“I’ve got a new bunk now, Jean,” said Douglas, as he set out for his Sunday half-holiday, a covered tin pail in his hand.
“Do you mean you’ve left the Harrels’?” asked Jean.
“I’m going to leave to-night. I won’t stay in that place any longer.”
“Why, what’s the matter?”
“Tony’s mad because people are getting onto his breaking the game laws, and he thinks I gave him away. He told me I’d been lying about him. I won’t stand anybody saying that I lie!”
“The wicked thing! How did he dare?” cried Jean. “He won’t try to hurt you now, will he?”
“Oh, shucks, no!” said Douglas contemptuously. “Don’t you worry about me! He went off this morning, anyhow: he says he’s got a job in Plattsburg. Guess where I’m going?”
“To the Hamiltons’?” asked Jean.
“Good guess. Yes, Dr. Hamilton found out I was going to leave, and he said he’d take me in and let me work out my board when I’m off duty here. Isn’t that a cinch?”
“I should think it was! It’s perfectly fine!”
“I’m sorry about Limpy, though,” said Douglas. “She feels real badly because I’m going.”
“Who’s Limpy?”
“She’s George Harrel’s stepdaughter. Her mother’s dead. She’s sick, and I do things for her and sort of jolly her up.”
“What’s the matter with her?” asked Jean.
“Oh, I don’t know. Her heart does queer stunts. She was sick all last winter, and now she’s just weak all the time, and sometimes she gets unconscious fits,—you’d think she was going to die right off.”
“Poor thing, how dreadful!” cried Jean. “What a funny name Limpy is!”
“It’s short for Olympia,—Stella Olympia Weeks—that’s the whole of it.”
“Stella Olympia Weeks! Horrors!” exclaimed Jean. “I should think her name would be enough! Limpy Weeks,—limp and weak! I don’t wonder she’s weak all the time. Stella’s pretty, though. Why don’t they call her Stella?”
“Give it up,” said Douglas.
“How old is she?” asked Jean.
“Fifteen—she’s just three days younger than I am. She’s a real nice girl, but her father’s a regular old skinflint. Well, anyhow, Limpy’s going to have something nice this time. Mrs. Brook gave me some ice cream for her. I’ll have to hustle, or it’ll melt. Look here! Couldn’t you go and see her some time? It’ll do her an awful lot of good.”
“Really? Do you want me to? Do you think she’d like to have me?” asked Jean, her face lighting up.
“Of course she would,—she’s awfully lonely. Come along and see her now, don’t you want to?”
“I’d love to! I’ll get Carol to come too, and take her mandolin, and sing to her.”
“That’ll be great,” said Douglas. “She loves music, and she hasn’t anything but an old accordion. I give her accordion concerts.”
Carol had just thrown herself down under a golden birch to enjoy a comfortable Sunday afternoon of reading; but the battle maid roused her mercilessly, demanding that she bestir herself and join the expedition to visit the damsel in distress.
improvised Carol.
“You lazy old Carolie! It won’t make you ill a bit!” laughed Jean. “Come along, please!”
“Oh, now, Queenie, does your majesty really think it’s your duty to drag me off with you this hot day, when I’m so comfortable? Think what a nice chance it is to show me a little Caritas, and let me rest in peace!”
“You don’t need any Caritas at all!” said Jean relentlessly. “Come along! I don’t know what to say to sick people. You’ll have to help me.”
“Oh, misery me!” groaned Carol. “Well, pull me up!” she added good-naturedly, holding out a lazy arm. “I’ll go with you and die of sun-stroke in a good cause,—that is, if our stern teachers will let us run off together again. Go and ask them.”
“All right. You’re a love and a jewel! Oh, Carolie! don’t forget to take your mandolin!”
“I’m not going to sing at that poor sick girl!” Carol objected.
“Oh, but Carolie, Douglas says she loves music, and she has only a silly old accordion! You must sing for her,” Jean insisted.
“Why did I adopt a tyrant!” sighed Carol, going into her tent.
It was a mile to the Harrel farm, and the place—Carol said when they reached it—was enough to give the Frisky Mouse, herself, the blues. For many a year the house had cried for a coat of paint, and the barn looked ready to topple over. Douglas took them into the living-room, where nearly every piece of furniture was a threadbare cripple. There they found Limpy lying on a dilapidated sofa. She had tossed her tangle of pale, lusterless hair over the pillow, and thrown her patch-work quilt on the floor. She wore an untidy calico wrapper, the collar flying open and the sleeves rolled up, showing her pitifully thin neck and arms.
“Hello, Limpy!” said Douglas. “I brought Miss Armstrong and Miss Jean to see you.”
The girl turned her head and stared, but did not speak or smile. Such a white, tired face as the poor child had! Her big gray eyes had dark rings under them, and their expression was listless and unhappy. Jean had picked a large bunch of daisies, but she lacked the courage to offer it. Carol, nothing daunted, knelt down by the sofa and caught up a weak little hand. “You poor little chicky! What’s happened to you?” she exclaimed. “You’ve had a real hard time, haven’t you? It’s too bad! But we’re going to take you in hand and pet you up and make you well again.”
Limpy looked in dumb astonishment at the lovely, healthful face, and the clear eyes full of sunlight, and Carol went on cheerily: “You know there’s a great big crowd of us girls here, and we’re all just as jolly as can be. We’re going to spend the whole summer, and you must take us all for friends.”
“’S ma’am,” murmured Limpy faintly; as if the prospect of friends was depressing.
“Miss Jean’s coming to see you a lot,” said Douglas. “You won’t care a cent about my going, now.” Limpy moved her head in a sad little shake of denial.
“We’re not going to let you miss Douglas one bit,” said Carol. “Here’s Jean now, and next time we’ll bring Cecily, and some day when you feel very well, you may find the whole twenty of us coming to call. Will you let us in?”
“’S ma’am,” said Limpy, but she looked overawed at the thought.
Carol settled herself in the chair that Douglas had brought her, and tried again. “I never saw such lovely daisy fields as you have here,” said she. “Jean thought you’d like some daisies.”
Jean, thus prodded, laid her flowers silently on Limpy’s pillow,—as if she were laying them on Juliet’s bier, so Carol told her afterwards. A weak “Thank you!” was heard, and the ghost of a smile flickered over the wan face.
Douglas winked at Jean, then at the invalid. “Come on, Limpy,—look pleasant!” said he, impersonating a photographer. “Here, hold your bouquet,—that’s the ticket! Now let’s stick a daisy over your ear. There! now you look stunning!”
“Ain’t you silly!” Limpy murmured softly, the ghost of a smile turning to a real one at last.
Then Douglas presented Carol with her mandolin, saying, “Miss Carol’s going to sing for you; isn’t that great!” Carol took the mandolin from its case, and the tired eyes brightened with expectancy. Douglas picked up his pail.
“Here’s something Mrs. Brook sent you. Feel like some pork and beans?” he inquired, and carried the pail into the kitchen to unpack the ice cream.
Jean shot after him. “Douglas, I’m scared to death!” she declared. “I don’t know what to say to her. I know she doesn’t want me here. I think she’s mad I came.”
“No, she’s not,” said Douglas, “but she’s scared worse than you are,—that’s what’s the matter with her. She thinks you’re ‘city people.’ She’s awfully shy, but I didn’t think she’d be quite so bad. Say—you take this ice cream in to her,—then you’ll make friends.”
“Yes, do give me something to do,” said Jean piteously. She took the bowl, and Douglas a spoon. As they turned back they heard Carol singing a Southern mammy’s lullaby. Carol had a sweet, rich-toned voice, and they found Limpy all attention, a light in her face, and the dull lifeless look quite gone.
“There!” said Douglas, as Carol paused. “That’s the real thing, isn’t it, Limpy?”
“It’s elergant!” she replied rapturously.
Then Jean presented the strawberry ice cream. “Here’s something nice,” she said shyly. “I’ll hold it for you.”
“Oh—thank you!” said Limpy eagerly. “Don’t you want some, too?” she timidly asked her guests.
“No, thank you. We’ve had ours already,” she was assured, and she took a first delectable spoonful.
“It’s awful good!” she said with a sigh of bliss.
Limpy feasted to music, for the lullaby was followed by Comin’ through the Rye and Anne Laurie, for the benefit of the Scotch laddie who was beating time on the invalid’s foot.
“That’s enough now. I don’t want to tire you,” said Carol. But Limpy protested: “Oh, no, ma’am! I couldn’t never get tired o’ music! I play the accordion when I feel good, but I’d rather play that thing, an’ sing.” So the clear voice rang out again, this time in joyous Easter melodies.
“Now we’re going to cool you off beautifully,” said Carol, at last, laying down her mandolin. “Douglas, you take that chair. You take the quilt and pillow, Jean, and I’ll take Limpy, and we’ll set her out under the trees where it’s nice and breezy.”
A very much surprised Limpy was presently reclining in an armchair under the shady maples. “Oh, ain’t it nice out here!” said the poor little white blossom that had been withering indoors.
“Now I’m going to braid your hair in two dear little pigtails,” said Carol. “It must make you so hot, hanging loose like that. Come along, Douglas, show me where her room is, please. I’ll have to get her comb. We’ll keep out of the way for a while, and give Jean a chance to make friends with her,” she explained, as they went into the house.
Jean, still tongue-tied with shyness, rolled imploring eyes at the comrades deserting her, and pulled a clover to pieces while her brain whirled in a wild hunt. Wonder of wonders, a thought came! “When you’re better, Limpy,” said she, “wouldn’t you like to come up to the camp and see some of our fun? Douglas could take you out on the lake.”
“Oh, I’d love to!” said Limpy wistfully. “But I don’t feel like I’ll ever be well enough. I have such bad spells with my heart, an’ I can’t have Doctor no more.”
“Why can’t you have the doctor?”
“Pa says he won’t pay no more doctor’s bills.”
“The mean—” Jean began, and stopped short. Remembering Carol’s cheery way, she said brightly, “Oh, but you’re going to get well! Why, you look ever so much better than when we came! And never mind if you can’t get up to camp just yet, we can have lots of nice times right here. I’ll come and read to you whenever I can.”
“You’re awful good,” said Limpy, gratefully. “I’ll be so lonesome, now Douglas is goin’.”
“I’m lonely, too, sometimes, because I’m so far away from home,” said Jean.
“I wisht I had a sister,” said Limpy.
“I’ve always wished I had one,” said Jean. “I’ll tell you what! Let’s play we’re sisters, and then you won’t feel half so lonely.”
Limpy opened her eyes to their widest. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Why, I’ll pretend you’re my sister, and come and see you just as often as I can; and when I go back to school I’ll write letters to you and tell you all about the girls, and all we do. And you must write to me too. And we’ll sign our letters, ‘Your loving sister.’ Then you won’t feel all alone, will you?”
When Carol came back, having put the small coop of a bedroom to rights, she found Jean sitting on the arm of the chair, chattering like a magpie, and Limpy laughing merrily as she held Jean’s hand. And when her visitors had to go, Limpy made Douglas gather them each a bouquet of very stiff flowers from the little old-fashioned overgrown garden.
“Good-bye, chickabiddy,” said Carol. “We’ll run in to-morrow and see if you’re behaving yourself, and if we find you hiding away indoors again, we’ll pick you right straight up and put you out to play in the daisies.” She gave her a pat and a kiss.
“Bye-bye,—Sister,” said Jean. Holding out the neat pigtails, one in each hand, she kissed the face between them, and Limpy put her arms around Jean’s neck and gave her a soft little grateful hug.
“Jeanie, Queenie, no fear your majesty won’t conquer the world!” said Carol as they went back to camp. “You came out gloriously! I’m so glad you dragged this lazy-bones off this afternoon. Poor little dear! I’m going down to give her a concert whenever I can.”
“Oh, will you, Miss Carol!” said Douglas eagerly. “We’ll have her cured up in less than no time, with music like that! It’s the best I ever heard!”
Jean walked along in a brown study. Suddenly she said, “Limpy’s afraid she’ll never get well, because her horrid old miser of a stepfather won’t pay any more doctor’s bills. Carolie, let’s have a fair, and raise money for her so she can have the doctor whenever she wants.”
“Fine idea, your majesty!” said Carol. “Talk it up with your battle maids, and the rest of us’ll help you. Only don’t let’s call it a fair,—fairs were stale when Columbus came over.”
So the queen of the Silver Sword called her maidens into counsel.
“I know!” said Cecily. “Let’s have a Forest Festival!” And she propounded a plan that enchanted her friends. Around the camp-fire that evening, a meeting of all the summer sisters was held, and Cecily’s project was adopted. By the time that Carol, who was the camp bugler, had sounded taps, it had been decided that Camp Huairarwee should give a fair in July for the benefit of Stella Olympia Weeks, and that it should be of a novel and strictly woodsy kind, called—as the princess of the Scroll had suggested—“A Forest Festival.”
The days that followed were brimming over with frolics and excursions; but the girls found time to devote a part of each one to working for the fair. There was much letter writing, too, for supplies had to be ordered from home, and petitions sent to their families and friends to contribute wares. The battle maids who had not come to camp were appealed to and responded gallantly to their sovereign’s call.
Meanwhile, Limpy, her listlessness all gone, became the protégée of the Silver Sword, and found warm friends in Cecily and Betty as well as in Carol and Jean. Frances made one call on her, sniffed the aroma of the parlor, observed to Betty, “Don’t you hate that cabbagey smell?” and declined to repeat the visit. But even Frances worked for Cecily’s Forest Festival. As for the queen herself, hardly had she unsheathed the sword of Caritas in behalf of the damsel in distress when she found a chance to draw it in quite a new direction.