“We were so surprised to see her aunt along with her,” Julia was recounting. “They seem awfully chummy, don’t they?”
“Yes, it is plain to see they are not—just ordinary folks,” added Cleo. “But even at that I don’t see why she should be so standoffish.”
“I hope she likes my cake. I left it under a turned upside box, put a couple of big stones on it and told Shag not to let anyone touch it,” Grace explained.
“Suppose she wouldn’t care to accept a cake? She said something that night around the campfire, about not accepting things she couldn’t return.” This was Cleo’s contribution.
“If she doesn’t like my cake she can easily return that,” Grace was very emphatic now, “and then perhaps we will desist. No use trying to make friends with folks who insist on snubbing us.”
“But she hasn’t snubbed us yet,” Louise reminded the first speaker.
“Oh, no, I know that. I was only saying if she didn’t take the cake.”
“No danger of anyone giving up that lovely mound of sweetness. I wish you saved that, Grace, and gave away the marshmallow; I just love tutti-frutti,” declared Cleo.
“Didn’t you think Peg acted rather queer when she met us?” inquired Louise presently.
“She was surprised, that’s all. We were surprised ourselves to meet her,” explained Julia. “And perhaps too, she fancied we were fixed up and she looked sort of mussy. No one wants to feel that way, you know.”
“That may have been it,” Cleo accepted, but her voice lacked assurance. “And say, Julie, we didn’t tell you we tore down the dynamite sign.”
“Not really!”
“Pos—i—tively!”
“And you didn’t find the danger?”
“Only in the black letters on a piece of red tin. But those signs don’t grow there, although at first we had our suspicions,” Cleo stated facetiously.
“And we also suspect caves and bandits,” Louise knew exactly the effect this would have on Grace, the adventuress.
“Caves! Bandits! Bears and Deadeyed Dicks!” came the prompt string of exclamations from Grace. “Oh, let’s go out there to-morrow and explore!”
“We knew it; but it is interesting, Grace, and we’ll plan our hike for Big Nose Rock if Mackey will agree,” Cleo proposed. “Now we must help Madaline and Margaret gather their souvenirs. It’s too bad they have to go, but we knew when they came it would only be a few days’ visit.”
“Good thing we can keep Isabel and Helen. It’s such fun to have company,” Louise insisted.
“It was real fun last night,” Grace reminded her companions. “I thought we really would have to prop our beds on end and sleep standing up. Wasn’t it too funny!”
“Not for the poor Norms, although they wouldn’t admit it. Bubbles and Struggles had more kinds of fun than I have ever seen even new school teachers fall into,” said Cleo.
“Such names! Bubbles and Struggles!” repeated Julia.
“About like Fuss and Buzz,” recalled Grace. “By the way, I wonder what has ‘happed’ to those heavenly twins?”
“Wouldn’t wonder but they are calling on other campers,” suggested Louise. “They seem so apt to call.”
This provoked the inevitable mimicry, and if Fuss and Buzz hadn’t inflamed red hot ears at that moment, the old saying must indeed have lost its potency.
The visitors who were leaving, jolly Madaline and capable Margaret, were being helped pack their bags by Corene, who in spite of offers from the other Bobbies still held to the responsibilities of leadership.
It may have been that Corene was anxious to qualify, or it may have been that she really enjoyed the satisfaction she experienced, at any rate it was easy to guess she would be sure to receive “awards” when the camp season would be over, for Corene was almost daily adding to her efficiency laurels.
“If only we could have Elizabeth up here for a week, wouldn’t she show us a thing or two about housekeeping?” Julia remarked, when in spite of protestations the cupboard was being “finished” by Julia although Corene had “commenced” it.
“I can imagine Elizabeth’s joy at baking cake in your stove oven, Julia,” returned Corene.
“She could bake good cake in a camp kettle, I do believe. You know, Corey, Lizbeth is a wizard on bakes.”
“Yes, she’s headed straight for Pratt’s and the youngest of our entire class,” reflected Corene, flicking a bit of paper napkin from the clock shelf. “I do wonder what makes some girls have such a lot of brains?”
“And some girls have a lot of hair, too,” reasoned Julia. “I guess it’s just natural.”
“There comes the steamer Madaline’s sisters are coming on!” exclaimed Corene, as a tooting and blowing announced the arrival of the “Black Hawk.” The captain signalled either for folks to land or for folks to embark, and as the “Hawk” flag now flew from the dock near Camp Comalong he would know passengers there awaited his arrival.
Dropping their work Julia and Corene hurried to join those already waiting to see the visitors off, for the coming and going, the landing and embarking, was ever a source of excitement at the lake. Not that company could be definitely expected always, but just as a letter carrier may have good news, so anyone of those many steamers coming up from the depot eight miles away might have company for any of the many campers.
Madaline and Margaret were steamed away, amid a wild flutter of waving and good-byes, and back to camp again the Bobbies hurried to prepare for the evening meal.
“We are going to have all the Norms down,” announced Miss Mackey, who had been up in the devastated region all the afternoon. “They simply couldn’t get things dried out, and I insisted they eat with us to-night.”
“Goody!” chirped Grace. “I think company is the best fun of all. Especially Bubbles and Giggles.”
“Giggles?” queried the director.
“Oh, I mean Struggles. She seems to be always struggling to keep from giggling, so I got her name mixed,” admitted Grace.
“Perhaps we should ask them to stay to-night,” ventured Corene.
“Where would we put them?” demanded Louise, impulsively.
“All bunk on the floor. It’s nice and clean. Lots better than we get on a hike when we sleep like ground hogs in holes,” said Corene.
“We could house them and I proposed it,” said Miss Mackey, “but they wouldn’t hear of it and they are going to sleep in the hotel to-night. They want you all to come over and spend the evening there.”
“Joy!” shouted Isabel. “I just want to see what they do at a mountain hotel in the evenings.”
“Same as they do at the seashore, Izzy, and you know that isn’t particularly exciting,” Cleo reminded her visitor.
“It was last year when the baby choked on the button. Don’t you remember?”
This recalled an incident told of in the “Girl Scouts at Sea Crest,” and its mention was enough to send the girls off into their easily acquired kinks. But even fun has its limitations, and the time was racing toward supper with the Norms, and then to the evening to be spent at Hocomo’s biggest hotel, the Algonquin.
“Glad I fetched a clean white frock this very day,” remarked Louise, and her companions seemed none the less glad that they too had “fatigue uniforms,” a simple white dress used by these Scouts on just such occasions as that they were now dressing for.
The storm had driven more than one camp to seek refuge in the hotel that evening, and arriving there the Bobbies were overjoyed to meet a number of their acquaintances from among the summer colonists.
Dancing was of the desultory order, but what was lacking in vigor was made up in continuity, for it seemed there was never rest, stop, nor intermission to the programme. It was just one long, languid, continuous dance.
Around the edge of the “ball room” the Bobbies danced and capered, not venturing out to take the place possibly claimed by the grown-ups. The so-called ball room was merely the largest room the hotel boasted of, and evidently its festive claims were based upon the faded crepe paper that still clung reluctantly to chandeliers and other conveniently set out points.
But the music was “pretty fair,” as more than one guest agreed, and it was pleasant to be indoors on this cool summer’s evening.
Just after Miss Mackin sent around the whisper that there remained only “a few minutes more,” the Bobolinks were attracted by a rather familiar drawl stealing in from a window opened on the porch.
“Sounds like——”
“It is,” interrupted Cleo. “Here they come!”
“Our dear friends, Buzz and Fuss,” finished Julia. “And please observe!”
This was whispered and actually reached only those ears very close to her, but it seemed as if some magic announcement had been made, for the entrance of those two young women immediately brought a charge of eyes focussed directly at them.
“It may be a masquerade,” hinted Louise in an undertone. “Perhaps we have only seen the first act.”
Their costumes might indeed have answered for a mask, they were so ridiculously extreme. The most brilliant striped satins that suggested clown effects, flowing sashes of colors by no means contrasting, then the hair dressing: such ear puffs, terracing up to a tower on top, “like the jumps to the Essveay fire-escape,” whispered Cleo. Really it was no wonder Buzz and Fuss were late if they had to build that effect all at one sitting.
The young men with them matched up fairly well, considering the handicap young men must dress under; but their flannels and their patent leather shoes, topped off with purple socks and vivid neckties, did all that reasonably could be done to liven up the male attire.
Not a detail was lost on a Bobbie. They sat there fascinated, saving up their laughs for the wild time they would have going back to camp.
The dancers drifted around and the conspicuous ones came close to the row of Girl Scouts. As they did so the blondest blonde caught sight of Grace and recognized her.
“Oh, the babes!” she cooed, loud enough to be overheard. “The Bobbie babes from the woodsy camp.”
This was too much for the Scouts, and only a sudden jumping up to the answer of the beckoning gesture from Miss Mackin, who was waiting for the home hike, saved an actual upheaval. As it was, Grace gagged and squawked audibly, Cleo hummed a foolish tune as she always did to invoke sorrow, Louise danced a few steps automatically, and by that time the buzzers had buzzed along.
But not finally. At the door the Bobbies stood for a few minutes throwing on scarfs and capes, and while they did so along came the unpleasant ones again. Miss Mackin’s attention had been drawn to them by Corene, and she stepped out and stood squarely in front of her little charges like a shield. But that attitude had no deterring effect on the intruders.
“How’s every little thing over in Camp Comalong?” asked one in a voice that attracted unpleasant attention.
No one answered; Miss Mackin shifted her shoulders and sort of urged the girls outside. The Norms were just beyond the door, waiting on the porch.
A taunting, high pitched, audacious laugh followed.
“Take the babies home and put them to bed,” mocked one of the pair. “Too late for little Bobbokins to be out.”
“Of all the rude creatures!” gasped Miss Mackin. “One would think we were acquainted with them.”
“They think we are,” retorted Corene, quite as indignant as the director. “But I guess everyone else knows them, so perhaps their remarks will not seem—so strange to others.”
“They ought not to be allowed to insult guests that way,” stormed Louise. Even her “canned laugh” was lost track of now.
“Did you see those two freaks?” asked Bubbles Norm when the party united on the porch.
“And did you hear them?” added Miss Mackin.
“They are the two blandest creatures,” went on Bubbles. “But I believe their daddy is supposed to be some pumpkins, a magnate of some kind or other.”
“Pity he doesn’t put his daughters in the trust, then,” retorted Cleo. “They need something; maybe it’s that.”
Getting the mail for Camp Comalong was one of the duties that brought joy to the Scouts, for each morning, tent obligations attended to and before the hike, swim or other scheduled activity was entered upon, a group of the girls either rowed in Mud Lark, the boat loaned them by an admiring neighbor, or they paddled off in their bright red canoe, the Flash, down the lake to the Post Office Bend, there to receive their allotment from Uncle Sam’s mailing service.
Usually those girls whose duty it was to raise and lower the colors—when the beautiful flag contributed by Grace’s family would be raised to breeze at morning and lowered into loving hands at sundown—this squad also took care of the mail, on their flag week.
So it happened that to-day Julia and Grace were due to paddle down stream for the mail.
“I think,” began Julia in her meditative way, for Julia was something of a literary aspirant, “that we have very vigorous weather in a place like this. When it storms it storms furiously, and when it’s lovely it’s just perfect, as it is to-day.”
“Uh—huh!” assented Grace, waving frantically at a canoe across the lake in which she recognized a brace of sweaters—one orange, the other jade—worn respectively by Camille and Cynthia, without a doubt.
“Grace, I don’t believe you notice the weather very closely,” came back Julia, disappointed that her discourse should fall upon deaf ears.
“’Deed I does, honey. I noticed it plenty the other night, and am not keen on another spell like that. But when we have really good weather I don’t believe in tempting it or spoiling it with flattery. You can’t tell about such things, Julie dear.”
The blonde girl laughed merrily. Who could resist Grace and her unanswerable arguments?
There was a satisfying amount of mail to take back to camp, and among the letters was one addressed to Grace and postmarked “Town.”
“A new friend,” remarked Julia, handing this over to Grace, “or perhaps an invitation to a picnic.”
“No; it’s from Peg,” returned her companion, already scanning the paper in her hand. Her brows were drawn into a serious line and her full red lips puckered as she scrutinized the page.
“Anything wrong?” Julia asked.
“Not wrong, but—here read it——” Grace handed over the letter, and her companion read the lines.
“Well, that’s all right,” said Julia, glancing up. They were seated in the canoe and delaying to read their personal mail. “If she doesn’t want any companions I don’t see why we should force ourselves upon her.”
“But don’t you see, Jule, she says she does appreciate our friendship, but that just now she is not free to follow her own pleasure? Can’t you easily see that the girl is worried about something and afraid to even have friends?”
“Yet, Gracie, why should we intrude?”
“Because if ever a girl needed friends she does, and I need not remind you of our Scout pledge,” replied Grace. “I don’t usually look for trouble, Bobbs, but I think I see it in that page, and I would like to help Peg to some little bit of summer happiness. You know how much attention we give to making city children happy at Christmas; and here is a girl all alone in a mountain cabin, with no playmates except Shag and her pony Whirlwind, and she says plainly how much she enjoyed our campfire on that one, stingy little night. Now Julie, I couldn’t let her slip out of our entire summer with one campfire and a chocolate cake.”
This was so entirely “Gracious” that Julia laughed outright.
“All right, Buddie; just tell me what to do and I’ll help you any way I can. I believe you are right, of course. Anyone can see that Peg is tugging away with some sort of claim holding her down. Do you think there can be anyone ill, or perhaps sick mentally and hidden in her cabin?”
“Oh, no, I never thought of that. You mean an insane person?”
“They might not be really insane, but you know when a person’s mind becomes unbalanced their folks always hate to have them sent away from home,” explained Julia.
“I don’t believe that’s it. But there is some sort of mystery there. The thing that I resent most is the mean remarks those snippy girls make about her. I just can’t stand it, to hear two such silly things as those Buzzys, say such slurring things about a girl who never seems to trouble anyone, or in any way invite criticism.”
“Yes, it is cowardly. But what can you expect of that type? Didn’t they try hard enough to get us into a dispute the other night?”
“Yes, and I think Mackey was very calm not to say something back to them.”
“That would really have attracted attention. She was wise to ignore them,” declared Julia. “Well, let’s bring the girls their mail and don’t worry about Peg. I can’t imagine there is anything seriously wrong, and, perhaps, if we just agree with her suggestion something will happen to explain it all.”
“Perhaps,” said Grace doubtfully. She dipped her paddle and they started back, but her usually radiant face wore a look of perplexity.
The lake was alive with craft now, many bathers taking to their boats before “going in,” as the swim was popularly termed. Canoes, rowboats, launches and every sort of water vehicle was in evidence, ingenuity outdoing itself in the samples of boyish workmanship displayed.
There was the “Captain Kidd,” a big, flat-bottomed rowboat with sails striped in black and red. This was the property of Benny and his friends, and perhaps attracted as much and more favorable attention than the glistening mahogany “Amerik” that cost its owner a fabulous sum, and was known as a masterpiece in its line.
“There really is a lot more to see on a lake than on the ocean,” remarked Julia, in spite of the inattention of Grace. “I like it so much better up here than down at the shore.”
“I do, too,” agreed Grace, giving a mighty tug to pull the “Flash” up on shore. “But there’s one thing we miss—we can’t come in on a surfboard here. I just love that sport.”
“But we couldn’t canoe on the ocean, either,” Julia qualified.
“Oh, yes, we could. I did—once in a while, and it was simply wonderful. Here are the girls! They couldn’t wait for their mail.”
In bathing suits, ready and waiting for Miss Mackin, the Bobbies were now at the swimming pier.
“Mail?” they cried out.
“Bushels,” called back Grace.
“But we ought not to open it here,” said Julia, hiding Corene’s pet letter behind her. “You know the hotels positively refuse to allow anyone to take mail until it is sorted in the office.”
“Bunk,” declared Isabel, more forcibly than elegantly. “Guve me that mailsky!”
“Here it is,” agreed Grace, “and please wait for us. You got ahead of us in your suits but we will make up for it in the swims. Come along, Julia. Let’s try out some of that perfect day stuff you have been preaching about.”
And it proved all that had been forecast for it. So ideal were conditions that Miss Mackin agreed to having her girls try out some of the tests for Water Sport Day, an event planned to take place later in the season, and looked forward to with keenest anticipation.
The Norms were with the Bobbies, and together they practiced, and invented stroke variations, eager to show skill in the water sports and to win awards for that line of efficiency.
Isabel proved to be the best long distance “floater” and her weight, which was something more than that of her companions, was credited with the advantage. Grace was more daring than any of the others, and kept the Norms and Miss Mackin busy shouting warnings to her. Louise had a very reliable, even, clean-cut stroke, and could cover a distance and come out “without a puff,” as Cleo described her serenity, while Cleo could dash, and sprint, and “get there” on “shorts” perhaps a little more surely than the others could.
So it seemed each might find her particular character in the water comedy, and the morning was not half long enough to put the popular drill through all the paces invented.
Julia and Louise were on shore resting a few moments when the latter caught sight of something particularly striking in the way of a figure, posed on the springboard.
“Look!” she motioned Julia. “It’s the Buzzers.”
“Sure enough. Wherever do they get their outfits? Imagine, crocodile green?”
“Are they green? Isn’t it frogs?” laughed Louise. “At any rate that bathing suit is green enough to include all samples.”
The figure thus criticised sprang off the board now, and was lost in the lake for a few moments. Then it reappeared on the surface and made for shore.
“There’s the sister,” said Grace, who had joined the spectators. “How do you like that geranium? The green would go beautifully with it under glass.”
“Not jealous, are we?” questioned Cleo, glancing at the simple jersey suits worn by her companions.
“No, indeed,” replied Julia. “I should hate to try to swim under those colors. But who is that they are talking to? Looks like Peg!”
“It is. I thought first it was a boy, she has no cap on and her hair is so slick. I wonder if they really know her?” queried Grace.
“They don’t have to know anyone; we ought to understand that. Now, we must pass them on the way up the rock. There’s Mackey whistling. Let’s go.”
“It will look as if we walked by them purposely,” Louise hesitated.
“Oh, no it won’t. We have to take that path, besides, why shouldn’t we speak to Peg?” asked Cleo. She did not know Grace had received the letter with its plea for discontinuing the friendly relationship.
“All right, come along. We may as well have it over with. They are sure to say something sarcastic,” Julia raced on ahead, so whatever might be said would not be aimed directly at her.
But for once the inquisitive two did not heed passersby. Neither did Peg appear to see the Scouts, for she and the two flashily dressed ones were talking in such an excited manner, their remarks, in part at least, could be easily overheard.
“Now, remember, we have warned you,” said one, her voice sharp and imperative.
“I have no reason to fear anything of the kind,” Peg retorted. She stood close to the little path leading from the lake to the woodland road, and along this the bathers had to pass to reach the camp grounds. Her suit was dark blue jersey, she wore no socks but looked only a little girl, or even a boy, with her closely cut, straight hair and no bathing cap. As they passed along each Scout was conscious there was a certain strength and individuality so simply outlined in the appearance of the oblivious bather.
“We promised daddy we would speak to you,” said the other girl, she in the geranium outfit, “otherwise we wouldn’t do so. I can tell you we are not anxious to be seen——”
These snatches had been heard piecemeal, as the Scouts came and went past the spot where the conversation was being held, but when it was all put together a short time later the total seemed to imply that these girls were somehow threatening Peg.
“Another reason why I am determined to stand by her,” insisted Grace. She had passed the letter around for inspection and all agreed Peg was trying to hide some real trouble, or perhaps some “living sorrow,” as Corene expressed the possibility.
“But I wouldn’t send her any more cake, if I were you, Grace,” advised Corene. “One doesn’t like to have things forced upon them.”
“I don’t intend to; in fact there isn’t any more nor likely to be, unless we get another food shower. I took a spoon for the crumbs from my box at noon,” Grace loved cake, even the crumby kind.
“Why didn’t you try a straw?” teased Louise. “Or if you had asked me I would have given you a real cookie! I have three left.”
“Do you know, Bobbies,” asked Isabel suddenly, “we are supposed to make a sun dial to-day? And the stake is all ready. See it waiting over there?”
“We do, we do, and I have first shot!” Grace sprang up to outline the circle in which the shaft was to be erected as a sun dial.
“It must be exactly there,” directed Cleo. Grace had it exactly somewhere else.
“We have to try it and the sun is just right now for a life-sized shadow,” insisted Grace. “Here, help me dig the hole, someone. I want to catch the two o’clock sun.”
Miss Mackin, who had been in the tent, came out to oversee this experiment.
Willing hands soon had the shaft erected; then the pegs which were all ready laid out to be driven in at the end of the shadow for every hour, as that hour came around, were arranged in a relative position.
“Do we have to stay up all night to finish it?” asked Helen, innocently.
This brought forth a wild shout.
“The moon doesn’t overlap the sun, Nellie dear,” answered Cleo. “We will probably leave off picket duty when the sun gets behind that hill.”
Peg number two was driven in at exactly two o’clock, and the shadow was so clearly outlined everyone thought this an ideal method of keeping time; but later the shadows were shifty, and only an amount of patience and much running back and forth put the three most important hours of the afternoon in the dial.
“I am going to start again early in the morning,” declared Grace. “I saw a sun dial in a Chicago park, it was made of those queer tiny cabbage flowers, the kind they say keeps the house from getting on fire, and I remember how effective it was.”
“Did they use them to keep the park from getting on fire?” taunted Cleo. But Grace was making sure that nothing unforeseen would happen to the pegs left over from the hours already “pegged in.”
“Won’t have to wind it——” she told the others.
“But I should hate to have to catch the Black Hawk boat by its silent system,” confessed Julia.
Summer was at its height now, and so popular had the camp idea become that friend after friend just called, or paid visits to the Bobolinks, who in turn were as generous with entertaining as their limited quarters permitted.
Almost every pleasant evening was spent around the campfire, this entertainment never seeming to lose its fascination. Often the resources of Miss Mackin and her friends from Camp Sub Norm, the new camp erected after the storm’s devastation, were put to the test for a new story; but the fire kindled enthusiasm, and the glow inspired fancy, so that rarely was an evening closed, and seldom did the embers fall upon an empty hour, or a tale lacking thrill.
The sun dial was now “working,” although the sun could not be depended upon always, but it looked picturesque, and if nothing else it served to keep up the girls’ sense of observation until not a few even claimed to be able to foretell showers by it, although there was no barometric attachment to the simple, primitive device.
Hikes were becoming more popular as the season advanced, and it was on a glorious August day, when the sky was dyed a deep blue and the sun was registering every hour accurately on the garden clock, that Miss Mackin proposed a long hike with the noon meal in the woods.
“Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and hike, hike, hike,” sang the girls as they prepared their lunches.
But the trouble seemed to be not everyone of them had a “Kit bag” nor even a pretty good imitation of one. But Corene came to the rescue with good stout wrapping paper, which she had providentially tucked away in a dry box.
“I’ll glue you up some war-time bags,” she offered, “if you make the sandwiches. I know exactly how to cut the bags, and they’ll dry in the sun as quickly as you have the grub ready.”
So while the others prepared “eats,” Corene and Cleo “did the bags,” neat little kits they turned out, too, with a good, stout handle of strong twine that might easily be slipped on to a strap and carried knapsack fashion.
“The real joy of it is,” whispered Louise, “we are going over the hills where the danger signs grow. Perhaps we’ll find the cave, or be held up by bandits, or something thrilling like that.”
“Lovely!” exclaimed Julia. “But do let us keep close enough together to go in pairs, at any rate. I should hate to have to do both the cooking and serving for bandits. It’s quite bad enough here with the serving taken off my hands.”
“All right, Jule. Depend upon it, we’ll stick around you,” declared Grace. “We don’t want to lose our own fireman right in the height of the season.”
Miss Mackin was smiling good naturedly. Her hike preparations were complete and she sat out in the fresh, early morning, watching her young charges flutter around like little brown beetles, always in one another’s way, yet never seeming to interfere, as they made their sandwiches, divided the hard tack, squeezed out lemons and bottled the juice; for the hike was to be a real picnic with all the trimmings.
“I do hope, girls,” said the director, as they were finally ready to start, “that you are not going gunning for some big, exciting adventure. You see, I know a little about your exploits of previous summers” (she winked knowingly and they wondered how she knew), “and I have such a lovely, lady-like report to turn in,” again that explanatory chuckle, “that it would be really cruel to spoil it now.”
“Don’t you like adventures?” asked Helen, innocently.
“Love them. But there are so many brands on the market, and we don’t, any of us, care for the cheap, trashy kind.”
The Scouts all agreed on this, and when Camp Comalong was securely “put away for the day” they started off with a song that included a little good-bye to the flag that was to act sentinel during their absence.
“Do you think, by any chance, we might get Peg to come along?” Grace asked Cleo.
“We pass by her cottage, we can give a whoo-hoo. It won’t do any harm to ask her.”
“We can say we need a guide. I’ve heard folks say she has guided parties through the mountains. That’s one reason they call her ‘Peg of Tamarack Hills,’ I believe,” said Grace.
They were nearing the turn that wound past the log cabin.
“Are those tamarack trees, Mackey?” Louise asked. She was pointing to the giant green “Christmas trees” that stood in a group near a little settling of water, scarcely large enough to be called a pond but something more sizable than a basin pool.
“Yes, that’s the tamarack,” said the director. “See how it runs to a perfect pyramid, and not like the other greens of that character, this one does lose its green in winter.”
“Sort of molts, I guess,” said Cleo, “for those branches are covered with green pin feathers.”
They stopped for a few minutes to study this tree of the larch family. It would add to their nature knowledge and give at least one item of value to their picnic hike.
“Isn’t it very straight and tall?” observed Isabel. This feature was so obvious the others had not mentioned it.
“Yes, that’s why they make the telephone poles of it, although, I believe, it is not so durable as the tall cedars,” explained Miss Mackin.
“The little tuffs are just like rosettes,” commented Julia. She was trying to reach the lowest branch with a long stick.
“Like pom-poms, I think,” added Grace, who was barely looking at the big trees but kept searching past them, to the low log cabin that seemed now like a bird house under the trees, and against the big hills.
Miss Mackin described to the girls the blossom of these trees, told them of the “rosey plummets that shade from pink to purple,” and soon exhausted her personal knowledge to supply their interest; then they journeyed forth again on the next “leg of their hike.”
Grace and Cleo tarried behind the others. They were still on the lookout for Peg.
Giving the familiar woods call they waited a few minutes but received no answer.
“There’s Shag,” said Cleo, “and he’s running around as if someone were talking to him. See, there’s a light dress moving behind the honeysuckle arbor.”
“It can’t be Peg. I’ve never seen her wear a white skirt,” replied Grace. They could easily see the movement of white between the green vined lattice. “And it can’t be Aunt Carrie—she wouldn’t wear white either.”
“Just let’s go up the walk and see,” suggested Cleo daringly. “Someone might be prowling around.”
It was only a few steps out of their way, and wild flowers always offered an excuse for leaving the path, so Grace and Cleo had no reason to hesitate.
Shag raced out to meet them as they entered the grounds, but the figure in white darted farther into the heavy shrubbery.
“That you, Peg?” called Cleo.
No answer.
“Come on,” whispered Grace, “let’s go in farther.”
With Shag close to their heels they followed the wild-grown path, and presently came up to the end of it.
“Buzz!” whispered Cleo; for the white skirted one was now forced out of the shrubbery and stood facing the girls who had followed her up.
“Oh, we thought you were—that is we were looking for Peg Ramsdell,” stammered Cleo.
“She’s not home,” snapped the intruder. “I’m Leonore Fairbanks. I don’t think you happen to know my name,” said the one who had formerly played only silly parts, “and I came here on business.” She made this very emphatic. “The dog is so vicious he won’t let me go near the door or I might get what I want even though Peg is away.”
How evident was her change of manner! Why?
“Shag is trained to take care of the cottage, I believe,” ventured Cleo, noticing how faithfully the big collie performed his duty, for while Leonore Fairbanks kept down on the path he was friendly enough, but each time she attempted to put her foot on a step of the porch he growled threateningly.
“We must hurry after our friends,” Grace said awkwardly. “We are going on an all-day hike.”
“Over to Big Nose?” asked Leonore.
“That way,” replied Cleo.
“Then you may meet Peg.” The girl’s face swiftly changed as evidently her mind was working as swiftly. “Say,” she spoke suddenly, “be good sports and don’t mention that you’ve seen me here, will you?”
“Why?” demanded both girls in unison.
“Because you know she’s such a crazy kid and does such foolish things really. You can believe me it will be all the better for her if she doesn’t go flying off the reel, as she would if she knew I came up here. I came on business for dad, and you know I hate to ask a favor, but it would be best if you didn’t mention this. If you are a friend of Peg’s I think you might do that much for her.”
“We are as friendly as she will let us be,” said Cleo frankly. “But we can’t really promise anything. We must run. The girls will think we are lost,” and giving faithful Shag a parting pat they ran off to overtake the hiking party.
“Isn’t that queer?” exclaimed Grace. She had snatched up a bunch of wild flowers for her delay alibi.
“Very suspicious, I should say,” returned Cleo. “And of course, if we meet Peg we are bound to tell her.”
“I think we should,” agreed Grace. “There must be some reason for that girl’s change of manner, and I’m sure it can’t be anything that would benefit Peg.”
“No, and her name is Leonore Fairbanks,” said Cleo. “Rather pretty. There, the girls are waiting for us.”
No explanation for the delay seemed necessary and the interrupted hike was presently doing double time over the fragrant by-paths. Of course the tardy ones would tell the story quickly as an opportunity came up.
The top of the hill was reached at last, and from that point the view of the lake and its surroundings lay like a panorama spread out on a silky canvas. It was well worth hiking for, and the Bobbies were breathless in admiration. They scampered from one rock to another, each claiming a superior view until this feature took on the proportions of a new outdoor game.
To the right was a dense evergreen forest; small tiered mountains to the left. They stood in a rocky gorge between this and Big Nose Rock. Presently the whinnying of a horse startled the little sightseers. Then Julia called out from her perch on a big flat stone:
“Look, girls! Up on the rock! There’s Peg! What can she be doing away up there?”
All eyes turned to the highest point, and there, like some wild thing of the mountains, stood Peg. She was hatless, and in the usual brown riding outfit. As if the call had reached her, although distance made this impossible, she turned suddenly, threw her head up in a listening attitude, then with a quick move that had in it the impatience of a disappointment, she vanished in the rocks.
“What ever can she be doing away up there?” repeated Isabel.
“Exploring, perhaps,” guessed Julia, “but she has to leave her horse so far away. See, there he is.”
“And look,” again indicated Louise, “there is her aunt over under that tree, reading. She hasn’t seen us yet.”
“Perhaps we can get them to join our picnic,” exclaimed Grace. She was unusually anxious to speak with Peg.
Sightseeing was forgotten now and general interest centered on Peg and her Aunt Carrie. This lady, as usual, was delighted to meet the Scouts, and talked freely to Miss Mackin of her hope that Peggie should “mingle more” with the campers. Peg, herself, had come down from the rock and out of the ravine, disheveled, untidy and plainly tired.
“You simply must join our picnic,” gushed Louise. “It seems like the best of luck that we should have come up here.”
Peg smiled and frowned alternately. She noticed her aunt was already under the influence of a sandwich. It was a good fat one, with green lettuce fringe and it came from Cleo’s kit.
“I’ll be back in a moment. I must attend to Whirlwind,” said Peg. The girls saw now she had pockets in that big leather apron, and they bulged out—perhaps with some mountain souvenirs.
Grace attempted to follow Peg, going toward the horse under a big tamarack tree, but the girl was evidently unconscious of this attention, and as she hurried off, Grace, after a few steps of uncertainty, turned back and flopped down on the edge of the circle of picnic makers.
There was something very charming about Aunt Carrie. Even handling the food betrayed her culture, and her solicitation about another’s comfort, all pointed to a knowledge of the little things acquired in good breeding. And she was well cared for in spite of the mountain life; her skin though dark was velvety, her hair like white floss, and only when she removed her gloves for handling the food did her little friends have an opportunity of noticing, besides the care her hands received, that she wore a great opal ring, carved with the beetle, perhaps.
Peg was coming back, and her pockets had been emptied, for the heavy skirt now slinked around her slender form. She held her boyish hat by its chin strap and smiled happily as she fell in with the group.
Yes, her eyes were of the same deep, dark cast, and her skin had that same olive tint, even her gestures showed what a real relation this girl was to the woman in the old-fashioned riding habit.
“You ride a lot, don’t you?” said Cleo, carelessly.
“Yes, it’s the one thing to do out here,” replied Peg. She was trying something from a number of tempting food samples offered her.
“And you enjoy riding, Miss Ramsdell?” said Miss Mackin to the aunt.
“I feel more at home on a horse than I do on my feet,” replied the woman. “But you see, I have always been used to horses.”
“And not to feet——” flashed Peg.
“Now, my dear, don’t tease an old lady. I have hard work enough to keep up with you on foot or in the saddle,” replied Aunt Carrie.
Both Cleo and Grace were thinking of the girl Leonore Fairbanks, and both were anxious to mention to Peg her presence at the log cabin. It came about precipitately, however.
Louise was pouring the lemonade and had just served Aunt Carrie. The cup for Peg was filled and being extended when Grace said:
“We saw company at your house as we came along, Peg.”
“Company?” She accepted Louise’s cup.
“Yes. One of the girls from the hotel. She said she was Leonore Fairbanks.”
“Leonore Fairbanks? Where was she?” Peg’s voice was a signal of alarm.
“Oh, Shag was on guard,” put in Cleo. “She was around by the side porch, but no danger of anyone making herself too much at home with Shag doing picket duty.”
Miss Ramsdell lay down her piece of cake. Peg did likewise with her lemonade. Each had exchanged code glances.
“I’ll run home and see if—if everything is all right,” said the girl, anxiously. “Auntie, you can follow or stay, I’ll be all right. Sorry to leave the picnic,” she apologized. And the remarks that followed her did not all reach her ears, for as quickly as even she, the lightfoot, could do it, she was on Whirlwind and galloping away down the hills, leaving after her the chagrined Bobbies.
“Why did you tell her?” whispered Helen to Grace.
“Because she should know,” replied the latter, emphatically.
Miss Ramsdell was also leaving.
“Peggie is so temperamental,” she apologized. “But the Fairbanks family are not to be trusted—we have had our own troubles with those girls and their unscrupulous father.”
“But we are so sorry you couldn’t have stayed a little longer,” said Miss Mackin. “I was just hoping our girls were finally going to get acquainted. You see we have so short a time here now, and your place has been an attraction from the first,” she smiled condescendingly at the glowering Scouts.
“Please do not think us rude,” begged Miss Ramsdell. “We are not free to act as we would always choose. Sometimes I doubt the wisdom of my niece’s determination; but she is determined to the point of desperation, and she keeps offsetting my arguments with the hope of an early victory.” (This was ambiguous but sounded effective.) “I must go right along after her,” continued the little lady. “If that Leonore should become too aggressive I wouldn’t wonder if Peg would just use some muscle on her,” and she nodded her head insistently.
“We hate to have you go,” murmured Cleo. She was going over to the shady spot where the black mare waited its rider. Miss Ramsdell drew on her gloves while the Scout led her horse up to a stone convenient for mounting.
“We are so grateful and have enjoyed our little picnic so much,” said the woman. “Good-bye, everyone, and perhaps before camp breaks we may be able to offer our own humble hospitality.” With a slight effort she was in the saddle. Yes, it was perfectly evident that Miss Ramsdell was very much at home on her horse.
“A one reel act,” remarked Louise. “I shouldn’t care to keep moving at the pace the Ramsdells run.”
“They surely fear trouble,” said Julia. “What can they be so secretive about?”
“Whatever it is I wouldn’t like to be playing Leonore’s part when Peg meets her,” remarked Grace. “As her aunt said, she would likely use muscle on the intruder,” and Grace demonstrated to the loss of a perfectly good half cup of lemonade that had been, until that moment, in the hand of Julia.
“And was Shag really keeping guard?” questioned Helen, keen on the scent of trouble for someone else.
“He was doing picket duty,” replied Cleo. “It was too funny to see him snoop after Leonore’s heels. And she was almost sweet to us. I fancy she thought we might take her part with Shag.”
“Girls, when you have finished your chow we will take up the trail again,” suggested Miss Mackin. “There are some ores and metallic veins in rocks about here, I believe, and we may make some interesting discoveries.”
“Look out for the dynamite sign,” warned Corene. “I wonder who ever planted those signs about?”
“Where are they?” asked Miss Mackin.
“Over by the Big Nose Rock,” replied Louise. “We saw them the other day when we were riding.”
“And we thought the boys might have a bandits’ cove under the hills,” added Cleo. “Let’s go over that way and explore.”
Eagerly this suggestion was followed—so eagerly Corene and Miss Mackin had difficulty in obliging the girls to get rid of every trace of the picnic, thus conforming to a Scout regulation. But when the paper bags had all been burned up in a carefully arranged little fire, after which every ember and spark were extinguished, then they took up the trail for Big Nose Rock.
They had some difficulty in cutting through from one hill to the next, as very heavy underbrush, especially the iron fibered mountain laurel, hid the rocks and betrayed the hikers’ footing; but after a number of minor mishaps all disposed of by the process of exclamation, the Bobbies finally emerged in the little patch of soft green at the foot of the big gray rock.
“I found the first one!” called out Helen. “Here’s a dynamite sign!”
“Don’t touch it!” cautioned Miss Mackin. “There is a powder mill not far from here and there may be magazines about.”
“Magazines!” questioned Corene. They were all inspecting the danger sign half hidden in the grass.
“Yes. You know they sometimes bury explosives under the ground. Then they build a little mound above it and call it a magazine.”
“No mounds around here,” declared Julia, glancing critically over the flat surface between the hill and the springs.
“But here’s something,” observed Cleo, who had wandered off a short distance. “Looks like pieces of gray stone.” She stooped to pick up a sample and then hesitated. “See how they grow,” she remarked, “in a sort of star.”
Her companions gathered around to observe the curious formation, and Miss Mackin came closer.
“Those have been arranged that way,” she said. “See, someone has placed the little flat stones in the shape of a star. The boys really must have been up here,” she concluded.
The girls dropped on their knees and peered closely. Brushing back the grass it was now quite evident that star had been carefully formed, but it was hidden in a little pocket of deep grass, between two slopes that curved up to the rocky hills.
“And see how deep the pieces are buried,” commented Corene. She was prying up a sample with a small sharp stick.
“Some sort of clue, surely,” insisted Grace. “What kind of stone is it?”
“I wouldn’t disturb it,” suggested Miss Mackin. “Suppose we just mark the spot so we can find it again, if we want to?”
“Yes, let’s put one of the dynamite signs here,” exclaimed Helen.
“I wouldn’t,” interposed clever Cleo. “Perhaps the dynamite people don’t know anything about the star clue. We might lead them to it.”
“But it’s only a stone star,” insisted Helen.
“And it didn’t grow there,” argued Cleo.
“Look!” exclaimed Corene, who was critically examining the tiny strip of stone she had pried loose. “There are some figures or something marked on this.”
Everyone now crowded around her to see the characters.
“That is not Indian,” declared Miss Mackin. “It looks as if it were burned in with acid.”
She was scrutinizing the little flat mosaic-like block. Yes, there seemed to be a mark there, but it might easily have been on the stone before the star idea originated.
“I’m going to keep this piece, at any rate,” declared Corene. “Maybe it’s a real carved beetle, like the Egyptian Scarabus,” she ventured.
“Hardly,” replied the director. “Yet it is interesting and yours, Corey, as you dug it up.”
“Then I’m going to have one also,” cried Cleo, already on her knees before the broken star.
“Count the pieces,” suggested Louise, “and perhaps we can all have a piece.”
“Very well,” agreed Miss Mackin, “but mark the spot well. It may have some significance.”
The girls were eagerly digging up the little granite pieces. As they turned each over they found it marked with characters similar to that found by Corene.
“I know! I know!” exclaimed Julia. “I’ve read about this sort of marking. See, the straight lines. That’s the rune.”
“Rune!” repeated Grace.
“Yes, don’t you know we read of it in our ancient history? A rune is a sort of alphabet of sixteen characters and all are formed in straight lines.”
“I remember,” spoke up Cleo. “The letters look exactly like our signal code, for wig-wagging. Don’t you know there were pictures of funny clothes-pins and jumping-jacks?”
Not all were exactly clear in their memory of the runes, but each intended to look it up, and Miss Mackin was delighted that her girls had stumbled upon so interesting a discovery. Carefully collecting all the pieces the Bobbies next proceeded to mark the spot secretly, and it was this seemingly trifling detail that eventually led to the finding of the granite star clue.