Blue Robin, the Girl Pioneer Part 7

"Oh, yes, Miss Page, do!" came quickly to Nathalie's ears; "we should love to have you one of us."

"I'll coach you in the tests!" sang out Helen, who was ready to dance with pleasure to think that there was a prospect of her new friend becoming a Pioneer.

"And I'll help!" added Grace. "And so will I," "And I!" chimed several girlish voices.

Nathalie sat in embarra.s.sed silence, hardly knowing what to answer to these many cordial invitations to join, and offers to help her do the tests. "I would love to be one of you," she spoke hesitatingly, "but I am not at all clever at doing things, for I can't sew, or cook, or do anything useful at all!" The girl's voice was almost plaintive.

"Ah, you are just the one we want, then," was Mrs. Morrow's quick reply; "we want girls who don't know how, so we can teach and train them in the right way."

There was loud applause at this remark, and then as the hubbub subsided somewhat, Mrs. Morrow held up her hand for silence. "Now, girls," she said, "give Miss Page time to think. Yes, we should be overjoyed to have you join the group, Miss Page, for later, in the summer, one of our bluebirds is to emigrate South for the winter, and we should love to have you take her place. I agree with Helen that the finding of the bluebird's nest in the old cedar meant that you were to become a true bluebird, or Blue Robin, as we shall have to call you."

Nathalie looked at d.i.c.k, and then at her mother. Mrs. Page was smiling at her so rea.s.suringly that Nathalie understood that she gave her consent, and joyfully signified her willingness to become a Pioneer.

With a bob of her head at d.i.c.k she declared, that she would become one if only to show her brother that there was such a thing as a Blue Robin.

Mrs. Morrow then explained that they had selected the bluebird as their mascot not only because it was the bird of pioneer days, but because the word blue means true, and Girl Pioneers were to be true in word, and thought, and deed. And then as a bird means swift, they were to be swift to the truth.

"The bluebird is also noted for its cheerfulness," she continued. "The Pioneers are to be cheerful. It is a loyal bird; the Pioneers are to be loyal to one another, to their pledges and laws, and to every one and to all things that are right, good, and pure. The bird is also very gentle, and we want the Pioneers to cultivate kindliness and gentleness.

Flower," she called suddenly, "sing us that pretty little bluebird song you know."

In compliance with this request the Flower sang, in her sweet soprano, a funny little song about a bluebird courting his lady love. Each verse ended with the call-note, "Tru-al-lee," which the girls caught up as a refrain and sang with sweet, low tones, the Flower's bird-like trill rising high above the others.

CHAPTER V-THE GRAY STONE HOUSE

"Do you know, Helen," exclaimed Nathalie, looking at her friend with reminiscent eyes, "that it is only three weeks since I met you, but it seems like three months."

"That is because you have been on probation for a Pioneer," retorted Helen smilingly, "and are beginning to take life more seriously."

"Not very seriously, I am afraid," lamented Nathalie, "judging from the bungle I made in trying to learn that square knot."

"Oh, you will learn," encouraged Helen, "but I must be off, for I have some typing to do for to-morrow." Yes, Helen's new friend knew that she was learning to be a stenographer. When that little fact had been divulged in the natural course of events, Nathalie had listened with great interest to Helen's declaration of her life purpose-to be independent-not only for the pleasure that independence would bring to her, but because she wanted to earn money so that she could give her mother little comforts and luxuries that Mrs. Dame had been denied because her husband's income was limited.

Instead of scorning her, as the girl had feared, Nathalie had wished her great success, apparently appreciating the unselfish motive that actuated her, while lamenting that she herself was not as clever.

"O dear," she had impulsively declared, "I want to earn money, too; oh, if I only had a purpose in life! I do not want to be a drone." And then on the impulse of the moment she had confided to Helen her many disappointments, and how anxious they all were about her brother d.i.c.k, fearful that he might never recover the use of his leg. To Helen it had seemed that since these mutual confidences a closer friendship had grown up between them, much to that young lady's joy.

She had just finished hearing Nathalie recite the Pioneer Pledge and laws, give the names of the Presidential party, as Nathalie called them, adding the name of the governor of the State in which she lived, describe the United States flag, sew a b.u.t.ton on-as it should be done, she had declared with solemn unction-and then exhibit her skill at tying a square knot.

"After you become a Bluebird at the Pilgrim Rally to-morrow, I shall begin to drill you in the tests necessary to make you a Second-Cla.s.s Pioneer," Helen had declared when the lesson was over and she began to gather up her sewing materials.

"Oh, will you?" cried Nathalie, "but when can I become one?"

"In a month," was the reply, "if you pa.s.s the tests; but there, I shall never get my work done if I stand here and talk," and Helen started for the steps.

"Yes, and I am in a hurry to hear what Dr. Morrow says about d.i.c.k's knee," returned Nathalie as she followed her friend to the edge of the veranda. "You know he was in this morning to examine it; I am so anxious to hear what he had to say."

"How did your brother injure his knee?" asked Helen as she paused at the foot of the steps, "I have often wanted to ask."

"Why, he slipped on the ice just two days after Father's death,"

rejoined Nathalie, her eyes darkening sorrowfully. "The New York physician said it was only sprained ligaments and would be all right soon. But he has been growing worse-it pains him dreadfully sometimes-oh, you don't know how worried we are-" her voice quavered, "suppose he should be lame for life!"

"Oh, don't get nervous over it," advised Helen cheerfully, "but hurry in and see what Dr. Morrow said. To be sure he is only a one-horse-town doctor, but it is claimed that he is an expert surgeon," and then with a smile and a wave of her hand she hastened toward the gate.

Nathalie watched her friend with brightening eyes as she hurried across the lawn. Somehow the girl's companionship had revived her drooping spirits; the many little chats they had had about the Pioneers and the tests, coupled with the antic.i.p.ation of becoming one, had in a measure brightened her life. To be sure, they could never take the place of her friends of the city, but might perhaps dull the longing for the things of the past and the desires that at times threatened to overwhelm her.

She realized that she was beginning to take a keener interest in her surroundings, and felt that it was all owing to the Pioneers.

"Nathalie, I am here-in the sitting-room!" called her mother's voice faintly a few moments later as she heard the girl's step in the hall. An apprehensive pang seized Nathalie's heart as she flew to her mother's side.

"What did the doctor say, Mumsie?" she demanded anxiously. "Will d.i.c.k be lame?"

"I hope not, Nathalie, but there will have to be an operation-" her mother's voice sank to a whisper, "and oh, it will cost us several hundred dollars." Here Mrs. Page broke down, and burying her face on her daughter's shoulder wept silently. The girl gently patted the gray-streaked head as she hugged the slender form closely, but with intuitive divination she let her have her cry out, although she was seething with impatience, for she knew it would prove a relief to the mother heart.

"It is all right, I am just a coward." Mrs. Page choked a moment, then imprinted a wet kiss on the rounded cheek so close to her own as she felt the comfort of her unspoken sympathy. "I am sure d.i.c.k will be all right in time-but I am so worried-I have had bad news, too. It does seem as if misfortunes never come singly, as they claim," she said, thrusting a crumpled sheet of paper into her daughter's hand.

The girl's eyes swept the type-written page, once, twice, then in a tense tone she demanded, "Oh, Mother, do you mean that the Portland cement bonds are in danger-why, I thought-"

"They are to stop paying interest while the company is being reorganized; something has gone wrong. I was afraid of it, as they say cement is being sold at a very low figure."

"But perhaps it will only be for a time, you are crossing your bridges before you get there as Father used to say," Nathalie replied with attempted cheerfulness, "but did you not say that they were first mortgage bonds?"

"Yes, but child, we have got to live," exclaimed her mother irritably; "that money, the interest, is part of my income, and it is little enough-expenses are so heavy. And where the money will come for d.i.c.k's operation I am sure I don't know-but there, don't worry-it will be all right in time, I know." She sank back in her chair and dabbed her reddened eyelids with her moist handkerchief.

"But, Mumsie, tell me, why is it necessary for d.i.c.k to have an operation?" questioned Nathalie insistently with anxious eyes.

"The doctor says there is a bone in his leg infected. It will have to be removed, and a new bone put in."

"A new bone put in!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Nathalie, "why-"

"Yes, it is something new in surgery," replied her mother. "Dr. Morrow says thousands of cripples have been made well by this new method of treating cases like d.i.c.k's. He says-" a long sigh-"if d.i.c.k does not have an operation, he will probably be lame, if he is ever able to walk at all." The tears began to glisten in Mrs. Page's eyes again, as Nathalie, with a sudden sharp realization what this would mean for d.i.c.k and all of them, turned and rushed from the room with the dread that if she remained a moment longer she too would fall to weeping.

She hastened up the attic stairs to her den; she wanted time to think.

Oh, suppose there should be no money for the operation, and d.i.c.k should be lame all the rest of his life, d.i.c.k, who had always been so well and robust, and who for his athletic prowess had won so many silver cups and medals! She threw herself into the low rocker, and leaning her head on her desk began to cry softly; she did not want Mother to hear.

Oh, why did they have so much trouble? How hard it was to lose her father, her beautiful home and friends, to give up college, to have to live in that poky old town-even the Pioneers could not compensate for that-and then to have d.i.c.k lame because they had no money! Nathalie wept on in woeful lamentation, feeling with the untriedness of youth that she was a great martyr. Did not G.o.d's world owe her happiness? Was it not sinning against her in denying her right to its joys?

But even sorrow has its limit, and gradually her sobs died away to a shiver, as her head dropped wearily on the back of her chair. Oh, if she were not so helpless, if she could only earn money like Helen! But what could she do? She couldn't sew, she had no musical ability-like Lucille!

A Bob White whistle, followed by a "Tru-al-lee!" beneath her window reminded her that she had promised to take a walk with Grace Tyson.

Yes, Nathalie knew that "Tru-al-lee!" for that young lady was the only Pioneer who could so successfully imitate that little bird's sweet trill. She jumped up quickly, and then with the buoyancy of youth cast all her dismal forebodings skyward and hurried down to the lower floor.

"I'll be down in a moment," she called out to Grace, who had just entered the hall and was chatting with d.i.c.k, who had been reading on the couch. She flew into the bath-room, scrubbed her face vigorously a moment, and then flying into her room grabbed her hat from its peg in the closet, and then hastened down the stairs humming blithely a new ragtime song as she went.

"I want to say good-by to Mother," she exclaimed as she nodded to Grace and hurried into the sitting-room. But when she saw the big pile of mending on the table in front of Mrs. Page, a sudden guilty pang a.s.sailed her.

"Oh, Mumsie," she cried, "don't you do that mending. I will do it when I come back. I meant to do it yesterday," she excused herself lamely, "but I forgot all about it."