“Company!” called Madaline. “Someone is coming down our path.”
“But we don’t own the woods,” replied Grace.
“They are surely coming here,” insisted Cleo.
“And Bobbs! Listen!” exclaimed Louise. “It’s the girls who wear long-legged green silk stockings! Just look!”
The intruders were almost upon them and the order Louise gave seemed entirely uncalled for. Everyone looked! In fact they stared at the two conspicuous blondes, who were recognized as the drivers of the bug-boat, and who seemed rudeness itself to the Scouts.
“Quick! Drop the tent flap, don’t let them snoop!” whispered Cleo to Madaline who was nearest the pull rope.
Madaline picked herself up from her camp stool and with a great show of indifference sauntered into the tent and dropped the curtain as she went. The other girls exchanged glances of satisfaction.
“Good afternoon,” chirped one of the callers. “May we come in?”
“Certainly,” replied Corene. She had risen but did not offer her seat to the strangers.
“What a perfectly dear nook!” exclaimed the shorter girl. Her remark almost gave Louise a spasm of some kind, for she choked, and coughed, and finally ran off to get a drink.
“And do you stay here all the time?” asked the girl with the long black earrings.
“We’re camping,” replied Corene. At the moment everyone wished Mackey had not gone hunting new wild flowers.
“How perfectly lovely!” gasped Number One.
This threatened a spasm to Julia, but she kept her eyes on the sweater she started the year before, and thus offset serious consequences.
“We are at the Fayette,” volunteered Number Two, “and we perfectly hate it.” She dropped down on the grass and propped her useless parasol over her head in an obvious pose. The other followed suit. “I wish we might camp for a while, don’t you, Buzz?”
The name brought Madaline out from the tent with a laugh in her eyes, but she closed the “door” after her, and carefully arranged the curtains.
“Buzz!” she whispered to Cleo.
“Could you possibly take us in?” asked the other caller.
This surprising question almost precipitated something worse than a choking spell all around. After the way those bold girls ran the Scouts out of the lake with their old yellow boat!
“We don’t take boarders,” replied Corene cruelly, grinding out the word “boarders” with vicious satisfaction.
“Oh, we know that. But Fuss meant could we come as Girl Scouts?”
“Girl Scouts!” repeated Cleo, incredulously.
“Why, yes, I think those togs are perfectly stunning and shouldn’t mind at all wearing them,” condescended Fuss. “Can you get those uniforms around here?”
A look akin to disgust crossed the face of Corene. How she longed to “speak the truth for once,” but politeness forbade the experiment.
“You can’t wear the uniform unless you are a Scout, and you can’t be a Scout unless you qualify,” she snapped.
“And what do you do to qualify?”
“Fuss and Buzz” had both seated themselves without invitation, and now their line of questions indicated rather a stay.
Corene sank back and sighed. She picked up her book and toyed with it significantly. But no one replied. There was danger of a general laugh breaking out if someone didn’t say something quickly, so Louise, just coming back from the water pail, offered an excuse.
“All right Louie?” asked Grace. She had never called Louise Louie before.
“Oh, yes, I just choked,” replied Louise, “and went for a drink.”
“A drink!” repeated the Buzzer. “Oh, could we have a lovely, cool drink? We are so warm from walking.”
What could the Bobbies do?
“Certainly,” said Julia. “I’ll fetch it.”
“I’ll help you,” offered Cleo, glad to escape for a moment.
A brand new tin pie pan with two glasses of spring water was fetched. There was no doily, either paper or otherwise, although the usual tray was so covered.
The strangers drank heartily, however, and it seemed now they surely must go. But they didn’t.
“And you couldn’t take us for just a teeny-weeny while?” cooed Fuss.
“Oh, if you only could, we would be so good! We would do all the work—do you have to do all the work?” came another silly question.
“We don’t have to but we choose to,” snapped Corene again. Her companions seemed to have no pity, for rarely did one of them offer to help her out. Why didn’t Mackey come and rescue them? Each was wondering.
“Do you know that queer girl on the hilltop?” asked Fussy, unexpectedly.
“Who do you mean?” Grace challenged.
“‘Fly-away Peg,’ they call her. She’s so queer, and so—so sort of heathenish,” said Buzzy.
“We are acquainted with Peggie Ramsdell,” replied Grace, glad that she remembered the name, “but we don’t consider her queer.”
“You don’t, really! Then you don’t know her. She is very queer, and if I were you—so young and trusting—I’d keep away from her,” offered the second intruder.
“Why should we do that?” Corene shot the question defiantly.
“Well,” a titter, “she won’t get you any place, that’s all,” went on the informer. “No one will take you up if you tag around with her.”
“We don’t want to be taken up,” flung back Corene. “And I’m afraid you will have to excuse us. It is almost time for class.”
“Class! And do you go to school here, too?”
No one answered, but all had risen. They would take Corene’s cue and go in the tent; if only those rude girls would take themselves off.
“Oh, could we have just one peek in your tent? We are dying to!” came the daring question which was put by both, one tagging the end on the other’s introduction.
This brought out Corene’s “fighting fury,” as the girls were accustomed to characterize her aggressiveness, and now she faced the strangers squarely.
“Aren’t you the two young ladies who tried to run us out of the lake this morning?” she demanded. Her face took on a tone of red she tried hard to keep down.
“Oh, did you mind?” simpered one. “Why, we were only fooling. You were having such a lovely time we thought it would be fun to—to chase you.”
“You did it to show off and it wasn’t funny a bit,” declared Corene, her companions applauding with glances. “We don’t feel like being friendly but we have tried to be polite,” pursued Corene, “but now I guess we had better——”
“Close the interview,” mocked Buzz. “Of course we’ll go. We never intended to stay. We were only trying to have some fun with you,” and her voice fairly hissed her rudeness. “Such babes in the woods! And no mammas! Better call nursie to shoo horrid, big things away. Come along, Toots. They don’t want and evidently won’t take any advice. But if they tag after Fly-away Peg maybe they’ll be sorry they didn’t listen.”
Then they went, their glaring satin skirts—one was gold and the other mahogany—showing through the heavy brush as they wound in and out the path, their twin-made sweaters of bright pink being last to fade from view, over the little rustic bridge that spanned the creek.
The Scouts stood, too surprised to give expression to their feelings.
“Of all the cheek——” began Grace.
“Why didn’t you hit them, Corey? I saw you stoop for a stick,” said Cleo.
“I felt like doing something desperate,” replied Corene. “I never in all my life saw such nerve.”
“Do you think they were really fooling about wanting to come to camp?” queried Julia.
“They would be glad enough to come indeed if they saw any chance,” declared Margaret, promptly.
“Can you imagine Buzz and Fuss in our uniforms?” Grace went into perfect kinks at the idea.
“They would love them,” drawled Julia, imitating the tone of voice used by the strangers.
“And wouldn’t they look cute in the kilties?” mocked Madaline.
“With the green silk stockings and all!” howled Cleo.
Only the approach of Miss Mackin saved the Bobbies from wilder expression of joy—joy that the callers had gone, and joy for the trail of humor they left behind.
Her arms filled with iron weed and late daisies, Mackey looked very pretty as she came along through the soft green setting, so different from the last figures that travelled the same path.
The girls ran to meet her and eagerly told the exciting story.
“You see, I shouldn’t leave you very long,” commented the director when the account was finished. “You are so attractive, even the frivolous stop to admire. And I have a lovely surprise for you.”
They took the flowers from her and “sat her down,” as if she were not really a girl but a queen among them.
“What’s the surprise?” cooed Madaline.
“The Norms are going to start a class in basketry; who wants to join?”
“Oh, baskets, the Indian kind, and the pretty raffia kind, and the——”
“Lunch basket kind,” Julia interrupted Grace. “We will join you, Mackey, won’t we, girls?”
Everyone agreed eagerly, and the first session was arranged to be held at Camp Comalong on the following afternoon.
“I thought after a few days things might get sort of samey,” said Cleo, “but as it looks now I wonder how we are going to get everything in? We must go riding soon, Louise.”
“We surely must, Clee. Let us keep the next afternoon after to-morrow free for that. I am just longing for a ride through those wonderful, green woods.”
“Maybe we will meet Buzzie and Fussie, and if we do——” threatened Cleo.
“We’ll make them run harder than they did us, with their old buggy-boat in the lake,” finished Louise, well out of hearing of the director.
But a new cause for questions had crossed their wonderful path.
Why did those girls speak with such marked disapproval of Peg, the exclusive neighbor?
As someone had said events were crowding at camp, and it now seemed difficult to keep schedule and not break the “rest rule.” This last obligated the director to see that the girls rested for a time after the noon-day meal. As the Bobbies were such active little animals, and so eager to crowd each moment with an event—big enough to occupy an hour—Mackey had to be very decided in this order for an hour’s rest every afternoon.
It was that particular period that the unwelcome callers had so completely dissipated the day before, so to-day Mackey decided to stay at camp and write up her notes, rather than scour woods for new material. Thus she could keep tabs on that relaxation period.
“We’re so glad to have you, but hope we are not spoiling all your real vacation,” said Louise considerately, when the patrol finished dinner, had cleaned up things and were now out under the trees resting. “Honestly, Mackey, tell us! Didn’t you plan to come and be our guardian angel, or did you just happen along that day?”
The director laughed merrily. It seemed to her girls that she could laugh more heartily than any sort of teacher they had ever come in contact with. Her big brown eyes would roll so comically, and she had a way of tossing her head up in such a frank fit of mirth, that her manner was really an inspiration to those about her.
“Don’t guardies always come that way?” she replied to Louise’s question. “And do you want to ‘sack’ me for someone else? I’m sure anyone at Camp Norm would be glad to try for the place.”
Conservative Louise could not stand that, and she almost upset Mackey and her camp stool in objecting.
“Did the mothers have anything to do with it?” pressed Grace.
“Or headquarters?” went on Julia.
“Well,” evaded Mackey. “I came, I saw and I conquered. So why worry?” and the Bobbies were obliged to be satisfied with that reply.
“Has anyone seen Peg, lately?” was the next question. It came from Cleo.
“‘Has anybody here seen Kelly,’” chirped Grace, falling into the funny old tune. “‘Kelly with the gre—heen necktie!’” she persisted, in spite of a shower of leaves and twigs that struck at her defiant head.
“We can’t call this rest,” remonstrated Mackey. “Julia, I wouldn’t pull up those little roots, you will have mud puddles there if it should rain to-night.”
“Oh, that’s so!” exclaimed Julia. “How will we arrange when the rain comes? What about my fire?”
“We will have to use up some of the dry boxes,” suggested Madaline.
“Or get an oil stove,” proposed Margaret.
“Or we could make a shack—build one over our camp kettle,” added Cleo.
Mackey waited to try out their resources before interfering. Then she said:
“It’s lots of fun to build fires in the rain; that is if you don’t have to dry out too quickly after a long hike. We can always find dry wood inside of the old logs, and by scooping out some shavings we can easily start some of your nice, little cord pieces, that you have stocked under the tent. No, you can’t use artificial wood, boxes nor oil stoves. All that is against the camp system.”
“Then I think,” said Julia, the good housekeeper, “we had better add to our woodpile. We have had such splendid weather, rain must be about due.”
“We can go out wood hunting when the sun goes down, or cools off, late this afternoon,” agreed Mackey. “I think Corene had such a plan already fixed.”
“Indeed I did,” spoke up Corene. “I know what a time we had once at the big camp when the wood pile went low and the storm ran high. Unkink your muscles, girls; there’s a heap of chopping ahead.”
“And do you remember last year at the beach? We were donning our dimities about this time daily,” recalled Louise, with a well meaning sigh.
“I’m gaining pounds,” announced the willowy Julia. “I was weighed this morning.”
“Have I grown any?” joked Louise, giving one of her inimitable stretches.
“You do all seem to be taking to camp life like squirrels to nuts,” interrupted the director. “I shall have quite a record to my credit if you keep it up.”
Time passed so quickly that the call for their class in basketry seemed almost to overlap the rest hour.
“To make souvenirs!” This was the attraction that roused the Bobbies even from their own joys in camp routine, for now that they were “away from home,” each girl longed to bring back a token to mother, father, sister or brother; and with more than one of them the entire family was promptly put down on the list to receive a handmade souvenir from Camp Comalong.
“Undertake simple things so you will be sure to finish them,” warned Mackey, for girl-like they planned the most attractive articles held out in the display catalogues.
Bags, baskets and little matted trays were finally decided upon, and Miss Freeland, the manual training teacher who stopped at Norm, found an enthusiastic class ready for her dictation.
They sat squat on the ground like Indians when the lesson started, but before its finish the squatters had squirmed and crawled from one position to another, fitting each new attempt with a new move, until at the end there seemed to be a heap of girls all piled around the amiable Miss Freeland.
“Don’t forget we are to receive callers to-day,” warned Mackey. “I think the home folks have been very considerate to leave us alone so long.”
Reluctantly the new task was laid aside, for, as usual, being new, it was also attractive, and at the thought of company everyone stirred around to make things look pretty.
Fresh flowers, straightening the burlap curtains on Louise’s sideboard, arranging the tent with an eye to absolute order—all this was attended to with skill acquired in the short practice, and Miss Mackin had little to fear from the critical eye of any possible visitor.
Honking of auto horns soon warned the Bobbies that their company was coming, and when the honking swelled into a concert, and the concert swelled into a volley, the campers realized they were due to enjoy a surprise.
No less than eight cars were finally driven up, and each carried a capacity load of passengers—the whole company representing a surprise party on the Bobolinks.
“Surprise! Surprise!” called out the visiting girls, quite like the old time gayety, when country folks came to a party and brought the refreshments with them.
So many friends entirely unexpected!
It seemed the home folks had sent out the invitations and managed to corral friends for every single Bobbie, not forgetting Mackey, who was so glad to welcome Molly Burbank, a friend of her high school days.
And the boxes and the bundles!
“A regular picnic!” sang out Louise. “Let’s put everything on the big table.”
“And Helen!” chuckled Cleo. “I am so glad to see you! When did you come back to the lake?”
“Isabel, dear, ducky Izzy!” chirped Grace. “We have been talking about you a lot. Can you stay?”
Then there was Mary, Carol, Annette, and so many other school and home-town friends that for a little time the mothers seemed neglected, but presently Louise was “hanging on her folks” with such enthusiasm she threatened to do damage to something, while Cleo hugged her mother and her big coz Alem, and Grace almost strangled her mother, so that it all looked like a new version of Mother’s Day.
The inspection was punctuated with constant exclamations of wonder and applause, and that the Bobbies would find themselves expected to shoulder added responsibilities when they should return home was very evident.
“If they can do so well in camp we may hope for great things at home,” remarked more than one delighted visitor, but the Scouts shook their heads and refused to promise.
Miss Mackin was arranging “the treat.” She and her friends had taken over all the tasks so that the younger girls might more fully enjoy the company. The long table, with its dainty paper table cover, was arranged with paper plates (for company only), and the bunches of rarest wild flowers Miss Mackin had gathered the day before gave a real festive look to “the board.”
“I know I’m going to have my favorite cake,” crowed Cleo. “Did you ever see such a perfectly scrumbunctious food shower?”
“Never,” agreed Grace, “and I do hope there’s something to keep in my box, for we can’t be sure of our own cooking all the time, you know.”
“Don’t you like it?” defied Corene. She was not willing to have the commissary department thus suspected.
“Oh, yes, Corey, and your codfish made with condensed milk is so—new, and sweetish——”
Corene threw a paper box cover at the head of her tormentor but Miss Mackin did not see the deprecation.
Then the spread was ready, and the company sat down to a camp table laden with home made goodies.
“This is one real joy of the small camp,” Miss Mackin explained. “In the larger camps they do not generally permit the importing of food; but for Comalong it’s a real blessing. You see, we have just been experimenting with our little furnace, and there’s the camp kettle,” she pointed out the inclined pole with its kettle on end, that hung over one of Julia’s furnaces. “And we haven’t tried baking cakes since we came,” she admitted with an explanatory laugh.
“But the pan cakes? Aren’t they all right, Mackey?” asked Cleo. She had “tried” pan cakes once or twice.
“Yes, indeed, Cleo. You did very well with those,” praised the director, “but for real chocolate cake——”
“And fudge cake!” exclaimed Louise.
“And angel cake!” added Grace.
So it went along the table, each Scout acknowledging her particular gift with a special exclamation.
There was so much to talk about. And what a buzz and hum of voices surprised the little wood creatures! Not even the pet bunny ventured out from his hollow stump while all that party talked and talked.
“If only we could have company?” proposed Julia. “I mean overnight company.”
“Perhaps we can,” whispered Cleo.
“Where would they sleep?” Grace queried.
“We have hammocks, and maybe we could make room between the cots, by pushing them up together.”
“Oh, Cleo,” Grace broke out. “How could we make room between the cots unless you mean to put someone on the floor?” and she howled at the idea.
“Of course, I don’t mean that,” protested Cleo, between her cake bites. “I mean to tie two cots together and put blankets between the edges, I mean over the edges. There would be room for Helen in that space.”
“But fancy Izzy sleeping on the rail!” Grace was bound to ridicule the idea.
“At any rate I’m going to ask Mackey!” declared Cleo. “Helen would love to stay, and we would love to have her. We could put hammocks up if it didn’t rain.”
At this juncture Grace was asked to refill the water pail, so she and Madaline raced off to the spring. Both cast furtive glances over the hill to Peg’s cottage, but not even Shag was in sight to indicate life around the log cabin.
“Queer where she keeps herself,” remarked Grace, “but I’m going to fetch her some cake, anyhow.”
“I would too,” agreed Madaline. “She doesn’t seem like a girl who could bake a good cake.”
“No,” added Grace, “but she surely can ride horseback. I just wonder where she goes every day.”
“The girls are going riding to-morrow. Perhaps they’ll find out.”
“Maybe. But aren’t we having a lovely picnic?”
“Wonderful. We’ll have enough cake for all week.”
“I never thought sandwiches could taste so good. I suppose it’s because we haven’t had any homemade bread since we came.”
“And Cleo’s mother brought jam; Cleo hid it in her box back of the cupboard,” said Madaline.
“Hurry, they may want the water; at any rate we can treat them to that,” declared Grace, and the water bearers made all possible haste over the trail back to camp, spilling just enough of the fresh fluid to tickle the spangle-weed along the way.
“They’re going to stay! They’re going to stay!” Cleo ran to meet Grace with the good news, for lovely as camp had seemed with the patrol as its sole occupants, the prospects of company “to stay,” and that the guests should be “Dare-to-do-Izzy” as Isabel was popularly called, and jolly little Helen would could “see a joke half a mile off”; no wonder there was new joy apparent in camp.
“Everyone is going,” chirped Julia, “and I hope they all saw how much we have improved.”
“Your pounds, do you mean, Jule? Maybe they couldn’t see them. You should have pointed them out,” teased Louise.
“Now, Weasy, maybe you think they all saw your inches,” returned Julia. “There’s mother’s handkerchief, I know she didn’t intend to leave that to me,” and she hurried to the big gray car, with the dainty speck of lace and linen.
“Give them a cheer,” prompted Miss Mackin.
“Hurrah for the home folks,” led Corene.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” boomed the lusty cheer, until the hills echoed and the lake repeated the hail.
Then the picnic and shower were over, and the Bobbies were so excited they hardly knew whether to show Izzy the spring or Helen the woodpile.
The colors were lowered by Louise and Julia, and then clouds gathering beyond the rim of trees glowered ominously, and that reminded them that they must hurry to gather more wood before the rain would come.
“More showers than those of cakes and cookies,” said Miss Mackin from the depths of her pine needle pillow. “Just hear that!”
Thunder rolled and the rain was finding its way through the trees.
“Whew!” Louise almost whistled. “Just hear the wild roar!”
Like a concrete body the “roar” rolled down the mountain, and with a terrific rip and tear it hit the tent.
“Oh, mercy!” cried Cleo.
“Hold on to your bunks!” cautioned Grace.
This they actually did, for the wind had struck with such cyclonic force it seemed the canvas would be torn from its moorings.
“We have good shelter here,” Miss Mackin assured the anxious ones. “There is no need for alarm.”
If they agreed with her no one said so, for the tent flapped and flapped and tried its best to follow the dare of that wind, until it seemed surely something must give way.
The night light had been brought inside, as Mackey secretly expected a big storm, and now just the faintest glimmer shown from its peg where it hung by the front door.
To accommodate the company, three cots had been run together and the beds arranged crosswise, blankets and cushions covered the rims, so that it was considered possible, if not probable, that four girls could thus sleep on the three beds. Over in a corner Helen and Madaline shared quarters with Margaret, so that any sort of sleep for that night was rather uncertain even before the storm broke loose, and tried to break everything else loose with it.
Another blast and again Isabel called:
“Hold fast!”
Then there was a slam of something!
“What was that?” asked Miss Mackin quickly.
Heads were under blankets now and gave no answer.
“Did anyone fall out of bed?” she asked, a trifle anxiously.
“We’re all right,” came a muffled reply from the “buckboard” party on the crosswise bed.
There was another queer slamming sound!
This brought the director to her feet, and having already pulled on her slippers she quickly proceeded to take inventory and count heads.
With the lantern in hand she made sure each bed was where it might be expected to be, although she did have to pull down blankets to inspect, but when she got over in the corner to Helen’s quarters——
“Where’s Madaline?” she asked.
Helen ventured to poke her head from its hiding place and then felt around beside her.
“She isn’t—here!” came the surprising reply.
“Where is she? Could she have fallen out?” Miss Mackin gathered the blanket ends to look carefully under the cots, but no Madaline was discovered.
“Oh!” shrieked a chorus, as a terrific gust of wind somehow succeeded in blowing out their only light!
Such confusion as followed!
The girls screamed and howled. Corene begged them to keep quiet, and after a moment or two that seemed like an hour, the wind was again roaring in solo, while the girls at last listened to the entreaties of their director.
“Please be quiet,” she begged. “I turned the lantern suddenly and with the wind it blew out. There, it is lighted again,” and the welcome glow returned. “But where is Madaline?”
Another and more careful survey of the entire tent was made, and could the girls have seen Miss Mackin’s face now, they might have guessed how intense was her alarm, for really, the little fat Madaline was nowhere to be found!
Realizing this everyone jumped up and quickly slipped into emergency covering.
“Could she have blown out the door?” asked Cleo.
Miss Mackin had herself wondered at that far-fetched contingency, and she attempted to thrust the lantern between the curtains, but a sheet of rain drove her back into the tent.
“Where can the child be?” she murmured.
“She simply must have blown away!” wailed Corene. “Girls, come along! We must get her. She might blow into the lake!”
Storm and danger were forgotten now, for anxiety was too real to admit of anything merely probable.
Without being directed to do so each little Scout was getting into some clothing, with the khaki storm coats on top and the chin strapped hats crushed firmly on the tousled heads.
“Look under every bed again,” ordered Miss Mackin. It seemed impossible the child could actually have left the tent.
“Not here!” came the melancholy report, as bed clothing and pillows were tossed aside.
There was a moment of such suspense as might have frozen that storm and thus subdued its fury.
“We will have to go out and look for her,” said Miss Mackin. “Button your coats tight and don’t leave each other. Each two take a lantern” (these had been quickly lighted and taken from their emergency line), “we must surely find her very near. She can’t really have blown away.”
They were down the steps, breathing hard and—yes—praying!
Darling little chubby Madaline! What could have happened to her?
The last girl had scarcely stepped down from the uncertain shelter of the tent when there was a call from within.
“Girls! Girls! Looking for me?”
It was Madaline’s voice and she was in that tent!
“Where have—you been?”
“Oh, Madie, we were almost dead!”
“Madaline, Madaline! We thought you were gone!” The chorus was hysterical.
“Child!” gasped Miss Mackin. “Where were you?” She held her by both shoulders as if fearful she would disappear again.
“Under the tent,” replied Madaline, still gasping for breath. “The little trap door was open, you know, and I got so scared of that awful storm I just dropped down. I never thought you would miss me.”
“And didn’t you hear us?” demanded the excited Grace.
“Couldn’t hear anything but the storm. Wasn’t it dreadful?”
“Not half as bad as you hiding away like that,” Isabel was almost crying. “Why ever did you do it?”
“Why——”
“Never mind, children,” soothed the director. “She didn’t think we would miss her and I suppose she was terrified, but it isn’t wise to drop out of sight, especially at night. Get out of your clothes now. The storm is almost over, and to-morrow you will all have something interesting to write in your journals.”
“I heard something slam,” Corene recalled.
“That was the door. It hit me on the head,” said the innocent Madaline.
“Was it your head that made the bang?” Even in the present excitement Grace could not resist the joke.
But the girls were not sleepy. They declared they didn’t care if they never slept again so long as Madaline was all right, and when they finally did turn into bunks they placed the adventuress safely and snugly in the buckboard, between the two largest girls, Corene and Isabel.
“You won’t drop down any more cracks this time,” declared Corene.
“Wasn’t it awful woozy down there?” asked Julia.
“Not a bit. Just nice and tight and you couldn’t even hear the rain,” said Madaline.
“I hope you didn’t upset my woodpile,” called out Julia.
“And I had a pretty fern growing in a tomato can. I’ll bet you smashed it,” charged Louise.
“Children, dear, try to quiet down,” entreated the director. She could not be severe, for indeed she had been a very badly frightened young woman in the hour just passing.
“Tell us a story?” begged Julia.
“Yes, do, and then maybe we’ll doze off,” bribed Margaret.
“Very well, if you promise to keep quiet and try to get to sleep, I will,” agreed Miss Mackin.
Of course they promised, and she began; but hardly had she warmed up to her subject when a loud calling, shouting and yelling sounded through the slash of the retreating storm.
“What—now!”
“Mackey! Mackey!” came the call.
“The girls from Norm!” exclaimed someone.
“Yes, surely that’s they. What can have happened?” gasped Miss Mackin.
By now the voices were near the tent and it was evident the cries were not fraught with terror, instead there was laughter, shouts and gales of it defying the winds and rain.
“Let us in! Let us in!” cried the victims, and quickly as the tent flap was loosed in came such a looking flock!
“Our tent blew away!” gasped Bubbles, she who so often indulged in that popular song.
“Blew away!”
“Yes, from over our very heads!” The five young women—they were actually five of them—dripped water and laughter in equal proportions, for the rain they brought in with them was now running in healthy little puddles all over the nice, new floor.
There wasn’t much room to stir around without getting the beds wet, but as soon as the Norms could control their unseeming joy, Miss Mackin tried to find a few spots. This was done by pushing the beds into still more compact quarters, until Corene suggested they stand them on end and sleep standing up.
“Do you mean to tell us your tent is gone?” demanded Miss Mackey, when her third shower—the drenched Norms—squatted down to “rip off some water-soaked garments.”
“We do. Exactly that. It blew away and we didn’t even have time to blow a kiss to it,” declared Bubbles.
“Where are the others?”
“At the bungalow. They ventured in, we hope they’ll get out all right, but we wouldn’t try it. Imagine that prim old couple having such a delightful surprise.”
“I’m so tired I can sleep beautifully on the floor,” declared another of the storm victims. “And please don’t let us demoralize your squad, Mackey. They’ll be all cross babies in the morning.” Their own scare was then recounted and the surprise party made doubly welcome, when everyone insisted they could “get to sleep now,” that there was so much “lovely company around.”
Blankets were easily spared from the cots as the night had not cooled off too suddenly, and the Norms, being all around sportswomen, didn’t find the pine boards and good blankets such a poor sort of bunk after all, so sleep was wooed and won finally.
They must have realized the morning would bring to them some strenuous duties, for what about reclaiming Camp Norm?
Daylight showed what havoc the storm had wrought. The lake front was strewn with craft washed in by the swelled waters; there were sailboats bottom side up, canvas carried from one end of the lake to the other, rowboats torn from their docks where strong ropes over stronger posts were thought to hold them securely; in fact the storm had been a record-breaker and the new record was one of considerable devastation.
Crowds of curious gathered early, and in general terms business was suspended in favor of sight-seeing. But it was among the campers that the greatest damage had been done, and Camp Norm was not alone in blowing away in the tempest.
Those who sought shelter in Camp Comalong were up and out early, and the Bobbies were not long in following.
“Poor old Norm,” sighed Bubbles. “We will now be sure to fall to sub-norm, for never again can we claim to be normal.”
A camp untented after a downpour of rain is about as forlorn a sight as can be imagined, and it was such a spectacle as this that confronted the Norms on the bleakish early morning.
Wet! Wetter! Wettest!
The trees still rained; the grass emitted a hissing moisture, the air was as wet as if the rain had anchored in it, and never was there a more unhappy looking crowd than the unroofed campers of Lake Hocomo.
“Weren’t we lucky?” said Julia. “Just see how everyone has had something damaged and we never lost a thing but a couple of tree boxes.”
“And the curtains off the sideboard,” added Grace. “But they were going anyhow, I caught my heel in one yesterday.”
Everyone helped everyone get things back where they belonged, and by noon the Norm girls had succeeded in reclaiming the truant canvas and stretching it again over their summer belongings. Many things were irreparably damaged, for even good, strong boxes could not stand the elements when they “elemented” at last night’s pace.
But the excitement added zest to their spirit, and hither and thither went the Bobbies like a little band of rescuers, carrying and toting for the victims quite like the workers in more seriously stricken zones.
A holiday was declared in the afternoon, however, and it was then that Cleo, Louise and Julia went for their long, looked forward to ride.
Being assured they had permission from home (it was talked of on the visit with mothers the day before), also assured that a woman instructor would ride with the girls, they left camp directly after dinner, hurried to the home cottages to don their riding togs, and when the sky was bluest, the trees greenest, and everything nicely dried up, the three Scouts, with Mrs. Broadbent the instructor, cantered off through the curling roads of Hocomo.
Getting acquainted with their horses took some little time, but they were gentle animals and seemed to enjoy either trotting or cantering as their little riders willed.
Out on the turnpike road there were so many motors that Mrs. Broadbent suggested they go cross field and come out along the old mining regions.
“Is that where the powder mills are?” asked Cleo.
“Yes, there are some big powder works in this district,” replied the horsewoman. “We had many soldier boys out here doing guard duty a few years ago.”
The girls remembered the remark about dynamite signs, more than one person having warned them that the signs might be found but were really harmless, and when their horses smelled the fresh clover on the slope between two hills, Mrs. Broadbent suggested the riders dismount and rest awhile, allowing the horses to “nose around” and enjoy themselves for a half hour.
“‘Pep’ expects a treat when he gets up here,” she said, “and Baldy likes this tall grass, he doesn’t have to stoop so low to get it.”
The riders assented gladly. It was delightful to “browse” in such a spot, for the hill afforded a rare view of the lake and surrounding bungalows and tent district.
Freely the three Scouts roamed about, searching for odd flowers and pretty stones, although just how the stones were going to be carried without spoiling riding-habit pockets, was not quite clear. The horsewoman stretched herself in the grass and called orders to the horses, should they wander too far from safety.
Hunting about, Louise found a pretty little mountain bell in between rocks, where it must have expected security, while Cleo and Julia were soon applying their newest botanical knowledge on the Jack-in-pulpit and companion wild orchids.
Glittering bits of stone, the sparkling mica-schist, that looks like pebbly crystals spread on too thick, afforded another line of investigation, and following such a trail into a little ravine, Julia discovered the dynamite sign.
At first she was inclined to heed its warning literally, and with a little squeal she dropped one of her prettiest stones and scraped her riding boot in hurrying away; but Cleo was more daring.
“Just one of those make-believe signs,” she suggested. “Perhaps the boys gathered them from around the old powder works and set them up to scare people away.”
“Maybe the boys have a hidden cave somewhere and the signs are to keep folks away,” Louise amplified the idea so barely outlined by Cleo.
“But we had better not follow the trail,” demurred Julia. “The rocks are awfully rough anyhow, and we will skin our boots to pieces if we try to climb higher.”
All three stood looking at the sign but no one ventured to touch the tin square, which stood on its iron peg firmly planted in the ground and mutely gave forth its “Danger” warning.
Cleo bent over to look all around the little signal.
“There doesn’t seem to be a pipe, or a wire, or anything near it,” she reported. “I can’t see how there can be any danger without something dangerous.”
“Don’t you dare touch it,” warned Julia. “It is certainly planted there for some purpose.”
“Boys, I’m just sure,” insisted Louise. “I’ve often read of their caves in the mountains and how they store things away in them. Boys’ books are packed full of that sort of thing.”
“But real robbers have mountain caves also.” Julia was determined to make a good story out of the plot. “How would you like to run into a genuine bandit, with a black handkerchief over his face and two hideous pistols in his hand?”
“One in each hand, Jule,” corrected Cleo. “That’s the regular way,” and she stalked forward in the “regulation way,” with two pretty innocent Jack-in-pulpits doing service in lieu of the dangerous bandit weapons.
“Come along, desperadoes, there’s our horses calling us,” Julia proposed.
“I’d just like to kick over that sign,” Cleo whispered to Louise.
“Let’s get that long stick over there and turn it over,” suggested Louise.
“Suppose we blow up the hills,” laughed Cleo. But Louise had already obtained the stick, and although Julia was headed for the waiting horses her two companions were still fascinated by that danger signal.
“Look out!” warned Louise, going a little closer.
“Let me do it, Weasy, if there’s a blow I can run faster than you.”
Both giggled and chuckled, becoming more reckless as they joked. Finally both held the stick and attempted to poke.
Only girls of their charmed age can do a thing like that in the way they did it, for had the innocent tin sign been a perfectly obvious bomb, the Bobbies could not possibly have made greater show and fuss over their attempt to displace it.
“Care—ful!” whispered Cleo, but one thrust of the white birch pole and the sign was uprooted!
As it fell from its peg the girls squealed and jumped, but there it lay, like a sign “keep off the grass” or “please wipe your feet,” and nothing happened.
“I knew it!” snapped Cleo.
“Of course,” insisted Louise. “Just boys’ pranks.”
“But there could be danger further on,” argued Cleo, loathe to give up a perfectly good sensation without even a shiver.
“Yes, there’s Julia calling; come along,” finished Louise.
Racing back they stumbled over another danger sign. It was almost hidden in some underbrush, and without stick or precaution Cleo gaily kicked it over, emitting a triumphant “whoo—pee” as she did so.
“Guess they grow up here,” she told her companion. “Quite a crop of them.”
“They would be splendid to stick up around the camp ‘eats box,’” suggested Louise. “I wish I had brought one along.”
“Grand idea, and we could put one up in front of our new supply of cake,” Cleo added. “I need something like that to protect mine, for the prize chocolate layer is going down very rapidly.”
There was no time to tell Julia of their adventure. The horses were reclaimed from their pasture, and presently all were mounted again and going on a gentle little trot down the rather steep incline.
Where two paths forked and the road was barely wide enough even to be called single, they drew rein to wait for some other riders whose horses could be heard but not seen through the trees.
Presently a familiar pony pranced around the curve and on it—sat Peg.
“Oh, there’s Peg!” exclaimed all three Scouts.
“Hello, Peg!” they called cheerily. They were, indeed, delighted to meet her on the road.
“Hel—lo!” she answered. There was no joy in her voice, however, although she pulled the blue roan up short—she glanced backward, then the girls saw she was looking for another rider.
Mrs. Broadbent realized the time allowed the Scouts with their horses was almost up, so she urged her little company to hurry along. Rather slowly they obeyed, and the second rider was beside Peg now and it proved to be her aunt, Miss Ramsdell.
“Aunt Carrie on horseback!” said one girl to another. They were naturally surprised to see the rather elderly and white haired woman mounted. But she sat well, and looked well, although her habit was of the full divided skirt pattern, and she sat sidewise as women did twenty years ago.
“Have a nice ride?” Peg called after them when there could be no possibility of more intimate conversation.
“Lovely!” called back the Scouts.
“Why don’t you come around?” shouted Cleo.
“Busy!” floated back the answer.
“She looks it,” Louise remarked, when again they rode slowly, trying to prolong the minutes.
“Doesn’t she? I wonder what keeps her so busy?” This was Julia’s query.
“Well, we can’t spy, that’s a sure thing,” reasoned Cleo, “but I wouldn’t mind knowing what brings her out riding all the time.”
“Perhaps she teaches riding over at some of the millionaire places,” surmised Julia, always prone to be on the safe side.
“Too young,” returned Cleo. “Fancy Weasy teaching someone how to mount!”
“As if I couldn’t!”
“Certainly you could, Weasy, but would you? That’s the question. Peg would be about as patient as a chipmunk at giving instructions. And she seems too practical to go riding so often just for a good time,” reasoned Cleo.
Campers and “bungalowers” still moving and removing to overcome the difficulties thrust upon them by the night’s storm were now tramping along the country road, lugging, it seemed, everything from bedding to ballast, and among the fugitives the riders met a number with whom they were acquainted.
Hailing to these and offering words of sympathy precluded further private conversation, so Peg and her riding proclivities were forgotten for the time.
“I’ll take you to your cottages,” offered Mrs. Broadbent. “These horses will trail along obediently when I lead with Baldy.”
This offer was eagerly accepted, for the plan would eliminate a walk from the riding school, and when all had patted their horses and promised another ride very soon, the afternoon’s particular delight remained only in its joyous memories.
“I would rather ride than do any other single thing,” declared Cleo, watching her pretty horse canter off riderless.
“I love it too,” agreed Louise. “But do you know we have to get back to camp? And I have a suitcase to carry. There’s the car! Goody! We’ll all have a ride back.”
“Rides and more rides,” mused Julia. “I’ll be ready in a jiff.”
In Cozy Colony all three girls claimed their home ties, and the cottages were grouped in one prettily wooded territory, where trees were only sacrificed to make room for a cottage or garage, and where the rustic beauty of the lake resort was otherwise carefully preserved.
In the “jiff” specified by Julia the girls again appeared, their linen riding habits exchanged for fresh Scout uniforms, and while Louise lugged a suitcase Julia carried a laundry bag, and Cleo was armed with a rather miscellaneous collection of appurtenances.
Five minutes later they were in camp gushing over the wonderful ride.
“And I took a cake over to Peg,” Grace was forced to interrupt to make known.
Then it was that Peg again became the pivot of their interest and speculation.