Part 21 (1/2)

The sorry-looking object proved to be the Tike, who between sobs and s.h.i.+very 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 wis.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+vered 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.