The Camp Fire Girls on the Open Road Part 13

KATHERINE TO THE WINNEBAGOS

April 8, 19--.

Dearest Winnies:

Daggers and dirks! Did I say it was dull out here? Deluded mortal! For the past week it's been so strenuous that I have seriously considered moving to Bedlam for a rest. If I'm not gray by the time I'm thirty it'll be because I'm bald.

As Mistress of Ceremonies your humble servant is a rather watery success.

You know from sad experience my fatal fondness for trying new and startling experiments and also my genius for leaving the most important things undone. Remember the time I was Lemonade Committee when we climbed Windy Hill and I carefully provided water and sugar and spoons and gla.s.ses, and no lemons? And the time I hid the unwashed dishes in the oven at Aunt Anna's and then went home with Gladys and forgot all about them, and Aunt Anna nearly had spasms because she thought her silverware had been stolen? And the time we went to Ellen's Isle and I mislaid the vital portion of my traveling suit half an hour before the train started and had to go in a borrowed suit that didn't fit? Every time little Katherine was given something to do she either forgot to do it altogether, or else did it in such a way as to make herself ridiculous.

The memory of all those things rose up and oppressed me after I had undertaken to stage a Patriotic Pageant for the township of Spencer. I was so afraid I would do something that would turn it into a farce that I began to have nightmares the minute I sank to weary slumber. It was a daring idea, this patriotic pageant. Since history began there had never been a pageant, patriotic or otherwise, in this section. Most of the folks had never seen a circus, or a show, or a parade; so there was n.o.body to give me any help except Justice. I myself would never have thought of tackling it, but no sooner had my Camp Fire Girls gotten absorbed in Red Cross work, and been thrilled by reading accounts of what Camp Fire Girls were doing in other sections, than they begged me to get up a pageant. I had my misgivings, but, being a Winnebago, I couldn't back out. A pageant it should be, if it cost my head. (It pretty nearly did, but not in the way I had feared.)

Justice Sherman hailed the plan with delight.

"Go to it," he encouraged. "I'm with you to the bitter end. I've never done it before but I'll never begin any younger.

"'There is a tide in the affairs of schoolma'ams, That, taken at the flood, leads on to Pageants.'

"Lead on MacDuff! Trot out the order of events."

At Justice's suggestion I summed up all the possibilities.

"There isn't much to work with," I said thoughtfully, having counted up all my a.s.sets on the fingers of one hand. "Just ten Camp Fire Girls, about as many boys, one trick mule, and--you."

"So glad I know, right at the outset, just where I come in," said Justice politely, "after the mule."

"Sandhelo's got his red, white and blue pompom that the girls sent him for Christmas," I went on, ignoring Justice's gibe. "We could make red, white and blue harness for him, too."

"If only he doesn't get temperamental!" said Justice fervently.

"The girls could wear their Red Cross caps and ap.r.o.ns in one part of it,"

I continued, "and flags draped on them when they act out 'The Spirit of Columbia.' One of the girls can wear her Ceremonial gown and be the Spirit of Nature that comes to tell the others the secret of the soil that will help them win the war. Oh, ideas are coming to me faster than flies to mola.s.ses."

"Would you advise me to wear my Ceremonial gown or my Red Cross ap.r.o.n and cap?" asked Justice soberly. "I could braid my hair in two pig-tails--"

"Oh, Justice!" I interrupted, "if you only had a soldier's uniform!"

Then, as I saw Justice wince and the laughter die out of his eyes, I stopped abruptly and changed the subject. It was an awfully sore point with him that he had been rejected for the army.

"We'll have a flag raising, of course, and tableaux," I rushed on. "Would you put the flag on the schoolhouse, or set up a pole in the ground?"

"I think on the schoolhouse," said Justice, with a return of interest.

"That's where it belongs."

Justice and I held more conferences in the next day or so than the King and his Prime Minister. Lessons in the little schoolhouse were abandoned while we drilled and rehea.r.s.ed for the pageant. Justice and I put together and bought the flag.

"Who's going to raise it?" asked Justice, shaking the beautiful bright starry folds out of the package.

I considered.

"I think the pupil that has the best record in school should raise it,"

suggested Justice.

"I think," I said slowly, "I'll let Absalom b.u.t.ts raise it."

"Absalom b.u.t.ts!" exclaimed Justice incredulously. "The laziest, meanest, most mischievous boy in school! I wouldn't let him be in the pageant, if I had my way, let alone raise the flag."

"Exactly," I said calmly. "You're just like the rest of them. That's the whole trouble with Absalom b.u.t.ts. He's been used to harsh measures all his life. His father has cuffed him about ever since he can remember.

Everybody considers him a bad boy and a terror to snakes and all that and now he acts the part thoroughly. He's so homely that n.o.body will ever be attracted to him by his looks, and such a poor scholar that he will never make a name for himself at his lessons, and the only way he can make himself prominent is through his pranks. He's too old to be in school with the rest of the children; he should be with boys of his own age. His father makes him stay there because he is too obstinate to admit that he will never get out by the graduation route, and Absalom takes out his spite on the teacher. I can read him like a book. I've tried fighting him to a finish on every point and it hasn't worked. He's still ready to break out at a moment's notice. Now I'm going to change my tactics. I'm going to appoint him, as the oldest pupil, to be my special aid in the pageant, and help work out the details. I'm going to honor him by letting him raise the flag. We'll see how that will change his mind about playing pranks to spoil the pageant."

"It won't work," said Justice gloomily. "Absalom b.u.t.ts is Absalom b.u.t.ts, the son of Elijah b.u.t.ts; and a chip off the old block. The old man has a mean, crafty disposition, and he probably was just like Absalom when he was young. Absalom is going to do something to spoil that pageant, I see it in his eye. You watch."

"It's worth trying, anyhow," I said determinedly.

"It won't work," reiterated Justice. "You can't change human nature."

"It worked once," I said, and I told him about the Dalrymple twins, Antha and Anthony, last summer on Ellen's Isle.

"So you turned little Cry-baby into a lion of bravery and Sir Boastful into a modest violet!" said Justice, in a tone of incredulity.

"Yes, and if you'd ever seen them at the beginning of the summer you wouldn't have held any high hopes of changing human nature, either," I remarked, a little nettled at Justice's tone.

Justice started to reply, but was seized with a violent fit of coughing that left him leaning weakly against the door. I looked at him in some alarm. I knew it was throat trouble that had kept him out of the army, but it hadn't seemed to be anything to worry about--just a dry, hacking cough from time to time. Now, standing out there in the brilliant sunshine, he looked very white and haggard.

"You're all tired out, you've been working too hard," I said, remembering how he had been putting in time after school hours working in Elijah b.u.t.ts' cotton storehouse, because it was impossible to get enough men to handle the cotton. Then, by drilling my boys and girls by the hour in military marching and running countless errands for me--poor Justice was in danger of being sacrificed on the altar of my ambition.

"I'm a selfish thing!" I said vehemently.

"Nonsense!" said Justice, holding up his head and beginning to fold up the flag. "I got choked with dust, that's all." Manlike, he hated to display any sign of physical weakness before a girl. I decided to say no more about it, but I knew he needed rest.

"Sit down a minute," I said artfully, sinking down on the doorsill, "and keep me 'mused. I'm tired to death. Tell me all the news in the Metropolis of Spencer."

Justice fell into the trap. He sat down beside me and launched into a lively imitation of Elijah b.u.t.ts convincing the school board that the old school books were better than the new ones some venturous soul had suggested.

"If he only knew how you took him off behind his back, he wouldn't confide in you so trustingly," said I.

"That's what comes of being a bargain," replied Justice loftily. "Great ones linger in my presence, anxious to breathe the same air. The Board coddles me like a rare bit of old china and proudly exhibits me to visitors.

"Oh, by the way," he added, "I hear there's a stranger in town."

I looked up with interest. "Fine or superfine?" I asked.

"Superfine," replied Justice.

"Where from?" I inquired.

"Like Sh.e.l.ley's immortal soul," replied Justice solemnly, "she cometh from afar. She cometh to study Rural School Conditions--sent out by some Commission or other. She's likely to visit your school. Thought I'd tell you ahead of time so you'd manage to be on the premises when the delegation arrived. She might object to hunting through the woods for you." Here we were both overcome with laughter at the remembrance of the last "visitation" of the school board.