They were ready to leave for the cottage. Over the hill the Girl Scouts were calling their mysterious “Wha-hoo,” and to Nora it sounded like a call to battle. What had at first been merely an indifference was now assuming the proportions of actual dislike. How was Nora to know she was a very much spoiled little girl? And how was she to guess what the cost of her change of heart would mean to her?
She was a total stranger to the word “snob.” Her training had been one straight line of avoiding this, that, and the other thing; but as for doing this, that and everything, no place was given in the curriculum.
Mrs. Manton, herself a product of the most modern college, knew the weakness of little Nora’s character at a glance, but to introduce strength and purpose! To bend the vine without crushing the tendrils!
This very first day was marked with a danger signal. If Nora slighted the Scouts, they who came almost daily to Ted for information and companionship, there was sure to be trouble. It was this surety that prompted Ted to say with decision:
“The sooner Nora gets acquainted the happier she will be.”
Meanwhile the girls of Chickadee Patrol had all but forgotten about the stranger. They were after specimens and had discovered more than one new bird’s nest. Cameras were clicking, notes being taken, and so many interesting matters were being attended to, it was not strange that the sight of one little girl in a pretty blue frock, with a disdainful expression on her otherwise attractive face, might have been forgotten for the time.
If there were really fairies in those woods they should have intervened just then, for it would have been so much easier for Nora to have met the Scouts as companions, whereas she, holding away from the very idea of organization, kept building up a dislike which threatened to cause her much unhappiness.
The woodlands were broad enough for both to roam, but it was inevitable that both should meet some day, and, under what circumstances?
When Nora wrote to Barbara she drew word pictures of the beauties at Woodland Wilds. She shed a tear of real joy when writing about Cousin Jerry and Captain, and when she fondly recited the virtues of Cousin Ted she felt she put more in that one word “Motherly” than could otherwise have been conveyed.
It was in the writing of that letter that she took account of her actual self, for in wording it she had naturally summed up.
“I am not just sure whether I entirely suit or not,” she told Barbara. “Sometimes I feel so different. Of course they all love me, even Vita the cook, and I love them fondly, but don’t you know, Babs, you always told me I saw ‘foohey’ and you would not explain what it was to be that way? But I guess I am, whatever it is, for a lot of alterations have already been ordered,” she wrote.
“My new outdoor clothes have arrived,” the letter ran, “they are of brown cloth” (she avoided the use of the word khaki) “and they will stand a lot of hard wear. Cousin Jerry says we get them that color and so we won’t scare the birds and other woodland creatures. They are supposed to think we are part of the landscape.”
Nora then told of the attic, and its chest of treasures, and added she expected to try on a couple of outfits the very first day she was free from accompanying the surveying party.
All of which showed the visitor was “taking root,” as Jerry would have said.
A long tramp out in a marshy territory was to be undertaken by the two veterans, Ted and Jerry, but because of the bad footing Nora was not asked to go along. This provided the very opportunity Nora had been waiting for, and hardly had the reliable old flivver “fluvved” away, then she hurried up to the attic in search of a costume.
“Come on, Cap,” she whispered, eluding Vita, but unwilling to go up in the attic alone. She had not forgotten the suspicions of her first night.
Too glad to obey, Cap led the way, and presently Nora forgot even the “spook cabinet” in her interest over the open costume chest.
Things were mussed and musty, rumpled and wrinkled and crinkled; but what colors and what a lot of bright tinsel!
“Oh joy,” she exclaimed, dragging from the tangles a real Fauntleroy costume. “I have always wanted to see how I would look dressed in this sort of outfit,” she thought, for the black velvet “knickers,” the little velvet jacket, and the lace blouse were all there, and yes, there was a wonderful, bright silk scarf to go around the waist.
The cap was prettiest of all, and it was resting on Nora’s yellow curls before Cap could possibly make out what the whole proceedings meant. He stood over in his corner and blinked, but Nora insisted on having his opinion.
“Isn’t it wonderful, Cap? And don’t you like Nora in it?” she demanded. He gave one of his peculiar exclamations rather louder than she had expected, and to prevent the sounds from reaching Vita’s ears, Nora put both arms around Cap’s neck and hugged him into silence.
She was very much excited. Ever since her arrival at the Nest she had been planning a private masquerade, and now the time had come for her to indulge in it.
Fanciful dream child that she was, the character of little Lord Fauntleroy had always strongly appealed to her, and as for most girls the boy’s costume had a peculiar charm for her heroic ventures into the world of make-believe.
“We’ll take them down stairs,” she told Cap. “We can dress much more comfortably in my room.”
Poking her head out to make sure Vita was not around, she tucked the velvets and laces into her arms and hurried to the next floor. Seldom had she locked the hall door, but she did so now, dismissing Cap peremptorily, for there was no need of his protection on the second floor.
“I suppose it’s too big,” she reasoned, when the little knickers were pulled up as high as the button and button hole line. Yes, it was big, this costume had been worn by a gay lady at a big country club dance, and little Nora was scarcely a sample of the personality for which the jaunty outfit had been created.
But mere size did not worry her. It was effect that she craved. The lacy blouse fell into place quite naturally, and it did look boyish, while the overblouse of black velvet completed the Fauntleroy picture.
“If the buckles would only stay buckled,” she sighed, trying for the third time to fasten the knee straps and keep them that way. It was not pretty at all to have them slink down below her knees, like an untidy schoolboy; and a pin had no possible effect on the heavy, velvety finish.
“I know,” breathed Nora, “I’ll roll them.” And she did that skillfully; for in the season just past many and many a sock had she rolled and they had stayed, although Barbara never could acquire the same knack.
It was all finally finished, and she inspected herself in the mirror, slanted to the very last angle to show the full length. A pat of the cap, a brash of the tie and a swish of the flying scarf gave the finishing touches.
Really Nora made “a perfectly stunning” little Lord Fauntleroy. Had she been more accustomed to the sayings of the day she might well have exclaimed, “All dressed up and no place to go,” but her culture admitted of no such expressive parlance. Instead, she asked herself in the looking glass: “Wonder if I dare go outside? It is so comfortable to wear this style”; and she skipped around as every other girl on earth has ever done the very moment she felt relieved of the trammel of skirts.
The morning was unusually quiet. Vita must be away picking greens, the surveyors were miles out, and there was no one but Cap to criticise. Why shouldn’t she stroll out grandly in her princely costume?
She did. The birds twittered and the rabbits scurried and the pet squirrel stood up and begged. But Nora was not feeding the animals this morning, instead, she flounced her lace sleeve in a most courtly gesture and passed on to the cedar tree grove. Cedars seemed more appropriate for velvets than did the other wild trees; besides, no underbrush grew in the cedar grove, and it was much safer for costly finery.
On the rustic seat Nora felt exactly as she had felt the day Miss Baily took her to sit for her picture, except that she crossed her legs comfortably now, whereas, then, she was not even allowed to cross her hands.
Presently the actress removed her (his) cap and poised it on the arm of the chair. Did Lord Fauntleroy go out in his grounds alone? Perhaps she should have called Cap to go along.
Then came thoughts of Nannie. Why must she, little Nora, always be so far away from that pretty mother? And why did the picture life—the make-believe—charm her like some secret failing? Did other girls really like the horrid brown uniforms never pictured in books, that is, never, until very lately? So raced her unruly thoughts.
Everything was so still, but Nora was not lonely—her own reflections kept her such noisy company that isolation had no terror for her. Just outside the cedar grove a strip of road waited for traffic. Few persons passed, but even woodlands must have roads, just as skies must have clouds.
Feeling more at home in her costume every moment, Nora stepped proudly outside the grove into the clearance. A fat little hoptoad crossed the path, but otherwise the prince was lord of all he surveyed. The whole world was busy, evidently, and even a visiting prince attracted no attention in the wild woodlands.
Nora wanted to whistle. She felt a prince, with hands in pockets inspecting his domain, would surely whistle, but she had never made much of a success at the wind song—it was Barbara who did all the whistling for both. Still, she tried now, and the sound wasn’t any worse than the cracked call of the blue-jay, except that it did not carry so far.
What would Barbara say to this game of characters? A companion would add to the possibilities of good times, Nora secretly admitted, but what companion could she find in these wilds?
Just as a sense of loneliness came creeping over her she heard the leaves somewhere crackle. The next moment a girl appeared a few paces up the road, and called to her quickly: “Oh, I say boy! Have you seen the Girl Scouts——”
The voice stopped as suddenly as it had started. The girl in uniform looked so surprised, Nora was conscious of scrutiny, even at the distance between them. She turned her head instinctively and so evaded a direct look; but presently the girl called again:
“I am looking for the girls who are going over to the Ledge. Did you happen to see them pass this way?”
“No,” faltered Nora, in a voice not her own. “I just came along. I’m looking for a car——”
“Oh, I saw one. It drove down the turn——”
“Thanks,” jerked out Nora, taking the cue to escape, and waving her hand in lieu of further conversation. She dodged behind the heavy elderberry bush and almost gasped in fright. What would a Girl Scout think of her in such a costume? Of course, she had no possible opportunity of seeing her face, and she surely could never recognize her again. Making positive she could get back to the Nest without again stepping out into the roadway, Nora sped back as quickly as her feet could carry her. It was always these Scouts; a sense of humiliation was now added to that of dislike. Would they all talk about her? Perhaps make fun of her or think her odd and foolish?
Too inexperienced to realize that the entire blame was her own, Nora crept up to the flap-jack path that led directly to the cottage door.
Here she was stopped again, for Vita sat out by the big stump, either counting or selecting something from her apron. So engrossed was she in her task she did not hear Nora’s footfall, and this gave the “prince” another chance to escape detection. She darted back into the arbor and waited. The only other way to enter the house was at front and she might meet almost anyone in that way.
Her game was losing its charm. She would have given much to be free of the finery and garbed again in her own simple clothes. It was rather mortifying to be considered queer, and that one saving grace, a sense of humor, was entirely lacking in the girl’s make-up. Otherwise she might have jumped down from a tree and frightened Vita out of her wits, thus making a lark out of a difficulty.
She waited impatiently. What could Vita be doing that so held her attention? Then the attic memories flashed back to Nora’s mind and she wondered.
“Cousin Ted leaves too much to that maid,” she was deciding. “I might be able to help by keeping a lookout.”
But for what? Vita was surely trustworthy and even extremely kind to Nora, the intruder.
A burr pricked the knee that refused to hold fast to the buckled finery. It must have been rather a nuisance to dress like that. Nora rolled the band tighter and lost her fancy hat in the effort.
Voices!
Girls’ laughter. The Scouts, of course, and coming back toward the cottage!
Without waiting to consider Vita’s opinion, Nora sprang from her hiding place and darted up the path into the cottage.
Voices within as well as without!
Cousin Ted was back from the woods and had company. How could Nora reach her room without being seen?
She crouched behind the kitchen cabinet, hoping the voices would leave the hall and enter the living room, but, evidently, there was a reason for delay, and the big seat was right at the foot of the stairway!
Now Vita’s flat slippers patted the stones and she was coming into the kitchen.
Disgusted with the entire affair, Nora turned into the back stairway. She had never mounted those stairs, they were used only by the maid, but just now there seemed no other avenue of escape. She heard the shuffling feet of Vita as she climbed the bare treads.
They were narrow and dark, only a small window cut in an opening somewhere allowed enough light to penetrate to make sure the steps were those of stairs. A narrow landing marked the line where the second floor must be. Then there was another turn, a sort of sharp twist in the queer ladder-like climb.
Nora was too far up now to hear Vita’s step in the kitchen.
“But this must lead to the attic,” she reasoned. “I may as well go on up as to go—down.”
Cobwebs a-plenty here. She jerked back from their tangles, fearing spiders and other crawling things.
“Oh,” she exclaimed. “I do wish I had not come this way. It’s so—spooky!”
At every step the darkness increased and the light dwindled. Reaching a good-sized platform, Nora stood, thankful to draw an easy breath. She could just about see that she had only one short flight of steps to go to reach a door.
“I would never have believed this house was so high,” she pondered. “I feel as if I came up from a cellar to a tower.”
Then, resolutely, the pilgrim started on again. Only a few steps and she found herself face to face with two doors. They were unpainted and each stood at angles from the landing.
“Which?” she asked instinctively; for, while she wanted to reach the attic, she was careful to remember which way she had come in this crooked, gloomy place. Besides this, the attic was a mysterious part of that pretty house, Nora realized.
“It must be all right to go in here—all of the rooms are ours and Cousin Ted said they were all kept clean.”
With this caution she pushed open one of the unpainted doors and stepped inside.
She gasped! The place was in almost total darkness!
Where was she? What could be so black?
Nora gasped—it was so stifling. Fumbling in the strange place her hand found the door and as she pressed against it she heard it shut!
“Oh mercy!” she exclaimed aloud. “I’m shut in this awful place!”
Now her eyes could make out the rafters. It was the attic, but what part of it? The faintest gleam of light breaking in from above followed the rough beams. The frightened girl fell back breathing hard and feeling faint. To faint in the attic! Surely that would be romantic! But she didn’t want to faint all alone up there and maybe die and not be found for years, as she had read happened once to a bride who went up to look for her grandmother’s quilt.
She was so dizzy. She really must sit down. Not even a hazy fear of rats roused her, for it was unbearably hot and stuffy.
“O-o-o-h!”
That was the end of Nora for the time being. She succumbed to the first faint she had ever performed, and there was no one to see her, no one to rescue her, not one even to know where she was!
Such a little prince!
Velvets and ribbons brushed cobwebs and dust, as she slumped down, down——!
Of all her life’s dreams what she dreamed when she breathed again seemed the strangest. But it was all broken up like pieces of stars mashed into flashes of dazzling light, and there was no more head nor tail to it. All she could think of was how tired she was, and she knew she just had to sleep.
If spiders had any talent for observing, those in that cubby hole would have had a wonderful story to tell to the crawling things in roof and rafters, but even they did not so much as try, with a web, to arouse the half-conscious child, and one lacy net was so near Nora’s face her gasps of breath swayed and rocked the baby spider in its cradle.
So there she was asleep now, and glad not to know!
Downstairs supper had been prepared and everyone was waiting for Nora.
Who had seen her? Where had she spent the afternoon?
“Vita,” said Jerry sharply, “you know you were not to let the child go off these grounds alone.”
“I no see her, never. She no come out from the house,” protested the frightened Vita.
“Well, we have got to search,” decided Ted, her bronzed face plainly showing alarm, and her brown eyes blinking with unnamed fears.
“Where has Cap been?” again demanded Jerry. “He should have been with her.”
“He went with the Scouts; they asked for him, and of course, I let him go as usual. I did not know Nora was going out, in fact, I thought she was going to write to her school mates,” replied Ted. “But don’t let us waste time. I’ll take the north way, Vita you go by the Ledge, and Jerry, I suppose you will jump on a horse and scout every way.”
“Yes, I’ll take Cap and send him on ahead.” All the laugh was gone from Jerry’s voice now. How quickly the cloud of Anxiety can darken the brightest home?
More than an hour later all three searchers returned to the Nest and admitted they could not find Nora.
“She couldn’t be in the house, could she?” asked Ted, disconsolately.
“We looked hastily, but it was best to do all the outdoor looking first,” replied Jerry. “Do you suppose she went to visit anyone? Did she make friends with Alma and Wyn, our pet Scouts?”
“I wish she had. There’s that about the Scouts, they go in groups,” answered Ted, with feeling. “Let us look over the house more carefully. But why should she hide?” A loud bark from Cap answered that question.
“Here! Cap knows where she is. Let him find her,” exclaimed Jerry, joyfully.
“It’s at the kitchen door,” added Ted, hurrying in that direction.
“Quick, open the door, Vita!” commanded Jerry, while the dog barked wildly.
Vita put a trembling hand on the door that led to the back stairs and opened into the kitchen. No sooner had she done so than Cap bounded past her, and the next moment the big dog and the forlorn little prince tumbled into the room.
“Nora!” exclaimed both Jerry and Ted.
“It isn’t! It can’t be!” faltered the surprised maid. “This is boy——”
“Boy nothing!” almost shouted Jerry, so glad to see Nora in any guise that her strange costume interested him not at all.
“The poor little darling,” cried Ted, gathering the black velvet form up into her arms. “What ever happened to you, dear?”
Nora brushed a dusty hand over her blinking eyes. “Oh, I am so glad I am saved. I thought I would surely die.”
“Up attic. Why baby! No one could die in our attic. Cap knew you were up there and if you had not tumbled down just when you did he would have gone through the wall to find you, wouldn’t you, old fellow?” Jerry asked fondly.
The Saint Bernard was in his native element at the rescue work, and he licked Nora’s hand contentedly. Ted had gathered the child up into her arms and Vita was already busy getting a refreshing drink. Jerry, manlike, just looked on, happy beyond words, for in the bad hour previous he was a prey to keen anxiety, and during the process made up his mind in the future to keep Nora closer to the family circle at all times.
Nora had not yet come to the point of talking. Her swoon and its consequent haziness left her in a daze, and with the mother-like arms about her, and the breath of Cap reviving her, and Cousin Jerry’s big soft eyes encouraging her, the relief from her fright was slowly creeping over her and it was so delicious she had no idea of dispelling it with mere words.
“I know,” said Teddie softly, “you were playing parts, dressing up in the duds from the big chest.”
“Did you go to sleep in the trunk?” ventured Jerry, slyly.
“No, I don’t know just where I was—I was——” faltered Nora, now beginning to feel a little foolish in her boy’s outfit.
“She went up wrong stairs and I guess, maybe, she got lost in the big open attic,” Vita volunteered, apparently anxious to forestall further questions.
“No, it was not opened. It was shut tight—very tight,” snapped Nora. She resented Vita’s explanation. Somehow she felt Vita was to blame.
“Then you must have struck the spook closet,” said Jerry, his old happy tones ringing through the small kitchen. “Say Ted, let’s get into the other room. Can you walk, Bobbs, or shall big Cousin Jerry carry you?”
“Oh, I can walk all right,” replied Nora, slipping to the floor from Teddie’s lap. “But I was so stiff and cramped and—I guess I must have fainted.”
“You must have been up there all the time we were hunting for you, and the attic is always hot,” added Ted. “I never thought of looking there.”
“But Cap did. He knew where you were the moment he came in the house,” said Jerry proudly. “I tell you, Cap is a regular life-saver. He will have to get another medal for this; even if he didn’t drag you out of the spook cabinet, he did tumble in the kitchen with you.”
Both Jerry and Ted were too considerate to show surprise at Nora’s appearance, but Vita could not or did not attempt to hide her astonishment.
“Guess she thinks the fairies had you,” said Jerry softly, when Vita stood in the doorway, her hands on her capable hips and her mouth wide open in a gasp of surprise. But Nora had an uncertain feeling that Vita, as sole tenant of the back stairway, should have made better arrangements than to have a door that would spring shut like that, right at the very top of the dark place.
It was at this point a mistake was made. Nora did not express herself and Vita had no idea of explaining. Mr. and Mrs. Jerry were supposed to know all about the Nest, but did they! In the excitement of finding Nora, the actual hiding place was not being considered.
Quickly as the little girl recovered her self-possession and took part in the conversation, everyone enjoyed a good hearty laugh, naturally led by Jerry.
“What special kind of prince were you, Bobbs?” he asked jovially. “I did not know they hid in dark attics.”
“Oh, yes they did,” contradicted Ted. “Don’t you remember the princes in the tower?”
“I don’t, but it doesn’t matter. They must have been in a tower or you would not have included the fact in your college course,” replied Jerry, always ready to tease on that score. Whenever Ted found a new specimen in the woods, or questioned about a strange bird, he would invariably ascribe the matter to “her college course.”
Nora was anxious to get out of the ill-fated costume. She wanted to run upstairs and change, now that her knees had stopped shaking, but Ted insisted she take her supper just as she was, and readily made a merry time out of the near catastrophe. Again Nora missed the point—no sense of humor was a sad lack in so active a girl.
Cap regarded her with an eye almost twinkling. Did he know the attic secret that she had been unable even to realize was a secret?
“Your clothes fit pretty well,” said Jerry, “but I think I like you best in your Little Girl Blue dress. Guess, after all, girls really shouldn’t wear——”
“Now, there you go again, Jerry Manton,” interrupted Ted. “As if the costume had anything to do with Nora getting lost.”
And all the while Nora was thinking: “If they only knew.” But she had never had any one to confide in, except Barbara, and now she did not know exactly how to tell her story. Besides, how silly it would be to say she had actually been out in the roadway in the Fauntleroy clothes? And if they ever knew she had been seen and spoken to by a Girl Scout!
The fear of humiliation crushed back any desire to tell the whole story and so it remained as it appeared, an incident of no more importance than a case of being lost in the attic.
All the horrors of the black hole, all the terrors of her fright and faintness, besides what actually happened when she finally burst through that door and all but fell head-long down the dark stairs—this Nora crushed back from her lips, and only dared to think of it as something she would write in her secret diary.
Perhaps she would tell Barbara. It was too thrilling to remain a secret with no one but herself to ponder upon it.
A refreshing bath, more beef tea and a bedtime story told by the affectionate Cousin Teddie one hour later, all but dispelled the trying memory.
The story was one read from a favorite woodland series, in which children, birds and furry things found days of happiness in the carefree hours, far away from artificial restrictions of “Do” and “Don’t.”
The girls mentioned in the story were not spoken of as Scouts, but Nora suspected they must have been very much like such in ideals.
“You see,” said Teddie gently, when she had finished the interesting story, “girls who love nature find real joy in studying the woods and learning to love the woodland creatures. You have had no chance to know what such pleasure means, dear.”
“No,” said Nora faintly. And at that moment she decided to put on her new uniform the very next morning, and then go forth with Cousin Ted and Cousin Jerry in quest of the adventures promised.
“I guess,” she began timidly, “it is better, Cousin Teddie, for me to go along with you every day, if you don’t mind.”
“Why, I can’t bear to leave you home, either with Vita or to your own resources,” declared Ted. “But I didn’t want to urge you. Your experience today may be a good thing in the end—it may help to cure you of the artificiality you have been absorbing so deeply. I will have to write your mother a bit of advice. I do not believe her little daughter is getting the sort of education best for her. Now, roll over and go to sleep.” She pressed a fond kiss on the warm cheek. “And Nora love, don’t bother about dreaming,” finished Mrs. Jerry Manton, in a tone of voice not learned during her famous “college course.”
Under a canvas tent sheltered by a particularly broad chestnut tree and surrounded by a group of beautiful white birch, the girls of Chickadee Patrol, Girl Scouts, were listening, all attention, to the very wildest tale they had ever given ears to.
Alma was talking. “Honestly girls,” she insisted, “he was a real prince, dressed in black velvet and a beautiful jaunty cap——”
“Alma! Alma!” shouted her companions in derision.
“Where did you see the fairies? Just imagine in broad daylight in the woodlands——” teased one.
“Then, I shall not tell you anything more about it,” desisted the abused one. “As if I wasn’t surprised. Why, I was so dumfounded I could not ask him if he saw you, and I was miles behind the crowd.”
“Now girls, let Alma tell,” chirped Doro, in her lispy voice. “Go ahead, Al. I believe you saw Prince Charming.”
“Was he old enough to ride a horse?” asked Laddie, christened Eulalia. She was defying her dentist on a piece of fudge two days old.
“Honestly, girls,” began Alma again, “I never saw a boy so beautiful. Light curls——”
“Oh!!!” came a chorus that stopped the narrator and sent her pouting over to the bed couch, where she pouted still more.
“Then, all right, I am absolutely through,” she declared quite as if she meant it.
“Now just see what you have done,” mourned Treble. She was so tall the girls always considered her in that clef. “Don’t you mind them, Allie. I know perfectly well there are even flying cupids in the big woodlands, and I fully expect to bring a couple home to lunch——”
Cushions in one big bang stopped Treble. At this rate Alma’s story would never be published, orally or otherwise.
In the Scout tent the evening was being spent in recreation: hence the fun they were having with Alma. At a table fashioned from an upside-down packing case, with real hand carved legs where the boards were knocked out and the hatchet braces left standing, sat three of the Chickadees, discussing the new Girl Scout stories.
“I just love the first,” insisted Thistle whose name was as Scotch as the emblem. “I liked the mill story and I just loved that wild, exciting time the girls had trying to win back—was it Dagmar?”
“Oh, yes, I remember,” chimed in Betta. They were referring to the first volume, “The Girl Scout Pioneers,” but others of the group spoke up for their particular choice of the series, naming, “The Girl Scouts at Bellaire” and “The Girl Scouts at Sea Crest.”
“You may have those,” offered Doro, “but I perfectly love this.” She held up the last book published. It was entitled “The Girl Scouts at Camp Comalong.”
“Why is that such a prize?” inquired Pell.
“Oh, haven’t you read it? Well, it is a real story of the most interesting girl, Peg of the Hills.”
This brought about a general discussion of the entire series, and although the method being used is not usually employed to remind readers of the other books of a series, perhaps, since the girls were speaking for themselves, it will be accepted.
Alma was whispering her Prince Charming story into the ears of Doro. Doro was accredited the very best listener among the Chicks and she had not the faintest idea of interrupting the story teller. Of course, it was Nora whom Alma had encountered, and it was not difficult to understand why her companions should discredit the tale. A prince in the woodlands, indeed!
“Louder, Alma,” begged Treble, catching only enough of the story to make her curious.
“Well, you won’t believe me.”
“We will! We will! Hear! Hear!” shouted Betta, whose full appellation was none other than Betta-be-good, given because she had a habit of lecturing.
“She did see a real prince,” chimed in Doro. “And he did wear buckles and laces and everything.”
“Where, oh where, fair maid? Lead me thither and hither and yon,” moaned Pell Mell. “Next to a movie star I love a prince best,” she finished dramatically, although it was common knowledge that Pell loved nothing so well as rushing about and falling over adventures. She actually fell over the Ridge, that is as far down as the big flat rock, before her chums decided she was hereafter to be known as Pell Mell.
“That is all there is to tell,” announced Alma, in a tone tinctured with finality. She knew perfectly well the girls would never rest until they had sought out the darling prince, and she also knew it would be lots of fun to make them “sit up and beg” for the details they had been scoffing at.
“Where, Alma?”
“Near the bend, Alma?”
“Wasn’t it over by the Nest, Al?”
“She said she saw him over by the Ledge.”
All this and much more was thrown out as bait, but in the parlance of the tribe, Alma did not “bite,” she merely picked up a discarded book and proceeded to read.
“Well, there was a prince, I’m sure of that,” persisted Pell, determined to make Alma repeat her story.
“Let’s go prince hunting tomorrow,” suggested Betta.
“With Treble’s moth scoop?” joked Wyn.
“I suppose none of you happen to know that Mrs. Jerry Manton has a visitor,” spoke Doro. She gave the statement a tone implying: “Why wouldn’t the prince be the visitor?”
“Oh, that’s so,” drawled Thistle. “Maybe it’s the duke.”
This brought out a new shout of nonsense.
“Duke!” roared Betta. “Keep on and we’ll have him on the throne.”
“There are no more thrones,” informed Pell. “Don’t you know the war made every thing democratic?”
This turned the joke into a serious moment, for even the rollicking Scouts did not feel inclined to enlarge upon so serious a thought.
Presently everyone was speculating upon the possibility of the little stranger being the one entertained by the Mantons.
“Couldn’t we call?” suggested Wyn. “Mrs. Manton is always lovely to us, and if she has such a little cherub on her hands we ought to help her care for him.”
“Cherub, Wynnie! Why, we would have to get a cage for anything like that in this camp. He would be eaten by bugs, moths and beetles.” A dash at a flying thing confirmed this opinion from Treble.
“Now, if you all have finished your skylarking I would like to study,” announced Alma. “I have to learn all that new class lesson, and I hope to get out of the Tenderfoot tribe before next week. No fun swimming in a barrel.” She referred to the water restrictions of “Tenderfoots.”
“Hush girls! Alma is thinking,” joked Pell. “Please don’t interrupt the spell——”
Poor Alma could stand the teasing no longer. She picked up her manual and headed for the tent occupied by those very studious Scouts who chose the company of the leader to that of the distracting girls.
“Chickadees never scratch,” fired Betta as Alma stepped over protruding feet and reached the tent flap. “Now Chick-a-dee, Peep! Peep! Pretty for the ladies——”
But the girl with the manual was gone.
“What do you make of it?” asked Pell, when the titters subsided.
“She saw something different, that’s sure,” replied Treble.
“She told me all about it,” put in Thistle proudly. “And it was really a wonderful child all done up in black velvets and ribbons,” she declared.
“I see nothing to do but ask Mrs. Manton about it,” suggested Wyn. “It looks like a first class lot of fun.”
“Ask her if she is entertaining a boy in velvet pants?” said Treble, so foolishly, the girls all but rolled under the table and the oil lamp shook dangerously in the merriment.
“When they’re velvet they’re never pants,” spoke Wyn, as soon as speaking amounted to anything.
“Trousers,” amended Treble.
“Nor those,” objected Pell. “When they have cute little buckles and go with a jaunty cap——”
“They’re knickers,” finished Betta.
“Not a—tall,” shouted Treble. “I know better than that myself. You’re thinking of golf. Didn’t I see Lord Fauntleroy play his Dearest?”
“Did you really? Well, what did he call call them?” demanded Thistle. She had been so busy enjoying the fun that this was her first attempt at making any.
“I have it,” sang out Laddie. “They’re bloomers.”
“Oh no, rompers,” insisted Thistle. “Rompers are much prettier.”
“What ever would you girls have done this evening if Alma’s little story did not furnish you with debate material,” scoffed Doro.
“The story Alma never told,” chanted Lad.
“All the same,” declared Treble, “it is perfectly delicious. Who’s going to make the call on Mrs. Jerry Manton?”
The shout that followed this question brought a protest from the next tent where candidates were studying manuals.
“Let’s take a vote on it,” suggested Thistle, when quiet seemed possible. “Since every one wants to go and we haven’t heard the Mantons were going to give a picnic or anything like that—why—the best thing to do is to draw lots.”
“How tragic! Draw lots! I say we make it numbers from Doro’s cap. Here girls, get busy and numb.”
A page of note paper was quickly numbered and torn into squares. Then the lot was tossed into Doro’s cap—it was the deepest for the little girl did not wear her hair bobbed. When the cap was filled she was the one chosen to hold it, and upon the highest chair she presently stood while the girls jumped for numbers. The four highest were to constitute the committee and the lot fell to Betta, Pell, Wyn and Thistle.
It was arranged that these four should go in the morning to call upon Mrs. Jerry Manton, their good friend and erstwhile preceptor in woodlore, and it was fully expected that the young visitor would then naturally be introduced.
And this was the very day that Nora donned her new service suit.
The idea of meeting a prince (the girls easily believed the pretty boy in the velvet suit was at least a near-prince) brought to the Chickadees a delicious thrill.
“You know,” reasoned Thistle next morning, “the Manton’s are government people, and there are lots of foreign nobles down at Washington.”
“That’s so,” agreed Doro. “He might have come up to the woods for his health.”
The tent was quickly made ready for inspection and when the woodcraft class was dismissed, the girls were free to make the all-important call.
It was but a short distance from Camp Chickadee to the Nest, and the four girls, constituting the committee, covered the ground speedily.
Vita answered the knock and told Pell, who was spokeswoman, that: “Mrs. Manton no come back yet.”
Nora not only heard the voices but she had seen the girls coming, and feeling that she, as a member of the family, should “do the honors,” she summoned courage to greet the callers.
“Cousin Teddie will not be back before lunch time,” said Nora sweetly. “Won’t you come in and wait?”
“Oh, no, thank you,” faltered Thistle, observing one truant curl that had escaped the confines of Nora’s field hat. “We may come over later in the afternoon—after drill,” finished the Scout.
Pell was more composed. “Are you visiting Rocky Ledge?” she asked cordially.
“Oh, yes. I expect to stay quite a while,” replied Nora. She liked the roguish smile Pell bestowed upon her—it was, somehow, a little like Barbara.
“Then perhaps you would like to visit camp,” pressed Thistle. “We love callers, don’t we, girls?”
This provided an opportunity for general conversation, and presently, no one knew just how it happened, but the Scouts and Nora the rebel, were having a perfectly splendid time on the side porch, talking about the things girls love to discuss, but which always appear to the onlooker or listener as a series of giggles and gasps.
Nora was so glad she wore the khaki suit. All her old love of finery was, for the time, lost in the joy of feeling “in place” instead of “out of place.” And the girls at close range did look very well in their uniforms. Betta and Thistle especially were just like models—Nora remembered that wonderful Girl Scout poster, and her former dislike for the uniform now threatened to turn to keen admiration. Just so long as anything “made a picture” the artistic little soul was sure to be satisfied. Changing an opinion was as simple a task for Nora as changing a hair ribbon, but it had been rather unpleasant to have the Scouts always held up as paragons.
Admitting she had not yet visited the Ledge, Nora was straightway invited to do so, as the four Scouts expected to meet the other troup members out gathering sweet fern there.
“Vita,” she called back to the maid in the kitchen, “you keep Cap home, I’ll be back in a little while.”
“Oh, no,” objected Vita. “Mr. Jerry, he say you don’t go never without Cap——”
“But I am with the girls now,” declared Nora a little sharply. She was so afraid the others might guess that it was she who wore the velvets! Looking very closely at each, however, she had not recognized the one who accosted her on the fatal dress-parade day. Alma was not in the party this time, so of course, Nora was correct in her opinion.
“Doesn’t Mr. Manton like to have you go out alone?” asked Thistle, innocently.
“Well, you see,” stumbled Nora, “I am not very well acquainted yet.”
“Was there a little boy visiting the Mantons the other day?” ventured Betta. She was almost consumed with curiosity, and as they turned their backs on the cottage the chance for unravelling the prince mystery seemed lost to them.
“A boy? No,” replied Nora. “I am the only one who has been here.” A flame of color swept her face and although she stooped to pick up an acorn at the moment, at least two of the Scouts noticed the flush.
“Light curls,” whispered Wyn. “She has very pretty ringlets——”
“Lots of girls have, of course,” scoffed Betta. “You surely don’t think she’s twins?”
“No,” faltered the other, never dreaming how much closer than twins Nora was to the little prince.
But Wyn was not easily satisfied. What was the sense of being appointed a committee to investigate and not do it? She picked a wonderful spray of pink clover before she asked Nora again:
“Do you ever see a little boy, a very fancy dressed boy, around the cottage? One of our girls dreamed she saw one and we have been trying to persuade her she had a vision.”
A sigh of relief escaped Nora’s lips. It should be easy to laugh the story over, since only one girl had seen her and that one had but a glimpse of her. She felt she would die of embarrassment now, if ever she were really found out. And only a few days ago it had seemed so trifling a thing! As she was about to reply to Wyn her hat fell off and down tumbled the curls.
“What wonderful curls,” exclaimed Wyn innocently. “Why do you hide them under a hat?”
“Oh, I don’t,” replied Nora bravely, shaking out the golden cloud that tossed about her ears. “But when we go into brambles it is more comfortable to have one’s head tidy,” she finished.
“Say, Wyn,” charged Thistle, “do you suppose Nora has no other interest than in your visionary prince and yellow curls? Please allow her to listen to some of my woodland lore.”
“Oh, yes,” mocked Betta. “Tell her all about your little fish in the brook that wouldn’t go near Treble’s hook.”
A scamper brookward responded to this sally.
“Oh, there’s Jimmie,” cried Thistle. “Hey Jimsby!” she hailed to a small boy in a big boat. “Wait for us. We are going up to the Ledge. Give us a row?”
Everyone, including Nora, ran towards the edge of the stream that rippled through willows. Jimmie with his boat was rare good fortune to come upon, and the Scouts were instantly eager to procure seats in the big, old skiff.
Nora’s timidity forced her to hold back, but she was too self-conscious to admit it.
“Come on, little Nora,” called out Thistle good naturedly. “I have a place for you right alongside of me.”
“Oh yes. Thistles never sink, you know,” added Wyn.
Nora’s heart heat fast. Could she say she would so much rather walk to the Ledge?
“Hurry up, Sister,” sang out Betta. “Thistle wants to get out of rowing and you are her excuse.”
Taking her fright literally in her hand and casting it into the brook, Nora stepped into Jimmie’s boat, smiling as if she were expecting the best good time of her life. A thought of her nervous mother barely had time to shape itself before all were seated, and the freckled faced Jimmie handed over the oars, without so much as uttering either a protest or agreeing to the piracy.
“Don’t you love a little lake like this?” asked Betta, noticing how silent was her companion.
“I have never been on the water,” said Nora truthfully. “At our school we are not allowed to take part in any dangerous sports.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Thistle. “How you must miss good times.”
“But we have many lovely parties and dances and all that sort of thing,” explained Nora. Her voice was entirely friendly and the difference of opinions by no means clashed.
It was delightful. The girls sang, whistled, shouted and coo-heed, as occasion demanded, the occasion being that of answering bird calls from shore. Imitating birds was counted as the latest outdoor sport, and the Chickadees vied with one another in the accomplishment.
“She’s leakin’,” said Jimmie without warning or apology.
“I should say she is!” cried Wyn, jerking her feet up from the bottom of the boat. “Jimmie Jimbsy! Why didn’t you say so?”
“Oh, you didn’t give me a chance,” replied the lad frankly.
“Oh, is it dangerous?” gasped Nora. Her cheeks went pale instantly.
“No, just gives us a chance to show who is the best swimmer. You can swim, of course?” asked Wyn.
“No, not a stroke,” replied the frightened Nora.
“Don’t you mind Wynnie, Nora,” spoke up Betta. “There’s no possibility of any one having to swim. This boat would sail the rapids, wouldn’t she, Jimmie?”
“Here’s another hat,” offered Thistle. “Say, Jim! At least you ought to bring a tin can,” she said in her jolliest tone.
They were actually bailing out. The water managed to make cold little puddles in the bottom of the boat, and with the “large party aboard” as Pell charged Wyn because she happened to weigh a few more pounds than the others, the inflow threatened to bear the little craft down to the water’s edge, uncomfortably close.
But the girls were making a lark of it. Every time a hat emptied a shout went up, and every time a hat leaked a groan moaned out.
“All in a life time,” boomed Thistle. “But don’t any one dare tell that story about the philosopher and the boatman.”
“Never heard it,” responded Betta, lifting a particularly well filled hat to the boat’s edge.
Jimmie was now rowing. “Assisting him in that capacity,” as Pell expressed it, was Wyn.
“We gotta reach the Ledge,” joked Thistle, “and I for one hate walking on the water.”
“We betta——”
“Betta-be-good,” went up the shout as Betta attempted to preach. She never got farther than that first mispronounced two syllables nowadays.
Nora was now regarding the situation with more calmness. After the first fright it did not seem so dangerous, and the skill with which the jolly Scouts handled the task of bailing, was fascinating.
But suddenly something happened; no one shouted, no one even spoke, but in a twinkling the entire boatload of girls were scrambling in the water.
“Quick girls! Get Nora!”
This was the order given by Pell, who in emergencies assumed leadership.
“Here Nora,” called Betta, “just put your hand on my shoulder. We can almost walk in. Don’t be frightened.”
But Nora was terribly frightened. That water! And not being able to swim a stroke!
“Look!” called out Thistle, who was now standing in the more shallow water, “it is only up to my shoulders. Just bring Nora out here and she can wade in,” announced the Scotch girl.
The sight of Thistle actually standing on her feet brought to Nora the first free breath she had breathed since that awful thing happened. Now she had courage to stop choking and do as she had been told.
“Why, you swam that time,” puffed Betta to whom Nora had struggled. Did she really swim? She felt herself buoyed up for a moment somehow, in fact she had never gone down.
Before that supporting move had lost its endurance her hand was safely on Betta’s shoulder, and both were moving slowly but securely towards the bank.
“That’s it,” Pell encouraged. “No need for any trouble if you just keep—cool!”
“Cool enough,” grumbled Thistle. “I hate lakes for that,” she continued to call out.
“How’s that!” asked Betta when she reached the shallow water from which point all were wading in.
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Nora. Her relief was so great it seemed to her pure joy.
“Your first?” asked Wyn.
“First?” repeated Nora.
“First ducking,” added Wyn. “If so it is your official initiation. You are now a full fledged member of the Chickadees.”
It was easy for Nora to laugh—she felt she would never do anything but laugh, it was so good to be safe within reach of shore once again.
Thistle and Wyn threw their wet heads back and emitted a “coo-hee.” The call was taken up by the others, and instead of the incident being of an alarming nature it was thus turned into a lark.
“Coo-hee! Coo-hee!” sounded along the little lake basin, while shouts of laughter and expressions of opinion about bobbed heads after an unexpected ducking, were snapped from Scout to Scout as the party waded in.
So near the edge they were loath to emerge. No possibility of getting any wetter or spoiling anything more generally, but there was a possibility of more fun.
“Where’s that Jimbsy boy?” demanded Pell. “We didn’t leave him to the sharks, did we?”
“Look,” replied Thistle, pointing to a little slash in the lake’s outline. It was a pocket full of water just about big enough to float the upturned boat that Jimmie was pushing in through it.
“Poor boy! And we never asked him what he was out after,” reflected Betta. “Maybe he had an order to bring a boat load of passengers from the Ledge.”
“We’ll take up a collection for him,” proposed Pell.
“What’ll we collect?” asked Wyn.
“Opinions,” replied the first. “They’re most plentiful.”
Nora was out of water and shaking herself like a poodle. Now that it was all over, the thrill was unmistakable.
“Look who’s coming!” called out one of the girls, and turning around Nora glimpsed Ted coming down the narrow path.
“Quick, Nora, hide!” exclaimed Wyn. “Then spring out and surprise her.”
Obeying, Nora jumped behind a big bush.
Even in the excitement she realized what companionship meant. It was so much more fun than playing at foolish dressing up and imagination games. Could she have but understood more clearly she would have recognized in that situation the theory of having girls “do” to learn, and that active sport of the young is one of the standards of Scout teaching.
She listened as the girls greeted Mrs. Manton. No gasps of alarm nor expressions of fear were exchanged, for Cousin Ted was of the Scout calibre herself.
“Better hang on the hickory limbs and dry, before your leader sees you,” she cautioned. “Those uniforms won’t be fit for parade.”
“And mine was all beautifully pressed,” whimpered Pell.
“So were all our suits, Mrs. Manton,” asserted Thistle, “because we were calling on you first.”
“Really! Did you see my little girl?”
“Oh, yes,” drawled Betta.
“I so want her to grow into scouting,” continued Mrs. Manton, and at that Nora felt she could make her presence known. But a quick snap of a stick from Betta, as she swished it back of Nora’s bush, kept her from stepping out.
“Does she like the water?” asked Wyn, with a suppressed giggle.
“I am afraid she has had little chance to get acquainted with it,” replied Ted. “Nora has been developed at one angle. This sort of experience would probably give her nervous prostration.”
That was the cue. Nora jumped out!
“Child!”
“The very same!” pronounced Thistle grandly, waving a dripping arm.
Mrs. Manton was too surprised to do more than look at Nora. Her brown eyes were twinkling and her mouth twitching in a broad grin. Presently she jumped past Betta and threw her arms around Nora.
“You darling baby!” she exclaimed, all unmindful of the water she was blotting up from Nora’s new suit. “How ever did you—come here and get—like—this?”
“Chick-chick-chick-Chickadees!” sang out a chorus. “Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!”
If one could look pretty after a ducking in a strange lake, Nora did. Her curls liked nothing better, and her cheeks pinked up prettily, while her eyes—they were as blue as the violets that listened in the underbrush.
“You don’t mind her initiation, do you, Mrs. Manton?” asked Wyn.
“Why no. In fact, I’m delighted,” replied the young woman. “But why the secret? I have been left out in the cold,” she said, genially.
“Only candidates are informed,” said Wyn, keeping up the joke.
“Was that really it? Was this a private initiation, and am I intruding?”
“All over,” sang out Betta. “The bars are down and the guests welcome.”
“Betta be goin’ up the hill a bit,” suggested Thistle. “This is no place for dripping chicks.”
“The sun would be helpful,” agreed Pell. “I don’t mind the water when it’s fresh, but I hate to get mildewed.”
“Hey!” came a call from somewhere. “Wanta get in again?”
“We certainly do not,” yelled back Wyn. “Jimbsy James, you’re a fraud. What ails your yacht, anyway?”
“All right, then,” called back Jimmie good naturedly. “I’ll be goin’. So long!”
“So long yourself,” called back Wyn, “and send your bill to headquarters.”
“Were you—in his boat?” asked Ted, a light beginning to break through the girls’ perpetual nonsense.
“We were, momentarily,” replied Betta. “But we needed exercise so we decided to walk,” she finished. Nora saw how friendly the girls all were with Ted, and felt a pang, not of jealousy, but of regret. Why had she never known such companionship?
“I must go back to my trees,” said Mrs. Manton, when the girls had found a clear path of sunshine. “I have some important marking to do. Nora, you follow directions and you need not fear earth, sky or water. These little Scouts are impervious to all catastrophes.”
And Nora had almost expected to be sent home for a rub down, a hot drink and all the other coddling!
“Oh, I’m all right,” she hurried to reply. “I’ll be home——”
“When the ceremonies are over,” interrupted Thistle. “We are due at the Ledge long ago, and if we don’t soon make it I am afraid we will all be kept in tonight.”
“In those wet things?” protested Wyn. “Not for me. I’m going back to camp and change. Come along Nora. We have an extra outfit in our box and we’ll lend it to you. Thistle is a regular fish, she is never happy when dry skinned.”
Mrs. Manton had disappeared in the winding path and Nora was secretly glad of Wyn’s invitation. She could not as yet actually enjoy wet clothes. The girls had managed to save their hats and caps, but even these still dripped and could not be comfortably worn to keep off the strong sun’s rays that beat down in the clear spots along the lake’s edge.
“We’ll have some trouble explaining to the general,” remarked Thistle as they started back to camp. “And this was the day we were to finish our collection.”
“But look, what we did collect,” answered Wyn under her breath, referring to Nora. “Did you ever see anyone so pleased as our friend?”
“She looked happy,” assented Thistle. “But say, Scoutie; whatever are we going to tell the girls about the prince?”
“Let’s say we drowned him,” suggested Wyn, foolishly. “That will give Alma a lovely murder mystery to work upon.”
Nora overheard the word “prince” and surmised correctly it was meant for her Fauntleroy. She longed to turn back to the Nest rather than meet the other girl who might recognize her.
“It’s so near lunch time——” she began.
“Oh, no girlie,” protested Betta. “You are the only specimen we have collected today, and if you don’t come back with us we will all get dreadful marks. Come along. Be a sport and help us out.”
“Yes, we will be considered life savers, perhaps,” added Thistle. “Of course, we won’t say we did anything noble——”
“Nor say we didn’t,” drawled Wyn.
Thus urged, Nora had no choice, so she set off with her new companions towards Chickadee Camp.