girl? I was so surprised. You see I had already spoken to Grandmother and you about it. Then I thought I'd tell Aunt Bella and get her interested in it, and ask her to let you join my Camp Fire, for Uncle Archie promised me that you should come out to Ohio and make me a visit. I had it in my mind that were you to come this summer it would be lovely for you to go with us to Camp, but do you know, Aunt Bella didn't like it a little bit; in fact, she became very angry, nor could I convince her of the virtue of the Camp Fires nor even the Scouts. She made me promise not to mention the subject again, and on no account in your presence. As I was her guest, I promised. What knowledge you had you received before. In this case the 'end has justified the means,' and it was consummated by Aunt Susan, so it's all right. But here we are. This is the store where they take orders for Camp Fire costumes. It will take four days to make what you need. We'll have to hurry them as we leave in five."
"Oh, Kate," began Ethel in a worried voice, "do you think that I should let Aunt Susan pay for them. She was awfully generous to offer, but when I accepted I thought that she was wealthy, you know, and now it's different. I really feel as though I should not accept."
"Do you wish my advice?" answered Kate. "You accept them. Why, you might offend her by refusing. It's her pleasure to start you in this good work. She obtained your mother's consent and she wishes to present you with an outfit. Oh, no, it would not do to even demur. Besides, they are very inexpensive. If you wish, the ceremonial gown of khaki color you may buy yourself. It can be purchased by the yard and it's of galatea which is cheap. You are clever with your needle and you can embroider it with beads and shells. You can also make the leather trimming in no time, and there's your costume complete. But let her pay for the other. So come in and be measured."
The girls selected a blue cloth skirt with pockets. The skirt buttoned all the way up and down the front and back. They selected two blouses—serge and galatea—each matching the skirt. The waists were cut open in the neck. They also ordered a pair of blue serge bloomers to be used in camping or hiking. These with a hat completed the purchase.
The hat was of blue cloth with a silver grey "W" on a dark blue background. The "W" meant "Wohelo" and could be used as a cockade. The saleswoman explained to Ethel that an emblem of two brown crossed logs was to be worn on the chest of the blouses. Honors gained in water sports might be embroidered as decorations around the collar. The same crossed logs woven into a blue background were used as sleeve emblems. Ethel saw the sample suit and was charmed. The decorations were unique and stylish.
"Please send them direct to Columbus," said Kate, as she paid the bill, and turning she said to Ethel: "You will be there, and it will save time. They generally fit perfectly; if not, as you know something of sewing, we can alter them to fit."
"I guess I do know something of sewing," replied Ethel. "I can do beautiful work and I can ride horseback, and I'm at home on a 'bike'."
Cousin Kate laughed.
"Well, I'm glad of that, for at first when you start in you'll be a Wood-Gatherer. Three months is the regular time, but you will be living in camp and will probably be able to fulfil all requirements in a month. Your knowing these things will help you too."
"Tell me something about it, Kate," said Ethel on their way home. "After you have been a 'Wood Gatherer' you become a 'Fire Maker'?" she asked.
"Yes. When you first enter, the Guardian of your Camp Fire gives you a silver ring on which is engraved a bundle of seven fagots, representing the seven points of the law. You give her the size, your address, etc., and she gets it at Headquarters for you, announcing your desire to become one. You must promise not to sell nor give it away. It may belong only to a Camp Fire Girl. Upon your right arm, as you already know, are the crossed logs, etc. When you become a Fire Maker you may add the orange color to your Wood Gatherer's emblem. This color represents flame, and when you advance to the position of Torch Bearer you may add a touch of white which represents smoke from the flame. Then, while you are in that class, you may wear the Fire Maker's bracelet. 'Fire' is the symbol of our organization. For decorative purposes it may be represented by the rising sun.
"Now the symbol of membership is the tall pine tree. That stands for
simplicity and strength. Of course, you know the watchword—'Work,
Health, and Love.' The first two letters of each form the one word
'Wohelo.' After joining you'll learn everything.
"Honors are symbolized by different colored beads—'Health craft,' bright red beads; 'Home craft,'orange; 'Nature love,' sky blue; 'Camp craft,' wood brown; 'Hand craft,' green; 'Business,' black and gold; and 'Patriotism,' red, white and blue. These, and the seven laws, are represented by the seven fagots on the ring. The beads are strung on leather and may become part of the ceremonial dress.
"Now the name of my Camp Fire is 'Ohio.' It is an Indian name and means 'beautiful.' You know Ohio is called the 'Buckeye State,' Buckeye meaning 'Ohio Horse-Chestnuts.' Unlike your horse-chestnut, our tree is small and its flower is red. So our 'totem' or symbol is Buckeye,' or the 'Horse-Chestnut.'
"The girls are to meet at our house the night before we start. Then you can learn the sign, how to keep count, and the different poems you are to say; and the 'Wohelo' ceremony, toasts, songs, etc. This is all that I shall tell you now. Our camp is near the Muskingum river. We have no very high elevations in Ohio. The highest is only about fifteen hundred feet. Where we go is a pleasant stretch of woods. There we camp out for a month or so. A clearing has been made; we can put up tents and be very comfortable. It is not far from a small town and the girls can walk in when they choose. Other 'Camp Fires' will be there as well, so there will be no lack of society. But, my dear girl, if I were you I'd join one in New York and keep steadily at it. It's the only way to become proficient and gain honors and advancement, and that's your aim, isn't it?"
"It is, Kate," replied the girl, "I shall surely join this fall. An aunt of one of the girls in our set is a Guardian of eight girls or more, and she's simply lovely. I shall certainly keep it up—never you fear."
CHAPTER XIX
ETHEL MEETS HER UNCLE AND AUNT
Aunt Susan was most interested in the description of the costume, its symbols, etc. Ethel thanked her gratefully for her gift, impulsively kissing her many times. The elderly woman had grown very fond of the girl and dreaded parting with her, but she knew that the new work she was about to take up would be of the greatest benefit to her, not only then but in the future, for Ethel had softened wonderfully. She had lost all of her false pride and worldliness. It was as though a new girl had arisen from the ashes of the old one, and now she stood revealed as Nature had intended her—without sham,—and knowing that it was she who had helped to bring it about, Aunt Susan was happy. She was proud of the two girls—her grandnieces,—Ethel with the delicate beauty of a bud, while Kate appeared and reminded her of a full blown rose. She was tall and finely formed, with hair that envious people often termed red, but it really had escaped being red and was auburn. The girl wore it in coils around her shapely head. Her eyes were of the softest brown, while Ethel's were of a deep blue. Each girl had regular features and fine teeth. They resembled each other to that extent that they were often taken for sisters, and Tom was proud of them as well and was delighted to take them out.
"Why," he'd say, "when I'm out with you two girls everyone makes such a fuss over me that I really feel as though I was 'somebody,' and I know it's all on your account. The fellows come up and say 'Harper, old man, I haven't seen you for an age,' or, 'Harper, I heard of you through so and so last week. I wish to congratulate you on that case, etc.' But I know what it means,—they want an introduction to you girls—and I strut around like a peacock."
But the day for their departure arrived only too soon:
"I'll write every other day to you, Auntie," called Ethel from the car window.
"How about writing to me?" shouted Tom.
"Once a week to you, Tom," laughed Ethel.
Uncle John Hollister met them at the depot and Ethel at once fell in love with Kate's mother, who seemed more like the girl's sister. They vied with one another to give Ethel a good time and she enjoyed every moment. She met the Camp Fire girls, some of whom were charming. Two of the girls—Mattie Hastings and Honora Casey—she did not care for. To her they seemed unlike the others and she found herself saying mentally, "They are extremely common; I wonder where Kate picked them up," immediately after which she would become ashamed.
"I'm going back into my old ways," she thought. "These girls are to be my sisters and companions. I must like them."
Honora had a large red face, partially freckled. Her voice was loud and coarse. She seemed to be one of the "nouveau riche," as Ethel's mother was wont to say of people grown suddenly wealthy and prosperous. Yet Ethel was not alone in her dislike of the girl. No one seemed to care for her, although each member treated her politely.
Mattie Hastings had small eyes that never seemed to look you quite fully in the face. She had also an obsequious manner. At times it was fairly repellent.
"I wouldn't trust her," Ethel said to Kate one evening.
"She's not popular, I admit, and her manner is against her, but, Ethel, I have never found a fault in her; that is, one I could criticise. She is very quick to learn and seems ambitious. She came to me and asked if she might join. They are poor but her people are respectable. Now Honora Casey's parents are the wealthiest people here. They came into their wealth suddenly. The father is a builder and contractor. The mother is hurting the girl by her method of trying to get into society. She fairly pushes everything before her. Mr. Casey, or Pat Casey, as he is called, is a good-hearted Irishman. He is sensible and knows that it is his money that buys everything, even social standing, for although much respected he is a man of no education, nor has his wife any more than he, but she tries to bluff it through, therefore she is not popular. Nora has been educated, or half educated, at a Convent. She never graduated, but she's so good-hearted one can overlook her mother's faults. You see, Ethel, it takes all sorts of people to make a world. We must try to excuse their failings and see only the best in them. Of course, you know we are an old family of good standing and can go where we choose. Perhaps it was on that account that Mrs. Casey made Nora join my Camp Fire Girls, but she seemed most anxious that she should. It doesn't matter much. She'll make a fine woman if she sticks to her work. You see, our organization is most democratic. One has only to express a wish and she may become a member."
"The other girls are lovely," said Ethel. "I think Patty Sands is charming."
"Isn't she?" responded Kate. "Her father is an ex-Congressman. He is Judge of the Supreme Court. He didn't care for politics—refused the second term."
"Yes, I suppose it is poor taste for me to even criticise the girls, but every once in a while the old bad habit comes back and I forget my good resolutions. At heart they are probably far better girls than I, but I do wish that Mattie Hasting's eyes were not so close together."
CHAPTER XX
GATHERING OF THE "OHIOS"
That evening the girls met in Kate Hollister's library. Although it was June and there was a log fire in the fireplace it was not warm. The girls carried a small flag upon which the word "Ohio" was embroidered, and underneath appeared a horse-chestnut. Each girl had made her own flag and they were well done.
That afternoon Kate had taken her cousin to the Camp Fire counsel, where, upon her signifying the desire to become a member, the silver ring had been presented to her.
After order had been established and the roll called, Kate, who made a dignified Guardian, began to address the girls, formally introducing her cousin, the new member. Then Ethel repeated the following:
"It is my desire to become a Camp Fire Girl and to obey the Law of the
Camp Fire, which is
Seek beauty,
Pursue knowledge,
Give service,
Be trustworthy,
Hold on to health,
Glorify work,
Be happy.
"This Law of the Camp Fire I will strive to follow."
Then she took her seat while Kate arose and explained the Law, phrase by phrase, after which Ethel stood before her and repeated the Wood Gatherer's Desire, whereupon she taught Ethel the "sign" which was made by flattening the fingers of the right hand against those of her left, which indicates crossed logs. From the first position, Ethel raised her right hand and followed the curves of an imaginary flame. Kate explained that this sign was used by the early American Indians. It may be made easier by placing the fingers of the right hand across those of the left with the forefinger slightly raised. Ethel learned how to use the sign and practiced it, after which Kate presented or awarded honors to the various girls who had worked for them. They were only the different colored beads, but each girl's eyes beamed with happiness as she received them.
Then they showed Ethel the "Count" book, in which were kept records of their work and play. The leaves were of brown paper and laced together with a leather thong or cord. The cover was of leather also. Symbolic charts for recording the requirements of the Fire Maker and Torch Bearer, as well as for nearly two hundred Elective Honors, were parts of the book. The book contained ninety-six pages. It was arranged for a group of twelve girls. Should the group grow larger, more leaves could be added. Three leaves for each girl were in the first part of the book. These were for recording the honors and requirements, making thirty-six pages. The balance of the pages were for the records of events, pictures, and pen and ink sketches, etc.
The totem of the Camp Fire is as painted on the brown leather cover. It should always tell some legend or story—some natural industry or beauty which is true to the locality in which the Camp Fire is located. The "Ohio" Camp Fire totem was a large horse-chestnut under the word "Buckeye." The first leaf was left blank; the second was the title leaf upon the top of which appeared the name of the Camp Fire, and at the bottom the date of the first council fire; following the title leaf each girl fills out her group of three leaves. On the first she will write her name, date of birth, parents' names, birthplace, and present address. She also puts down the date as she attains each rank, using for the month the Indian name. On the next leaf were symbols of all Elective Honors, and these were painted in colors corresponding to the beads received. The third leaf for each girl was for her individual symbol,—the chosen name with its meaning,—for each girl naturally wishes to own some name by which she may be known. She may hold some desire which to her may mean the way in which she may give of herself the best. Perhaps some poem has lines which she feels are a response to her desire. Not only could these girls write what happened and insert photographs of their excursions, but they were at liberty to make pen pictures along the margin of the leaves of the book—all Indian signs from a moon to a snake, telling of a trip to Rat snake Pond, etc. They were to use the rhythm of Hiawatha, which after a little practice becomes the natural language for some girls and it adds much to the interest of the Count; for instance,
"Supper over, now they hasten
To their wigwams, all excitement,
And from hence soon reappearing
Now true Indian maidens seem they,"
etc.
"Now that we have initiated our new member," said Kate, "and have explained to her about the Count book, etc., we shall postpone the rest of the ceremonies until we reach Camp, as I know that each one of you will need your rest. So we'll meet at the train for the boat landing at eleven tomorrow. I hope it will be a fair day. Take plenty of wraps along for it is cold tonight and it bids fair to be so tomorrow."
Then saying goodnight to each as they left the room, Kate and Ethel found themselves alone in front of the dying fire.
CHAPTER XXI
THE TRIP UP THE RIVER
It turned out to be a lovely day. Ethel was most excited. The tents, cooking utensils, pillows, cots, etc., had been sent two days before by freight. The trunks alone remained to be taken to the boat, and they were only steamer trunks.
Uncle John went along to see them safely on board the train that connected with the small boat that plied daily up the Muskingum river.
"If you get homesick, little one," he said to Ethel, "you come right back to us. Don't you stay if you don't like it."
"Oh, Uncle John, how could I get homesick with Kate?" she replied; "but
I shall miss you awfully."
The whistle blew and away they went. It was a pretty sail and the girls were in a happy frame of mind. Nora Casey looked like one immense freckle. She was in high spirits and now and then relapsed into a jolly brogue caught from her parents, for Nora was born in America.
"Faith and it's sailing that I enjoy," she said to Ethel, coming up the stairway from the deck below. "I'm afther taking some pictures of the river for our Count book." Then catching herself she talked perfectly correct without the slightest trace.
They watched the banks on either side, dotted now and then by pretty houses and thriving fields of buckwheat and clover.
Patty Sands sat by Ethel. They were very congenial. The rest of the girls chattered together. Mattie Hastings sat beside Kate Hollister and regarded her with adoring looks. Nora chatted excitedly; once in a while Kate would check her exuberance of spirits, as her voice could be heard by people on the shore. Said Kate:
"Girls, there are several beautiful legends connected with this river. I read a new one the other day. At our first Camp Fire I'll relate it. We can copy it in our book under our totem. Suppose each of you girls write an original legend and read it aloud some rainy night."
"Good for Miss Hollister!" cried Honora. "We will."
So they promised.
Soon the journey came to an end. A four-seated buckboard stage had been engaged by Uncle John to meet the party and carry them up the steep hill into camp.
"Oh, isn't this jolly?" said Ethel enthusiastically. "What lovely woods!"
And indeed they looked like a picture with the June sunshine every now and then bursting through the trees. The road was narrow but it was a good road for walking. The old buckboard creaked and groaned with its load of eight girls, their Guardian, and the driver. Every once in a while the horses would stop and the driver dismount and with his handkerchief wipe off the white sweat that looked like soapsuds.
"He's a kind man," said Kate.
Then when his handkerchief was too wet to use he would pick up handfuls of grass to use for their comfort, after which he would get up on the seat and drive them again, but he must have stopped ten times before reaching the clearing where the Camp was to be.
"Oh, look!" cried Patty. "Miss Hollister, our four tents are up."
"Yes, that's Father's surprise," she rejoined. "He sent up one of his men yesterday so that we need have no trouble." And turning to Ethel she said: "Usually we have to hire a man in the village to come up and do such work, but Father has anticipated us this time."
"Isn't he lovely?" said the girls in unison, jumping like children from the wagon and peeping into each tent. There were all the baskets ready to be unpacked, and following the buckboard came the trunks.
They quickly removed their hats, etc., and bade the driver goodbye, who by the way was now using handfuls of leaves to clean the animals; after which each one was assigned her task.
"Patty Sands, you may unpack and wipe the china. Mattie Hastings, you may put it in place. Ethel, you may watch this time, as you are a tenderfoot. Nora, you arrange the blankets, towels, and linen in order, will you?" And so Kate kept each girl working.
Mollie Long made the cots; Sallie Davis put the cooking utensils in place; Edith Overman and Edna Whitely began gathering sticks for the fire.
"Oh!" ejaculated Ethel, "that's my task, isn't it? I'm the Wood
Gatherer," she said.
"The first day a tenderfoot is our guest," replied Mollie Long, laughing. "You wander away and think of the story you'll have to write and read aloud."
"In other words," broke in Nora, "go way back and sit down."
But Ethel watched the girls work. It was a revelation to her. They seemed more like boys.
"Why," explained Edna Whitely, "if necessary we could drive the stakes and put up our tent, couldn't we, Miss Hollister?"
"Yes, I hope you'd be able to," she said. "I think women do far harder work than that every day."
Kate had changed her gown for a pair of bloomers and was working hard running back and forth giving orders like a general. By twilight every trunk was unpacked and in its place. Each girl had changed her gown and the Camp Fire was ready to light after tea. Then came preparations. In one tent there was an oil stove. Outside stood a barrel of oil. It was an extra tent to be used as a kitchen. Two upright stakes with one running across, upon which were many hooks, served to hold all of the kitchen utensils. They hung from it as naturally as though in a real kitchen. One of the packing boxes became a serving table and afterwards did duty for a sink. In the center of the kitchen was a long table made of planks laid upon a wooden horse at either end. When pleasant the girls preferred to eat outside, sitting Indian fashion, but when rainy the kitchen tent made an admirable shelter.
CHAPTER XXII
AN EVENING IN CAMP
The supper was prepared by the Fire Makers,—Edith Overman, Patty Sands, and Mattie Hastings. Patty baked a couple of large pans of delicious biscuits. Mattie made tea and eggs scrambled with cheese. Edith Overman boiled some rice for dessert so that each flake stood alone and was creamy, upon which the girls put butter and sugar or butter and maple syrup. Later in the season they picked berries and had them for tea.
The meal was well cooked and they enjoyed it. Ethel cleared the table. Sallie Davis and Mollie Long washed the dishes, while Nora and Edna Whitely tidied up the tent, after which the fire was lighted with the usual ceremony. Ethel as a Wood Gatherer insisted upon bringing the twigs, wood and kindling. The Fire Maker—Edna Whitely—arranged them ready to light. Kate chanted a command to Mollie Long and Nora Casey, who were Torch Bearers.
In the meanwhile each one seated herself around the fire. Mollie and
Kate then came forward, and by rubbing two sticks together ignited the
paper under the shavings, and soon there burst up a beautiful flame.
Then the girls arose and repeated:
"Burn, fire, burn,
Flicker, flicker, flame,
Whose hand above this blaze is lifted
Shall be with magic touch engifted
To warm the hearts of lonely mortals
Who stand without their open portals:
The torch shall draw them to the fire,
Higher, higher,
By desire.
Whoso shall stand by this hearthstone
Flame fanned
Shall never, never stand alone;
Whose house is dark and bare and cold,
Whose house is cold,
This is his own.
Flicker, flicker, flicker, flame,
Burn, fire, burn."
After which Edna repeated the Fire Maker's song:
"As fuel is brought to the fire,
So I purpose to bring
My strength,
My ambition,
My heart's desire
My joy
And my sorrow
To the fire
Of humankind;
For I will tend,
As my fathers have tended,
And my fathers' fathers
Since time began,
The fire that is called
The love of man for man,
The love of man for God."
They gave toasts, told stories and sang songs. Edith Overman had a keen sense of humor and she told some anecdotes that were exceedingly droll. Ethel and Edna Whitely vied in asking conundrums. Kate Hollister then related her capital story, "The Legend of the Muskingum."
"Before I begin," she said, "for Ethel's benefit I wish to tell you something of the origin of the Camp Fire. This I read in a New York magazine.
"'If we go back as far as possible we come to a primitive time when human life centered about the Camp Fire. It was, and is still, the center of family life, and today it is around the fire that the family and friends gather. The fire gives warmth and cheer to the home. The day's work is begun with fire. When the fire is out the house is cheerless. Fire stands for Home—for the Community Circle and New Patriotism. It was also in these primitive days that the first grand division of labor was made. The man,—the provider and defender of the family—went out into the wilderness to hunt, while the woman stayed at home to keep the pot boiling, and in spite of all of the changes in social life that division has remained to a very large extent until this day.
"'Some years ago, when the Boy Scout movement first started, it began with the Camp Fire. No doubt one reason for its popularity was the fact that it gave the boys opportunity to play what was in the old days the man's game—that of hunter, trapper, and soldier.
"'Boys may be Scouts, but you girls are going to keep the place to which the Scout must return. And now this movement, similar to the Boy Scouts, has been started for girls. It started also with the Camp Fire, and the organization thus formed is the Camp Fire Girls.'"
Everyone clapped their hands.
"When I read the above," said Kate, "I learned it by heart, knowing that all of you would be interested to know the true significance of the Camp Fire. And now for the Legend."
CHAPTER XXIII
THE LEGEND OF THE MUSKINGUM RIVER
"Long years ago there lived a brave Indian chief called Wa-chi-ta; in fact, he and his tribe inhabited a portion of this state—perhaps in the vicinity of these very trees.
"He was a kind and humane man, and his wife, Ona-pas-see, was like him in that respect, therefore they were dearly beloved by their subjects. They had three fine sons but no daughter, so when a little girl came to them they were exceedingly happy and there was great rejoicing.
"'As she is fair and beautiful to behold we will call her O-hi-o,' said the Chief. ("As we know, Ohio means 'beautiful,'" said Kate.)
"So little O-hi-o waxed strong and grew into a woman worthy of her name.
She was idolized by Ona-pas-see and spoiled by Wa-chi-ta.
"After the manner of all maidens, when she arrived at the marriageable age from miles around came many braves to pay their respects. They brought her rare and costly gifts of silver, copper, and gold—of beads and bears' claws, as well as the skins of the fox, squirrel, and ermine.
"O-hi-o smiled sweetly and accepted her gifts with pretty speeches of thanks, but of the young men she would have none. Her parents worried not a little, as they wished to see her settled in life, living in her own wigwam. Her brothers talked with her upon her duty, but she only smiled, showing her pretty teeth and arranged her headband of beads, using for a glass the clear stream near the wigwam.
"The squaws declared that she would never marry—that soon would go her youth and good looks; then the braves would seek some maiden younger and fairer. But O-hi-o only shook her head and ran to her father to be kissed.
"'She is proud,' they said, gazing after her, 'No one is good enough for her. She will meet with her punishment—watch.'
"Then behold! there came to the village one day a young warrior—Mus-kin-gum by name. He came from a tribe many miles distant, bearing a message from its Chief to Wa-chi-ta.
"O-hi-o sat near her father. She was embroidering a wampum belt with different colored beads and shells, skilfully fashioning birds, butterflies, animals, etc. As she glanced up shyly, lo! her eye caught the eye of the young brave. The blood flew into her cheeks and her heart started in to beat as though it would burst. While delivering his speech to Wa-chi-ta young Mus-kin-gum grew scarlet and embarrassed.
"That was the beginning. It was in June. The birds sang their love songs and the air was filled with mysterious romance and sweetness. Permission had been granted by Wa-chi-ta to Mus-kin-gum to pay his addresses to his daughter O-hi-o, and when he told her of his love he said:
"'Why confess it? You have known since the day in the wigwam when our eyes met and my soul fell captive to your beauty and sweetness.'
"Then, when upon the mountain sides the trees hung out their yellow, gray and scarlet banners, with great pomp and ceremony these two young people were wed, and the festivities lasted for days. Everyone was happy because Wa-chi-ta was happy, and all of the tribe loved Wa-chi-ta.
"As for O-hi-o and Mus-kin-gum, they were content. They lived in a fine wigwam and adored each other. While her husband was in the woods shooting game or fishing, Ohio would sit in the doorway and watch for his return, and as for him, his eyes were constantly roving towards the valley where he could see the smoke coming from a certain wigwam; and when it came in volumes as though from a freshly started fire, his heart would rejoice, for then he knew that O-hi-o was preparing the supper and it was time to return.
"And so these two who loved each other lived in one continual honeymoon until the arrival of little Mus-kin-gum—a strong, lusty, little fellow looking not unlike Wa-chi-ta, which pleased his grandfather only too well. It was his father's delight to attend to his education, and his father was not only beloved by his tribe but feared by his enemies. So he wished to teach his little son to be honest, kind and fearless. He wished him to be brave and able to lead his tribe into battle—to die for them if necessary. He taught the boy to aim well and shoot with a bow and arrow, and when he was about seven years old it was his delight to accompany big Mus-kin-gum on his shooting expeditions—to help him fish and hunt. Together they would tramp for miles, and O-hi-o would sit in her doorway and embroider, thanking the Great Spirit that she had two warriors to look after instead of one; and little Mus-kin-gum would clap his hands with joy when she'd say:
"'What has the little warrior shot today?' And her husband would reply: 'He has helped me; he has carried my heavy bow and arrow; and he has also carried these,' displaying a large string of fish. 'Besides, he caught two of them.'
"Of course, they talked in Indian language, which is more beautiful than ours.
"Then on their trips Mus-kin-gum would teach his little son how to distinguish one tree from another by examining its leaves; how to tell the name of a bird by listening to its call; how to read the signs of the Indians; how to read from their tracks the whereabouts of the enemy, the trail of the animals, and the secrets of the woods—the song of the birds, the whispering of the trees, and the murmuring of the brook; about the way of flowers, ferns, etc., and the names of the different nuts and fruits that flower first and then become ripe and fall to the ground.
"He taught him about the different animals and how to trap and shoot them, and lastly he taught him about the stars and the stories connected with them. Little Mus-kin-gum could point out the Dipper or Great Bear, the Little Bear, how the last star but one in the Dipper—the star at the bend of the handle—is called 'Mizar,' one of the horses; and just above tucked close in is a smaller star—'Alcor' or 'the rider.' The Indians called these two the 'Old Squaw and the Papoose on her back,' and the young men would say to the little fellow: 'Do you see the papoose on the old squaw's back?'
"Then at once he'd point to them, and the parents would be proud of him.
"His father also taught him that shaking a blanket in Indian language meant 'I want to talk with you.' Holding up a tree branch—'I wish to make peace.' Holding up a weapon—'I am prepared to fight,' and many others like our own signal of the Camp Fires," said Kate, "which is one of the oldest of Indian signs."
"Isn't this a lovely story?" broke in Patty. "I can't wait for its finish."
"And it's late; I'll have to talk more rapidly, I fear," replied Miss
Hollister, "or postpone the rest until tomorrow night."
"Oh, don't," went up a shout of young voices,—"please finish. Why, we'd keep awake all night if you stopped now."
Kate laughed good-naturedly and signed to one of the Fire Makers to put on more wood. Quickly Ethel jumped up and brought an armful, for our Camp was very ceremonious. Then as the flame burst forth anew she proceeded:
"So you can see that little Mus-kin-gum was a loveable child, endowed with more than ordinary intelligence. His father also told him of the Great Spirit, and the child listened reverently. He was an unusual child—bright for his age—and he learned quickly. He was also affectionate, and Mus-kin-gum became as weak as a woman when the little fellow would put his arms about his neck or clasp him by the hand.
"The mother had taught the child a prayer to the Great Spirit. It was this:
"'Great Spirit, listen Thou to us; guide us this day; help us, lest we fall; make our will Thy will—our ways Thy way.'
"Mus-kin-gum's great fear was that he might lose him ere he grew up to manhood, for next to O-hi-o he adored his boy.
"One morning big and little Mus-kin-gum started for the woods. They were in high spirits as they kissed O-hi-o goodbye.
"'We will shoot for you a big deer,' said the boy, 'and we will bring to you many large fish.'
"O-hi-o smiled and wished them luck. After watching until out of sight she left her wigwam to spend the day with her parents. It was a warm June day and it reminded O-hi-o of her courting days. She lived it all over again, and her heart gave thanks to the Great Spirit for His kindness—for the wonderful love and happiness that had since been hers in the possession of her husband and child. And the birds sang as on the day that Mus-kin-gum first beheld her at the door of her father's wigwam. She could see his eyes holding her own; she could feel her heart bounding in her bosom, and the red flushed into her cheek even as it had done then.
"She spent a pleasant day talking of her two dear ones and her parents were never weary of listening. They made her repeat the little prayer said to the Great Spirit by the idolized grandson.
"'I must leave now,' she said, 'and prepare their supper. They will be watching in the valley for the smoke from our wigwam,' and kissing her parents fondly she left.
"In the meanwhile it grew dark.
"'Little one,' said Mus-kin-gum, 'we must hasten. I feel rain in the air. Look at the clouds and behold it in them ready to fall.'
"And the little fellow looked and laughed, thinking it fun to be caught in a shower. They were close to the edge of the woods ready to descend the path leading to the valley, when suddenly with terrific force the rain began to fall, followed by a mighty wind that rent the clouds and rushed through the woods. Thunder pealed loud and long; lightning flashed, blinding the eyes. Little Mus-kin-gum grew pale and trembled. Never before had he feared a storm.
"'It is the voice of the Great Spirit,' he said solemnly, and began to repeat the prayer.
"Seeing his fright, his father drew the boy's head to his breast and held it there so that he might not see the lightning as it flashed with unusual violence.
"At last one flash came, and with it went the spirit of brave Mus-kin-gum. His arms loosened their hold on the screaming child. He reeled and fell backward—dead. The last bolt had killed him.
"Then followed peal after peal of thunder. The boy called to him in vain. He even tried to raise him in his arms. Seeing that it was useless he threw himself on his breast and moaned, every now and then lamenting in loud cries.
"The storm ceased. When, after the night fell, and Mus-kin-gum and the boy failed to appear, O-hi-o gathered together a band of young men from nearby and started out to search for them. O-hi-o kept calling, 'Mus-kin-gum, where art thou? My little one—art thou safe?'
"Then on the air floated a child's voice calling to its mother.
"Like a deer, O-hi-o flew to the spot. The child was rubbing his eyes. He had fallen asleep on his dead father's breast and was awakened by his mother's voice, but he never left his father's body.
"As O-hi-o drew near she beheld her poor brave handsome Mus-kin-gum lying with his face upturned to the moon, whose beams fell upon him. O-hi-o knelt down and kissed her husband but she uttered no cry—only a dull muffled moan escaped her, for she was the daughter of an Indian Chieftain and it would not have done. She had been taught to bear pain without a murmur, but the look upon her face was terrible. The young men would gladly have died to have brought young Mus-kin-gum to life for her sake.
"Then the eldest lifted the child, who still sat by his dead father's side, and placed him in his mother's arms, and as the little fellow sobbed and kissed her lo! her eyes filled with tears and she headed the procession that followed bearing the body of their beloved Mus-kin-gum adown the steep path that led to her wigwam.
"And Mus-kin-gum was buried with great ceremony and honors becoming a a man of his station. But O-hi-o took no further interest in life. The child now clung to his grandfather, who tried to take his father's place. Every day O-hi-o would lead him to the grave on the mountain side, and together they would pray to the Great Spirit.
"'And I prayed in the woods,' said the boy, 'when the thunder rolled and the lightning came, but the Great Spirit turned away his face and took my father.'
"'He was called to live among the stars,' O-hi-o would reply.
"'And is he up there?" the child would ask. 'I will look for him,' after which every night would little Mus-kin-gum stand or lie on the ground gazing at the stars, declaring at times that he could discern his father looking down upon them.
"But alas! from the day of the storm the boy could never again hear the voice of thunder, nor see the flashes of lightning, without going into convulsions. Upon the first distant roar he would jump up and down, scream loudly, and run to his mother, burying his head on her breast, relapsing into a state of semi-consciousness until the storm should have passed. It was pitiful, and poor O-hi-o's tears would fall on the boy's head, for it was thus he had stood before his father while Mus-kin-gum met his death.
"As time went on the attacks grew worse. Vainly did old Wa-chi-ta summon the best known medicine men and old women, but each one shook his or her head doubtfully. Vainly did the tribe assemble in the Council wigwam to consult with one another and pray to the Great Spirit for Mus-kin-gum's son—for his recovery. Nothing seemed to avail. The child grew worse and worse, never caring to leave his mother's side.
"Then came a bad year for the Indians. There was a drought. The fruit fell from the trees while yet in flower. The grass turned brown and withered. The crops died. The water dried up and there was none for the cattle. The different tribes met and prayed with no result.
"'We must die,' they said. 'Behold! the Lake even has gone, and something must be done.'
"And the wise men declared that the Great Spirit must be angry with them and that he demanded of them a sacrifice. The more they talked the more they believed that it was imperative. 'One life must be sacrificed,' they said,—'one life for many. That is the only way to save our people. No rain has fallen in nearly four months. The Great Spirit demands and must be obeyed.'
"Then into the midst of the wise men and chieftains came O-hi-o. She was very beautiful and the braves held their breath as they gazed upon her. By her hand she led the son of Mus-kin-gum.
"'I have heard what you said—oh! wise men,' she began. 'I have no wish to live longer. I and my son are ready to be your sacrifice. My heart is in the grave upon the mountain side. My son is not strong; his health is poor. We give ourselves for the good of our people.'
"Many wept. The wise men regarded her as they might an angel sent by the
Great Spirit. Her parents gazed upon her with pride and adoration.
"'But,' she continued, 'I would choose the manner of my death. On the pinnacle of rocks overlooking this valley, where each day that he hunted in the woods my dear Mus-kin-gum would stand and wave to me, tomorrow night 'neath the light of the moon, with my son's hand in mine—together he and I will leap from that rock into the valley below,—the once lovely valley now so desolate. Do not refuse me,' she cried, as many protested suggesting others not so young. 'No, I will gladly make the sacrifice for my dear father's people.'
"So they counselled together and accepted the offer made by their
Chieftain's daughter.
"O-hi-o and Mus-kin-gum spent their last day with the old people, who, while filled with pride, were heartbroken. They clung to the mother and child, nor were they ashamed to show their love and weakness.
"'I shall be with my father,' said little Mus-kin-gum. 'You may look for my mother and me in the stars, Grandpa. I have seen father there. Be sure and watch; we shall all be together,' and the child smiled as he kissed his grandparents, whose hearts were breaking.
"'My two brave ones,' said old Wa-chi-ta, 'if the rain comes to us it will be you who have sent it.'
"The tribes assembled from miles around. It was a hot, torrid night, although the moon shone brightly. All was silent as O-hi-o and little Mus-kin-gum came forth to the sacrifice. She wore her ceremonial costume; her long, black hair was flowing and held in by a beaded headband. She looked so beautiful as she marched up the mountain that people wept, but she walked proudly with her head erect, leading her child by the hand, and the little fellow also held his head upright and seemed without fear. Soon the ledge was reached. Looking down into the valley below they took their position.