The Camp Fire Girls at Onoway House Part 16

"You're even now," said Gladys, "you've each scored a trick."

"'_We do this to each other!_'" said Migwan and Hinpoha in the same breath, and locked fingers and made a wish according to the time-honored custom.

CHAPTER XII.-OPHELIA FINDS A FAIRY G.o.dMOTHER.

As the summer progressed, the girls had more than one conference as to what was to become of Ophelia when they left Onoway House. To let her go back to her life in the slums was unthinkable. So far, Old Grady had made no effort to get her back, possibly for the simple reason that she did not know where the child was. They did not even know whether or not she had a legal claim on Ophelia. All Ophelia knew about the business was that Old Grady had taken her from the orphan asylum when she was seven years old. Where she had lived before she went to the orphan asylum she could not remember, so she must have been very young when she came there. They were equally unwilling that she should return to the asylum.

"If we could only find someone to adopt her," said Hinpoha. That would be the best thing, they all agreed, although there was a lingering doubt in the mind of each one as to whether anyone would want to adopt Ophelia. Grammar was to her a totally unnecessary accomplishment, and the amount of slang she knew was unending. By dint of hard labor they had succeeded in making her say "you" instead of "yer," and "to" instead of "ter," and discard some of her more violent slang phrases, but she was still obviously a child of the streets and the tenement, and that life had left its brand upon her. It showed itself constantly in her speech. They had better success in teaching her table manners, for with a child's gift of imitation she soon fell into the ways of those around her.

But having had so much excitement in her short life she still pined for it. While the life in the country was pleasant in the extreme it was far too quiet to suit her and she longed to be back in the crowded tenement where there was something happening every hour out of the twenty-four; where people woke to life instead of going to bed when darkness fell and the lamps were lighted; where street cars clanged and wagons rattled and fire engines rumbled by; where the harsh voices of newsboys rang out above the loud conversation of the women on the doorsteps and the wailing of the babies. The zigging of the gra.s.shoppers and the swishing of the wind in the Balm of Gilead tree and the murmur of the river had for her a mournful and desolate sound, and she often covered up her ears so as not to hear it. When she first came to Onoway House she was so interested in the new life that it kept her busy all day long finding out new things; but gradually the novelty wore off. At first she had been as mischievous as a monkey; always up to some prank or other. She teased Tom and was teased by him in return; she put burrs in Mr. Bob's long ears; she climbed trees and threw things down on the heads of unsuspecting persons underneath; she startled the girls out of their wits by lying unseen under the couch in the sitting-room and grabbing their ankles unexpectedly. Always she was doing something, and always merry and full of life; so that she made the girls feel that they had done a fine thing by bringing her to Onoway House.

But of late a change had come over her. She began to droop, and to sit silent by herself at times. The girls did their best to keep her amused, but they were very busy with the continual canning, and Betty, who had more time than the others, did not like her and would not play with her.

So she grew more and more homesick for the big, noisy city and the playmates of other days. Then had come the time when she was so sunburned and she had developed the fondness for Sahwah. After that she was less lonesome, for Sahwah was such a lively person to be attached to that one had always to be on the lookout for surprises. Sahwah taught her to swim and dive and ride a bicycle; she had the boys make a swing for her under the big tree, and Ophelia blossomed once more into happiness. At Sahwah's instigation she played more tricks on the other girls than before.

But Ophelia was a shrewd little person, and she knew that the summer would come to a close and the girls would not live together any more.

She often heard them discussing their plans. What was to become of her then? The happy family life at Onoway House stirred in her a desire to have a home too, and a mother of her own. She began to grow wistful again and at times her eyes would have a strange far-away look. The scandals of the streets which were once the breath of life to her and which she repeated with such relish, began to lose their charm, and she developed a taste for fairy tales. "Tell me the story about the fairy G.o.dmother," she would say to Sahwah, and would listen attentively to the end. "Are you sure I've got one somewhere?" she would ask eagerly.

"You surely have," Sahwah would answer, to satisfy her.

And then, "What _are_ we going to do with Ophelia when the summer is over?" Sahwah would ask the girls after Ophelia was in bed. And Hinpoha would think of Aunt Phbe and knew she would never adopt such a child as Ophelia was; and Migwan knew that it would be out of the question in her family; and Sahwah knew that her mother would not let her come and live with them; and Gladys thought of her delicate mother and sighed. Nyoda could not make a home for her, because she had none of her own and a boarding house was no place for a child.

"It's a shame," Sahwah would declare vehemently, "that there aren't fathers and mothers enough in this world to go round. Here's Ophelia will have to go into an inst.i.tution more than likely, and grow up without any especial interest being taken in her, while we have had so much done for us. It isn't fair."

"There's something curious about Ophelia," said Gladys, musingly. "While she came from the tenements and is as wild and untrained as any little street gamin, she has the appearance of a child of a much higher cla.s.s.

Have you ever noticed how small and perfect her hands and feet are? And what beautiful almond shaped fingernails she has? And what delicate features? Have you seen how erectly she carries herself, and how graceful she is when she dances? In spite of her name, I don't believe she is Irish; and I don't think her people could have been low cla.s.s.

There's an indefinable something about her which spells quality."

"Probably a princess in disguise," said Sahwah, in a tone of amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Leave it to Gladys to scent 'quality.'"

But the others had noticed the same characteristics in Ophelia and were inclined to agree with Gladys on the subject.

"But what about the strange spot of light hair on her head?" asked Sahwah. "Would you call that a mark of quality?" But to this there was no answer. They had never seen or heard of anything like it before. Thus the summer days slipped by and Onoway House continued to shelter two homeless orphans, neither of whom knew what the future held in store for them.

One afternoon when the girls had planned to go for a long walk to the woods Gladys read in the paper that a balloonist was to make an ascension over the lake. For some unaccountable reason she took a fancy that she would like to see the performance. "Oh, Gladys," said Sahwah, impatiently, "you've seen balloonists before and you'll see plenty yet; come with us this afternoon." But Gladys held out, even while she wondered to herself why she was so eager to see this not uncommon sight.

Half offended at her, the other girls departed in the direction of the woods. Gladys climbed high up in the Balm of Gilead tree, from which she could look over the country for miles around and easily see the lake and the distant amus.e.m.e.nt park from which the balloonist was to ascend.

The newspaper said three o'clock, but evidently the performance was delayed, for although Gladys was on the lookout since before that time nothing seemed to be happening. To aid her in seeing she took Nakwisi's spy gla.s.s up into the tree with her, and while she was waiting for the parachute spectacle she amused herself by focusing the gla.s.s on far away objects on the land and bringing them right before her eyes, as it seemed. She could look right into the back door of a distant farm house and see children playing in the doorway and chickens walking up and down the steps; she could see the men working in the fields; she could see the yachts out on the lake and the smoky trail of a freight steamer.

Somewhere in the middle of her range of vision were the gleaming rails of the car tracks. She looked at them idly; they were like long streaks of light in the sun. She saw two men, evidently tramps, come out of the bushes along the road and bend over the rails. Somewhere along that stretch of track there was a derailing switch and it seemed to Gladys that it was at this point where the men were. Gladys looked at the pair, suspiciously, for a second and then decided they were track testers. One had an iron bar in his hand and he seemed to be turning the switch.

Suddenly the other man pointed up the road and then the two jumped quickly backward into the bushes. Gladys looked in the direction the man had pointed. Far off down the track she could see the red body of the "Limited" approaching at a tremendous rate. The stretch of country past the Centerville Road was flat and even; the track was perfect and there was no traffic to block the way, and the cars made great speed along here. Something told Gladys that the men had had no business at the switch; that they meant to derail and wreck the Limited. Gladys had learned to think and act quickly since she had become a Camp Fire Girl, and scarcely had the idea entered her head that the Limited was in danger, than she conceived the plan of heading it off. Before the car reached the switch it must pa.s.s the Centerville Road. Being the Limited, it did not stop there. So Gladys planned to run the automobile down the Centerville Road and flag the car. She flung herself from the tree in haste, got the machine out of the barn and started down the road with wide-open throttle.

Trees and fences whirled dizzily by, obscured in the cloud of dust she was raising. Across the stillness of the fields she could hear the Limited pounding down the track. A hundred yards from the end of the road the automobile engine snorted, choked and went dead. Without waiting to investigate the trouble, Gladys jumped out and proceeded on foot. Could she make it? She could see the red monster through the trees, rushing along to certain destruction. With an inward prayer for the speed of Antelope Boy, the Indian runner, she darted forward like an arrow from the bow. Breathless and spent she came out on the car track just a moment ahead of the thundering car, and waved the scarlet Winnebago banner, which she had s.n.a.t.c.hed from the wall on the way out.

With a quick jamming of the emergency brakes that shook the car from end to end it came to a standstill just beyond the Centerville Road, and only fifty feet from the switch.

"What's the matter?" asked the motorman, coming out.

"Look at the switch!" panted Gladys, sinking down beside the road, unable to say more.

The motorman looked at the switch. "My G.o.d," he said, mopping his forehead, "if we'd ever run into that thing going at such a rate there wouldn't have been anyone left to tell the tale."

The pa.s.sengers were pouring from the car, eager to find out the reason for the sudden stoppage. "What's the matter?" was heard on every side.

"You've got that girl to thank," said the motorman, moving back toward his vestibule, "that you're not lying in a heap of kindling wood."

Gladys, much abashed and still hardly able to breathe, laid her head on her knee and sobbed from sheer nervousness and relief.

"Gladys!" suddenly said a voice above the murmurings of the throng of pa.s.sengers.

Gladys raised her head. "Papa!" she cried, staggering to her feet. "Were you on that car?"

Another figure detached itself from the crowd and hastened forward.

"Mother!" cried Gladys. "Oh, if I hadn't been able to stop it-" and at the horror of the idea her strength deserted her and she slipped quietly to the ground at her parents' feet.

When she came to the car had gone on and she was lying in the gra.s.s by the roadside with her head in her mother's lap. "Cheer up, you're all right," said her mother a little unsteadily, smiling down at her. Gladys now became aware of two other figures that were standing in the road.

"Aunt Beatrice!" she cried. "And Uncle Lynn! What are you doing here?"

"We all came out to surprise you," said her father. "We got back from the West last night; sooner than we expected, and decided we would run out without any warning and see what kind of farmers you were. The automobile is being overhauled so we came on the interurban. We didn't know it didn't stop at your road."

Then, Gladys suddenly remembered her own disabled car standing in the road, and they all moved toward it. With a little tinkering it condescended to run and they were soon at Onoway House, telling the exciting tale to Mrs. Gardiner, who held up her hands in horror at the thought of the fate which the newcomers had so narrowly escaped. Aunt Beatrice, not being strong, was much agitated, and developed a palpitation of the heart, and had to lie in the hammock on the porch and be doctored, so Gladys had her hands full until the girls came back.

They were much surprised at the houseful of company and very glad to see Mr. and Mrs. Evans, who were very good friends of the Winnebagos indeed.

They looked with interest when Aunt Beatrice was introduced, for they all remembered the tragic story Gladys had told them about the loss of her baby in the hotel fire. Aunt Beatrice felt well enough to get up then and acknowledge the introductions with a sweet but infinitely sad smile that went straight to their hearts, and brought tears to the eyes of the soft-hearted Hinpoha.

Ophelia came in last, having loitered on the lawn to play with Pointer and Mr. Bob. She had taken off her hat and was swinging it around in her hand when she came up on the porch. "And this is the little sister of the Winnebagos," said Nyoda, drawing her forward. Aunt Beatrice looked down at the dust-streaked little face, with her sad smile, but her eyes rested there only an instant. She was gazing as if fascinated at the strange ring of light hair on her head. She became very pale and her eyes widened until they seemed to be the biggest part of her face.

"Lynn!" she gasped in a choking voice, "Lynn! Look!" and she sank on the floor unconscious. "It can't be! It can't be!" she kept saying faintly when they revived her. "Beatrice died in the fire. But Beatrice had that ring of light hair on her head! It can't be! But there never were two such birthmarks!"

What a hubbub arose when this startling possibility was uttered!

Ophelia, the lost Beatrice? Could it possibly be true? Uncle Lynn lost no time in finding out. Taking Ophelia with him he hunted up Old Grady.

She knew nothing more save that she had gotten her from an orphan asylum, which she named. At the asylum he learned what he wanted to know. The superintendent remembered about Ophelia on account of the strange ring of light hair. The child had been brought to the inst.i.tution when she was about a year old. There was a babies'

dispensary in connection with the place, and into this a weak, haggard girl of about eighteen had staggered one day carrying a baby. The baby was sick and she begged them to make it well. While she sat waiting for the nurse to look at the baby the girl collapsed. She died in a charity hospital a few days later. On her death-bed she confessed that she had run away from a large hotel with the baby which had been left in her care, intending to hide it and get money from the parents for its recovery. But she feared this would lead her into trouble and left town with the child and never troubled the parents as she had intended, and kept the baby with her until it fell sick, when she had become frightened and sought the dispensary. She apparently never knew that the hotel had burned and covered up the traces of her flight. The baby was kept at the orphan asylum and named Ophelia. Her last name had never been known. Thence Old Grady had adopted her, but her right could be taken away from her as it was clear that she was no fit person to have the child.

"It's just like a fairy tale!" said Hinpoha, when it was established beyond a doubt that the abused street waif Gladys had brought home in the goodness of her heart was her own cousin.

"Didn't I tell you you'd find your fairy G.o.dmother if you only waited long enough?" said Sahwah. And Ophelia, from the depths of her mother's arms, nodded rapturously.

CHAPTER XIII.-A GAME OF HIDE-AND-SEEK.

"Oh, Gladys, do you have to go home, now that your mother and father are back?" asked Migwan, anxiously.

"Not unless you want to, Gladys," said Mrs. Evans. "If you would rather stay out here until school opens, you may. Father and I are going to Boston in a few days, you know."