Part 17 (1/2)
”I know who that is,” said Gladys, when Migwan paused. ”Mig is forever raving about Charlotte Bronte.”
”The more I think about her the more wonderful she seems,” said Migwan warmly. ”How a girl brought up in such a dead, cheerless place as Haworth Churchyard, and knowing nothing at all about the world of people, could have written such a book as _Jane Eyre_, seems a miracle.
She was a genius,” she finished with an envious sigh.
Miss Amesbury looked keenly at Migwan. ”I think,” she observed shrewdly, ”that you like to write also. Is it not so?”
Migwan blushed furiously and sat silent. To have this successful, widely known writer know her heart's ambition filled her with an agony of embarra.s.sment.
”Migwan does write, wonderful things,” said Hinpoha loyally. ”She's had things printed in papers and in the college magazine.” Then she told about the Indian legend that had caused such a stir in college, whereupon Miss Amesbury laughed heartily, and patted Migwan on the head, and said she would very much like to see some of the things she had written. Migwan, thrilled and happy, but still very much embarra.s.sed, shyly promised that she would let her see some of her work, and in the middle of her speech a potato blew up with a bang, showering them all with mealy fragments and hot ashes, and sending them flying away from the fire with startled shrieks.
Since the potatoes were so very evidently done, the rest of the meal was hurriedly prepared, and eaten with keen appet.i.tes. During the clearing away process somebody discovered that the rain had stopped falling, a fact which they had all been too busy to notice before, and that the mist was being rapidly blown away by a strong northwest wind. When they woke in the morning, after sleeping in the cave around the fire, the sun was s.h.i.+ning brightly into the entrance and the birds outside were singing joyously of a fair day to come.
Overflowing with energy the late cave dwellers raced through the sweet smelling woods, indescribably fresh and fragrant after the cleansing, purifying rain, and launched the canoes upon a river Sparkling like a sheet of diamonds in the clear morning sunlight. How wonderfully new and bright the rain-washed earth looked everywhere, and how exhilarating the fresh rus.h.i.+ng wind was to their senses, after the smoky, misty atmosphere of the cave!
Exulting in their strength the Winnebagos bent low over their paddles, and the canoes leaped forward like hounds set free from the leash, and went racing along with the current, shooting past islands, whirling around bends, whisking through tiny rapids, wildly, deliriously, rejoicing in the thrill of the morning and the call of a world running over with joy. Soon they came to the place where they had first planned to camp, and there were the primroses, a-riot with bloom, nodding them a friendly greeting.
”Aren't you glad we didn't stay here?” said Sahwah. ”We'd have been soaked if we did, because we probably wouldn't have found the cave. The primroses saved the day for us by growing where we wanted to lay our beds.”
They sang a cheer to the primroses and swept on until they came to the place in the woods where the balsam grew. Dusk was falling when, with canoes piled high with the fragrant boughs, they rounded the great bend above Keewaydin and a few minutes later ran in alongside the Camp Keewaydin dock.
”I feel as though I had been gone for weeks,” said Migwan, as they climbed out of the canoes.
”So do I,” said Sahwah, dancing up and down on the dock to take the stiffness out of her muscles. ”Doesn't it look civilized, though, after what we've just experienced? I wish,” she continued longingly, ”that I could live in the wilds all the time.”
”I don't,” replied Migwan, patting the diving tower as if it were an old friend. ”Camp is plenty wild enough for me.”
CHAPTER X
TOPSY-TURVY DAY
”Why, where _is_ camp?” asked Sahwah in perplexity, noticing that the whole place was dark and still. It was half past six, the usual after-supper frolic hour, when camp was wont to ring to the echo with fun and merriment of all kinds. Now no sound came from Mateka, nor from the bungalow, nor from any of the tents, no sound and no movement.
Before their astonished eyes the camp lay like an enchanted city, changed in their absence from a place of racket and bustle and resounding laughter, to a silent ghost of its former lively self.
”What's happened?” exclaimed the Winnebagos to each other. ”Is everybody gone on a trip?”
Mystified, they climbed up the hill, and at the top they found Miss Judy going from tent to tent with her flashlight, as if making the nightly rounds after lights out.
”O Miss Judy,” they called to her, ”what's happened?”
”Shh-h-h!” replied Miss Judy, holding up her hand for silence and coming toward them. ”Everybody's in bed,” she whispered when she was near enough for them to hear her.”
”In bed!” exclaimed the Winnebagos in astonishment. ”At half past six in the evening? What for?”
”It's Topsy-Turvy Day,” replied Miss Judy, laughing at their amazed faces. ”We're turning everything upside down tonight. Hurry and get into bed. The rising bugle will blow in half an hour.”
Giggling with amus.e.m.e.nt the Winnebagos sped to their tents, unrolled their ponchos, made up their beds in a hurry, undressed quickly and popped into bed. Not long afterward they heard the dipping of paddles and the monotonous ”one, two, one two,” of the boatswain as the crew of the Turtle started out for practice. The Turtle's regular practice hour was the half hour before rising bugle in the morning.
Tired with her long paddle that day Hinpoha fell asleep as soon as she touched the pillow, and was much startled to hear the loud blast of a bugle in the midst of a delightful dream. ”What's the matter?” she asked sleepily, sitting up and looking around her in bewilderment. ”What are they blowing the bugle in the middle of the night for?”