The on the Farm Part 1 (1/2)
Camp Fire Girls on the Farm.
by Jane L. Stewart.
CHAPTER I.
IN THE CITY.
”I never dreamed of such a lovely room, Zara, did you?”
Bessie King, her eyes open with admiration and wonder, asked her chum the question in a room in the home of Eleanor Mercer, Guardian of the Manasquan Camp Fire, of the Camp Fire Girls. Both the girls were new members of the organization, and Bessie, who had lived all her life in the country, and had known nothing of the luxuries and comforts that girls in the city, or the luckier ones of them, at least, take almost as a matter of course, had found something new to astonish her in almost every hour since they had come to the city.
”I've dreamed of it--yes,” said Zara. ”You see I've been in the city before, Bessie; and I've seen houses like this, and I've guessed that the rooms inside must be something like this, though I never lived in one. It's beautiful.”
”I almost wish we were going to stay here, Zara. But I suppose it will be nice when we go to the farm.”
Eleanor Mercer, who had been standing for a moment in the doorway, came in then, laughing merrily. She had overheard the remark, and Bessie was greatly distressed when she discovered it.
”Oh, Miss Eleanor!” she exclaimed. ”Please, please don't think I'm ungrateful. I want to do whatever you think is right--”
”I know that, Bessie, and I know just what you were thinking, too. Well, you're going to have a surprise--I can promise you that. This farm isn't a bit like the farm you know about. I guess you know too much about one sort of farm to want ever to see another, don't you?”
”Maybe there are different sorts of farms,” admitted Bessie. ”I don't like Paw Hoover's kind.”
Eleanor laughed again. She was a fresh, bright-cheeked girl, not so many years older than Bessie herself. One might guess, indeed, that she, as Guardian of her Camp Fire, didn't much more than manage to fulfill the requirement that Guardians, like Scoutmasters among the Boy Scouts, must be over twenty-one years of age.
”Indeed there are different sorts of farms from that one, Bessie,” she said. ”You'll see a farm where everything is done the way it should be, and, while I think Paw Hoover's a mighty nice man, I've got an idea that on his farm everything is done just about opposite to the proper fas.h.i.+on.”
”When are we going, Miss Eleanor?”
Zara asked that question. In the last few days a hunted look had left Zara's eyes, for with relief from certain worries she had begun to be happier, and she was always asking questions now.
”I don't know exactly, Zara, but not right away. We want all the girls to go out together. We're going to have our next Council Fire at the farm. And some of them can't get away just now. But it will be fairly soon, I can promise you that. You like the country, don't you, Zara?”
”Indeed I do, Miss Eleanor! Until they took my father away I was ever so happy there.”
”And just think, you're going to see him tomorrow, Zara! He's well, and as soon as he heard that you were here and safe, he stopped worrying. That was his chief trouble--he seemed to think more about what would happen to you than that he was in trouble himself.”
”I knew he'd be thinking about me,” said Zara, ”He always did, even when he had most to bother him.”
”I was sure he was a good father, Zara, when I heard you talk about him--and I've been surer of it than ever since I've had a chance to find out about him. My cousin, who's a lawyer, you know, is going to see that he is properly treated, and be says that Mr. Weeks, who tried so hard to make you stay behind and work for him, is at the bottom of all the trouble.”
Zara shuddered at the name.
”How I hate that Farmer Weeks!” she exclaimed.
Eleanor Mercer sighed and shook her head. She couldn't blame Zara for hating the man, and yet, as she well knew, the spirit in the little foreign girl that cherished hatred and ideas of revenge was bad--bad for her. But how to eradicate it, and to make Zara feel more charitable, was something that puzzled the Guardian mightily, was, as she foresaw, likely to puzzle her still more. She left the two girls together, then, to answer a call from outside the room.
”I don't exactly like Farmer Weeks myself,” said Bessie, thoughtfully, when they were alone. ”But what's the use of hating him, Zara?”
”Why, Bessie! He made us run away from Hedgeville--he made me anyhow. And if he'd had his way, he'd have taken me back, and had me bound over to work for him just for board until I was twenty-one, if I hadn't starved to death first. You know what a miser he is.”
”Yes, that's true enough, Zara. But, after all, if it hadn't happened that way, we'd never have met Miss Eleanor and the Camp Fire Girls, would we? And you're not sorry for that, are you?”
Zara's face, which had grown hard, softened.
”No, indeed, Bessie! They're the nicest people I ever did know, except you. But, even after we were with them, and had started to come to the city with them, he caught me, and if it hadn't been for you following us and guessing where he'd put me, I'd be with him now.”
”Well, you're not, Zara. And you want to try to think of the good things that happen. Then you won't have time to remember all the bad things, and they won't bother you any more than if they'd never happened at all. Don't you see!”
”Well, I'll try, Bessie. I guess they can't hurt us here, anyhow, or on the farm. I think we're going to have lots of fun on the farm.”
”I hope so, Zara. But I've often read about how jolly farms are--in books. In the books, you don't have to get up at four o'clock on the cold winter mornings to do ch.o.r.es, and you don't have to work all the time, the way I had to do for Maw Hoover.”
”I guess that was just because it was Maw Hoover, Bessie, and not because it was on a farm. She'd have been mean to you, and made you work all the time, just the same, if it had been a farm or wherever it was. I think it's people that make you happy or unhappy, not other things.”
”I guess that's about right, Zara. I'm awfully glad you're going to see your father in the morning. I bet he'll be glad to see you.”
”Bessie! Zara!” Miss Eleanor was calling from downstairs, and they ran to answer the call.
”Come into the parlor,” she said, as she heard them approaching.
They obeyed, and found her talking to a tall, good looking young man, who smiled cheerfully at them.
”This is my cousin, Charlie Jamieson, the lawyer, girls,” said Miss Eleanor. ”I've told him all about you, of course, and now he wants to talk to you.”
”I'm going to be your lawyer, you know,” Charlie Jamieson explained. ”Girls like you don't have much use for a lawyer, as a rule, but I guess you need one about as badly as anyone I can think of. So I'm going to take the job, unless you know someone better.”
”No, indeed,” they chorused in answer, and both laughed when they saw that he was joking.
”I wish about a thousand other people were as anxious as that to be my clients. Then maybe I'd make enough money to pay my office rent.”
”Don't you believe him, girls,” said Eleanor, laughing, too. ”He's one of the smartest young lawyers in this town, and he's busy most of the time, too. He always is, lately, when I want him to come to one of my parties or anything like that.”
”Well, let's be serious for a while,” said Jamieson. ”I'm going to try to help your father out of his trouble, Zara, and I'm finding it pretty hard, because he doesn't want to trust me, or tell me much of anything. Perhaps you'll be able to do better.”
Zara looked grave.
”I don't know much,” she said. ”But I do know this. My father used to trust people, but they've treated him so badly that he's afraid to do it any more. Like Farmer Weeks--I think' he trusted him.”
”That's more than I'd do,” said the lawyer, with a grin, ”From all I've heard of him I wouldn't trust him around the corner with a counterfeit nickel--if I wanted it back. And--well, that sort of helps to get us started, doesn't it? You know why your father's in trouble? It's because they say he's been making bad money at that little house where you lived in Hedgeville.”
”He didn't!” said Zara. ”I know he didn't!”
”Well, the district attorney--he's the one who has to be against your father, you know--says that everyone in Hedgeville seems to think he did. And he says that where there's so much smoke there must be some fire; that if so many people think your father was crooked, they must be right. I told him that was unfair, but he just laughed at me.”