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