Blue Robin, the Girl Pioneer Part 21

The sorry-looking object proved to be the Tike, who between sobs and shivery shakes explained, as the party surrounded her, that tempted by the mirror-like surface of a dark pool in the middle of the brook she had stooped to see if she could see her face in it. Unfortunately, her knee slipped on a loose stone, and she had tumbled in.

With much laughter and merriment the girls made a stretcher, tumbled the somewhat subdued f.a.g into it, and then set off for the wigwam, where Miss Carol was speedily disrobed and her clothes hung out to dry, as the girls merrily sang, "on a hickory limb!"

Bundled up in wraps after a few drops of stimulant had been administered to prevent her taking cold, which made her drowsy, she was left to the ministrations of the dream fairies, while the girls hurried off to wash the dishes and finish cleaning up. While this was being performed, the doctor showed Nathalie how to throw dirt or water on the fires-all but one, which was left for a cheer fire-so as to be sure that they were all out. The girls, he said, had learned a lesson last summer when they left a fire smoldering when they struck camp. It soon burst into a blaze and if it hadn't been for a party of Scouts who had been off for a tramp the woods would have been on fire.

Camp duties done, the cheer fire blazed a welcome and the girls hastily circled around it, and were soon busily engaged in packing the roots of their wild flowers with clay, wrapping them in big leaves and tying them securely with sweet gra.s.ses or string. They were then placed in the Tike's basket to delight the heart of some shut-in, whose only outing was from the window.

When this task was completed the flower specimens were laid in rows, and then Helen as leader, gave the names of her specimens; each girl having a like specimen laid it carefully between a sheet of blotting paper to remove the moisture, and then pressed it deftly in her note-book, where it was fastened with gummed paper across the stems and thick parts of the plant. Under each flower was now written its botanical name, its common name, the date of finding it, its habitat, and any other data that could be obtained from the Encyclopedia, who, with flower books spread before her, was kept busy supplying all the needed information.

Each odd specimen was pa.s.sed around for inspection, and then the lucky finder jubilantly placed it on record, while others wrote additional information as to the insects that visit it, whether it is a pollen-bearer, if it slept at night, or closed in the sun. The doctor supplemented Barbara's book lore by stray bits of knowledge that he had picked up from actual experience in his many scout rambles. The girls were only too pleased to listen, being particularly interested in his account of the evolution of color in flowers.

When the time came for telling cheer fire stories, Mrs. Morrow suggested that they should be flower stories, stipulating, however, that the legends told should be about the specimens that had been found in that day's hike.

With this, the doctor, who was lying on the gra.s.s by the side of Nathalie, pulled off his hat which she had decorated with a dandelion wreath, and waving it high so every one could see it in its yellow glory, said he would start the wheel of yarns by telling about the maiden with the fluffy cobweb hair.

As he said "hair," Lillie Bell rose, and in ready imitation of the renowned Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm tragically intoned:

"Robaire! Robaire!

Let down your hair!"

The girls burst into peals of laughter, for even in the sleepy town of Westport every one had seen the beloved Rebecca, and keenly appreciated Lillie's timely pose.

"But this slim bit of a girl," smiled the doctor, "didn't let down her yellow tresses, they just flew with the wind, until Shawonda.s.see-this is an Indian legend-the South Wind saw her. Instead of seeking this witching maiden, whom he admired so deeply, he was lulled to sleep by the fragrance of the summer flowers and forgot all about her. The next day he again spied his yellow charmer away off among the gra.s.ses of the meadows, but after lazily wishing she would come to him he snoozed off again. To his horror, the next day he found that the maiden's tresses were gone, and that in her place stood an old woman who looked as if Jack Frost had sprinkled her with his silver dust.

"'Ah,' sighed Shawonda.s.see, 'my brother the North Wind has done this wrong.' So he hurriedly arose and blew his horn loud and fierce to the whitened figure standing so forlornly out in the fields. But alas, as his soft breezes whistled gently about the old woman, her snow-white hair fell to the ground, and then she, too, soon disappeared, leaving nothing but a few upright stems and a bunch of withered leaves. She was the dandelion, whose petals turn to fluffy hair when touched by the North Wind. This yellow maiden is said to be a symbol of the sun, and has been named Dandelion because it is claimed that its petals resemble a lion's tooth."

The common little field flower seemed to have gained in interest after the legend, and was examined with greater curiosity, while the Scribe hurriedly wrote the legend on a stray page of her copy-pad to feature it in the "Pioneer."

Lillie Bell, who had gathered a number of wild forget-me-nots, told a pathetic German legend about that sweetheart flower, while Helen explained that the marigold, instead of being such a common plant, was in reality the bride of the sun. It was once a maiden named Caltha, who, in reward for her faithfulness to the sun, was finally lost in his golden rays, and on the spot where she used to stand and gaze at her fiery lover the marigold grew.

Nathalie, who had been deeply interested in the legends, experienced somewhat of a shock when Mrs. Morrow suddenly said, "Now, Nathalie, are we not to hear a flower legend, or some kind of a story from you?"

"Oh, I am a poor hand at story-telling," the girl speedily answered.

"Hear! hear! this is treason!" called Helen loudly, "for a Pioneer who has won fame as a Story Lady!"

"Oh, that is different," pleaded her friend in mild despair, "those were only children's stories."

"To be able to tell stories to children, Nathalie, and to keep their attention," spoke Mrs. Morrow, "shows ability, and if we have so gifted a Pioneer I think it is our due to hear from her."

"And then, Nathalie," urged Grace, "every Pioneer has to know how to tell stories, and this is a good time to make a beginning."

"Well, I see I am doomed, notwithstanding my protests," said the girl after a short pause. "I will try to tell one if you will let me put on my thinking-cap for a moment." As permission was accorded to this request, Nathalie turned and glanced helplessly at the doctor, as if she might find inspiration in his merry eyes, Helen laughingly declared.

Nathalie blushed as the doctor shook his head and said, "No, hike-mate, I am at your service in everything but a story, for I ran dry when I told mine. Then I know you have nerve and brains enough to do your own thinking."

"Oh, I know one!" the girl suddenly cried as her face lighted, and then closing her eyes for a moment, as if to invoke the aid of some unknown muse, she said, "I read it in a newspaper the other day. It is about a flower, but I will let you guess its name."

"It was in the spring," she continued slowly, "and old Peboan sat alone in his ragged tepee. His hair fell about his time-worn face like glistening icicles as he shivered in his fur robes; oh, so cold, so weak and hungry, for he had had no food for days. As he bent over to blow upon the smoldering embers that glowed at his feet, he besought the Great Spirit to come to his aid.

"As he thus prayed and lamented a handsome young girl stepped within the tent. Her eyes were as blue as the summer sky and were filled with a liquid light, while her golden hair floated gracefully with the wind.

Her cheeks were like apple blossoms and her gown was made of sweet gra.s.ses and green leaves. In her arms she carried twigs of the p.u.s.s.y-willow. Going softly to the old man, she cried in a voice as sweet as the brook's gentle flow, 'Peboan, what can I do for thee?'

"The old man raised his head as he heard the maiden's sweet voice, and as he saw her in her spring glory he cried bitterly, 'I am hungry and cold. I have lost my power over nature, for the streams have refused to stand still for me. My mantle disappears from the earth as rapidly as I cover it, and the flowers are peeping from their brown beds, although I have bidden them sleep.'

"'Peboan,' replied the maiden, 'I am Seguin, the summer manitou; the flowers are obeying me, for I have bidden them arise. The leaves are budding on the trees, the p.u.s.s.ies are out in all their furry finery, for I, Seguin, now possess the earth. The snow and ice have disappeared, for they have obeyed my voice, and your power is gone. All nature pays me homage, for I am the Queen of the earth, the G.o.ddess of spring!

"'Peboan, you are the winter manitou, and the Great Spirit calls you!

Now go!' As Seguin said these words she gently waved her wand over the old man's head as it sank between his shoulders.

"The winter manitou made no reply, but drew his furs closer about his shivering form, and then, as he heard the song of the spring birds, and the rustling of the leaves in the sunshine, he sank to the ground.

"As a ray of the warm sun filtered through the top of the tepee and fell upon the old man, who lay exhausted on the earth; Seguin again raised her wand, and the winter manitou disappeared. His furs had turned to dancing leaves; his tepee to a tall tree. Then Seguin stooped, and gathering a handful of the leaves from the tree she breathed on them-very softly-and then threw them on the earth. They immediately stood upright, each holding forth a tiny pink flower, gay with a delicate perfume.

"'Grow and blossom,' cried the spring maiden softly, 'and bloom a welcome to the hearts of those who are depressed by winter's gales, for you are a token that Peboan, the winter manitou is gone. You are the first flower that comes in the spring.' Now what is the name of it?"

ended Nathalie abruptly.

"Snowdrop!" called Helen quickly. Nathalie shook her head.

"Violet!" timidly ventured some one.

"Violet?" the Sport repeated scornfully. "Who ever heard of a pink violet? Nathalie said this flower was pink."

Mrs. Morrow broke the sudden silence that followed the Sport's remark by saying softly, "I think it is the arbutus!"

"That's it!" cried Nathalie, and then to her bewilderment every one began to clap again. As the clapping continued, the girls meanwhile, watching her with sparkling eyes, Nathalie turned and whispered to the doctor, "Why, what are they clapping for?"

But before he could reply the Sport shouted, "Hurrah for the Story Lady!"

The cry was repeated again and again to Nathalie's confusion. In a moment, however, her wits a.s.serted themselves, and springing to her feet, with a low sweeping courtesy she cried, "Thank you, fellow Pioneers, I am glad you liked my first cheer-fire story!"

The clapping now subsided, and after several had expressed their admiration by saying that the story was the "best ever," Mrs. Morrow started a floral conundrum, which proved a thriller, the doctor claimed, as he sat with humorous eyes and watched the girls, who all sat up and took notice, as one after the other called out the name of a flower in answer to the questions propounded by their Director.

When the questions had all been answered, it was discovered that the names of the star actors in this little floral drama, the color of their eyes, hair, and so on, as well as the musical instrument played by the lover, the words of his proposal, the wedding, and even the time and place of the honeymoon, had all been answered by the names of flowers.

Lillie Bell, at Mrs. Morrow's request, took her mandolin, and after thrumming it softly broke into a quaint low strain of melody, while Louise sang in her sweet little soprano voice, "All in a Garden Fair,"

"Fortune My Foe," and "Nymphs and Shepherds," each number being one of a group of old English songs dating as far back as 1555. After receiving an encore, Louise favored them with "Polly Willis," and "Golden Slumber Kiss Your Eyes," two more popular ballads of the seventeenth century.

These old-time songs were a surprise for Mrs. Morrow, who had often been heard to remark that it was a pity, as they were Pioneers, that they did not know some of the songs that used to be sung in those days, instead of ragtime songs. But ragtime was not altogether displaced, for in a few minutes the girls were singing "The Sweet Little Girl with the Quaint Squeegee," "Dry yo' Eyes," and "My Little Dream Girl," with a verve and gusto that made the woods resound to the ring of their girlish voices.

By this time cramped limbs and the joyousness of life a.s.serted themselves, and every one began to feel that they wanted to run, leap, and jump, so at the doctor's suggestion they played the Scout game of "Stalking." The doctor was the deer, not hiding, but standing and moving a little now and then as he liked, while the girls vied with one another in trying to touch him without being seen.

The doctor did his part so well that he was duly tantalizing, the Pioneers declared, as they watched him with strained eyes, being unable to catch him napping. When the doctor called "Time," the game ended by all the girls coming to a halt on the spot where they were standing when the call sounded, the girl nearest the deer winning the game.

Prisoner's Base was then started; the goals were marked off, the players divided into two sections, one stationed in each goal, and then the fun began. A girl would advance towards the opposite goal, and then run back into safety, while one of her mates came to her rescue by chasing her pursuer, who, in turn, was rescued by one of her own mates. The rushing about gave health, glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes attesting that muscles, limbs, and blood were being exercised to a good purpose. But after the doctor had again defeated them by never getting caught, the game was abandoned, the girls all vowing he was magic-limbed, for he was so quick and agile on his feet.

After a short time spent in practicing bird calls, as it was nearing the time to return home the hikers gathered up their belongings, packed their knapsacks, and with staffs in hand started out on the homeward hike. They all declared that they were not a bit fatigued by the day's activities, and jested merrily one with another, or happily sang s.n.a.t.c.hes of songs as they wended their way back to town.

By the time they had reached the cross-roads their spirits had subsided somewhat, all but the Sport's, who teasingly whisked off Barbara's hat and the next instant was whizzing down the road with it clutched in her hand.