Part 4 (1/2)

”What a pretty idea,” responded Nathalie, ”and bluebird, the name of your group!” thinking of the nest of bluebirds she had found down in the old cedar.

Helen nodded with pleasure and then said, ”This is Miss Kitty Corwin; we call her our pot-boiler-that means that Kitty always manages to keep the pot boiling not only by holding up her end of the line, but all the other ends, too, when the derelict Girl Pioneers forget to do so.”

”And you might say she always carries all the pots and pans, too, when there's a hike,” interposed the newcomer, with a nervous laugh. She was an awkward-looking girl about fourteen, all arms and elbows, but with a rather winsome face lighted by big, serious eyes. There was such nervous activity about her grip as she yanked Nathalie's hand like a pump-handle that that young lady had no doubts as to her surplus energy. As Kitty tried to make her escape there was a suppressed howl, and then a twitter, for alas, she had backed into one of her companions with such force that the victim almost lost her balance.

The girls, each one smiling, but with a palpitating heart as if doubtful what Helen would say when her turn came, all looked up expectantly as a tall girl, somewhat older than the others, but with a certain dash about her that added to her charm, came forward. She moved with willowy grace and had an ease of manner that accentuated the Pot-Boiler's embarra.s.sed movements.

”Miss Page, allow me to introduce you to Miss Lillie Bell.” There was a certain emphasis in Helen's tone as she presented this pretty, attractive girl, that indicated her pride in one of the most popular girls belonging to the group.

Miss Bell smiled in a self-a.s.sured manner as Helen introduced her, and then greeted Nathalie with sweet graciousness as she waited expectantly for her characterization to be given.

”Lillie is our story-teller,” continued Helen with a gleam of mischief in her eyes, ”a would-be thriller, for we all s.h.i.+ver with the creeps when she begins her yellow-journal romances. Her specialty is ghost tales, the kind that, as we sit in the dark around our cheer fire, its glare (blood-red, please note), casting weird shadows over our pallid faces-” Helen intoned in tragic burlesque, and then stopped with a laugh.

Lillie Bell, however, did not appear at all annoyed at this banter, but returned coolly, ”I hope Miss Page, you will not believe all Helen says, for she dotes on teasing, but we get even with her when the chance comes.” From a certain gleam in the smiling gray eyes Nathalie did not doubt her, but as her voice was musical, and her manner impressive, bordering on the dramatic, she wished she could hear one of her thrillers.

”Observe,” tantalized the spokesman as Lillie disappeared and her place was taken by a young girl who looked as if she was all blood and muscle, with ruddy cheeks, alert eyes, and the poise and bearing of one who was a frequenter of the gym.

As Helen said, ”This is Miss Edith Whiton,” she made an old-time curtsy, ”generally dubbed the Sport, as she is the champion knee-doubler, arm-stretcher, toe-raiser, and all the rest of the ball-and-socket team.”

With attempted nonchalance Edith twisted her shoulders and flashed Helen a quick glance as much as to say, ”Wait, my turn is coming later!” She then stepped forward and shook Nathalie's hand, smiling pleasantly down at her with frank friendliness.

As she made her way back to her seat, a pale, studious-looking young girl with a head that looked almost top-heavy with its black braids, and who wore gla.s.ses, presented herself before Nathalie. She smiled nervously as Helen began, ”Oh, this owl-like individual is Barbara Worth; she is very learned-she knows it all.”

”Oh, Helen!” came in pained expostulation from the girl, as her eyes turned distressfully upon her hostess in shamed embarra.s.sment.

”Oh, Barbara, don't mind,” spoke up Lillie Bell kindly, ”Helen is only in fun.”

Barbara looked somewhat relieved at this brace to her injured feelings, and then stood nervously clasping and unclasping her hands together.

”Yes,” went on Helen relentlessly, ”we call her the Encyclopedia for short. Wait until you want to know something in a hurry, she will help you out, for she has the best heart in the world.” With a little ripple of laughter Helen leaned forward and looking up at Barbara cried, ”There, did I say anything so dreadful?”

Barbara smiled gratefully and then said quietly, ”Yes, Miss Page, I have a fine library, it is grandfather's, and I shall-” she drew a deep breath-”always be glad to live up to my name.”

There was loud clapping at this brave remark and then she was gone, but in her place stood a little la.s.s who smiled bewitchingly at the girl in the chair, showing a coy little dimple in one cheek, and then with a slight frown waited for her executioner to behead her.

”This little damsel is Louise Gaynor,” introduced Helen; ”she is the Flower of the family-spelt both ways. We call her flower, because she resembles one,” Louise bowed prettily with a surprised glance, ”and then because she is an expert manipulator of the flour bag; she makes most edible flapjacks when we go on a hike. It is needless to say that we always have indigestion afterwards.” There was a laugh at this, and then as the Flower disappeared, Helen drew to her side a diminutive girl who wore her flaxen hair in two large braids down her back. With her broad, good-natured face and cornflower blue eyes she was a miniature Gretchen.

”This is Carol Tyke-we spell it T-i-k-e, because she is a tike and the f.a.g of the group as well.” The little girl, who was about eleven, but small for her age, grinned at Nathalie and ducked her head. ”She is a Junior Pioneer, not yet twelve. But we have her in training and she is taking tests daily, which doesn't give her much leisure time, does it, Tike?”

At last, much to Nathalie's relief, the introductions were over, and then she listened intently as the girls began to tell her of a hike they had taken the week before, when one of their number had found a hundred different leaf specimens.

”Yes, it was a leaf hike,” said Grace. ”We all have our own note-books; and make impressions from the leaves; that is, we print them in our books, and then write the date of the hike, the name of the leaf, and any other data we have gathered.”

”I should think it would be very interesting,” remarked her listener, as she thought of the outings she and her schoolmates used to take on Sat.u.r.day mornings when they visited Bronx Park, and studied ”cooped-up nature” as one of the girls used to call it, when they eyed some fierce monarch of the forest in his iron cage, or exclaimed over the beauties of some hot-house flower.

”We are going to have a wild-flower hike soon,” volunteered the Tike, smiling at Nathalie in a most friendly manner. ”The Sport says there are a lot of beautiful flowers in the woods near Edgemere, didn't you, Sport?”

”But I wish you would tell me something about your tests-is that what you call them?” Nathalie asked. ”I should think they would be no end of fun if they mean making one do stunts, or anything in the hazing line?”

”Oh, we do not haze, or anything of that sort, for that would not be kind, and kindness is one of the laws of the Girl Pioneer,” explained Grace. ”By tests we mean trying to see what a girl can do that is useful, and if she can't do it, we teach her. We have to sew, cook, and know all the emergency things.”