Camp Fire Girls The in the Woods Part 3

"That must have been a volcano, Zara."

"Yes, that's what he used to call it."

"Why did you come over here?"

"Because my father was always afraid over there. There were some bad men who hated him, and he said that if he stayed there they would hurt him. And he heard that over here everyone was welcome, and one man was as good as another. But he wasn't, or they never seemed to think so, if he was."

Bessie looked very thoughtful.

"This is the finest country in the world, Zara," she said. "I've heard that, and I've read it in books, too. But I guess that things go wrong here sometimes. You see, it's this way. Just think of Jake Hoover."

"But I don't want to think about him! I want to forget him!"

"Well, Jake Hoover explains what I'm thinking about. He's an American, but that isn't the reason he was so mean to us. He'd be mean anywhere, no matter whether he was an American or what. He just can't help it. And I think he'll get over it, anyhow."

"There you go, Bessie! He's made all this trouble for you, and you're standing up for him already."

"No, I'm not. But what trouble has he made for me, Zara? I'm going to be happier than I ever was back there in Hedgeville -- and if it hadn't been for him I'd still be there, and I'd be chopping wood or something right now."

"But he didn't mean to make you happier, Bessie. He thought he could get you punished for something he'd done."

"Well, I wasn't, so why should I be angry at him, Zara? Even if he did mean to be nasty, he wasn't."

"But suppose he'd hurt you some way, without meaning to at all? Would you be angry at him then for hurting you, when he didn't mean to do it?"

"Of course not -- just because he didn't mean to."

"Well, then," said Zara, triumphantly, "you ought to be angry now, if it's what one means to do, and not what one does that counts. I would be."

Bessie laughed. For once Zara seemed to have trapped her and beaten her in an argument.

"But I don't like to be angry, and to feel revengeful," she said. "It hurts me more than it does the other person. When anything happens that isn't nice it only bothers you as long as you keep on thinking about it, Zara. Suppose someone threw a stone at you, and hit you?"

"It would hurt me -- and I'd want to throw it back."

"But then suppose the stone was thrown, and it didn't hit you, and you didn't even know it had been thrown, you wouldn't be angry then, would you?"

"Why, how could I be, Bessie, if I didn't know anything about it?"

"Well, don't you see how it worked out, Zara? If you refuse to notice the mean things people do when they don't succeed in hurting you, it's just as if you didn't know anything about it, isn't it? And if the stone was thrown, and you saw it, and knew who'd thrown it, you'd be angry -- but you could get over it by just making up your mind to forget it, and acting as if they'd never done it at all."

Zara didn't answer for a minute. She was thinking that over.

"I guess you're right, Bessie," she said, finally. "That is the best way to do. When I get angry I get all hot inside, and I feel dreadful. I'm going to try not to lose my temper any more."

"You'll be a lot happier if you do that," said Bessie. "Now, let's get back to the fire. I've got this water, and they must be waiting for it."

So Zara, happy again, and laughing now, helped Bessie with the pail of water, and they went back to the fire together. Everyone was busy, each with some appointed task. Two of the girls were spreading knives and forks, and laying out cups and dishes in a great circle near the water, since all the meals were eaten Indian fas.h.i.+on, sitting on the ground. Others, who had been fis.h.i.+ng, were displaying their catch, and cleaning the gleaming trout, soon to be cooked with crisp bacon, and to form the chief dish of the evening meal.

Wanaka smiled at them as the two girls appeared with the water.

"You're making a good start as Camp Fire Girls," she told them. "We all try to help. Later on, if you like, I'll give you a lesson in cooking."

Bessie smiled, but said nothing. And presently she called to Zara and disappeared with her in the woods.

"I want to give them a surprise, Zara" she said. "There's quite a long time yet before supper. And I saw an apple tree when I was walking through the woods. Let's go and get some of them."

Zara was quite willing, and in half an hour or less the two girls were back in camp with a good load of apples. Then Bessie spoke to Wanaka when the Guardian was alone for the moment.

"May I have some flour and sugar?" she said.

Wanaka looked at her curiously, but gave her what she wanted. And Bessie, finding a smooth white board, was soon busy rolling pastry. Then when she had made a great deep dish pie, and filled it with the apples, which Zara, meanwhile, had pared and cut, Bessie set to work on what was the most difficult part of her task. First she dug out a hole in the ground and made a fire, small, but very hot, and, in a short time, with the aid of two flat stones, she had constructed a practicable outdoor oven, in which the heat of the embers and cinders was retained by shutting out the air with earth. Then the pie was put in and covered at once, so that no heat could escape, and Bessie, saying nothing about what she had done, went back to help the others.

Obeying the unwritten rule of the Camp Fire, which allows the girls to work out their ideas unaided if they possibly can, so as to encourage self-reliance and independence, Wanaka did not ask her what she had done. But when the meal was over Bessie slipped away, while Wanaka was serving out some preserves, and returned in a moment, bearing her pie -- n.o.bly browned, with crisp, flaky crust.

"I've only made one pie like this before and I never used that sort of an oven," she said, shyly. "So I don't know if it's very good. But I thought I would try it."

Bessie, however, need not have worried about the quality of that pie. The rapidity with which it disappeared was the best possible evidence of its goodness, and Wanaka commended her before all the girls, who were willing enough to join the leader in singing Bessie's praises.

"My, but that was good!" said Minnehaha. "I wish I could make a pie like that! My pastry is always heavy. Will you show me how when we get home, Bessie?"

"Indeed I will!" promised Bessie.

And that night, after a spell of singing and story telling about the great fire on the beach, Bessie and Zara went to bed with thoughts very different from those they had had the night before.

"Aren't they good to us, Zara?" said Bessie.

"They're simply wonderful," said Zara, with s.h.i.+ning eyes. "And Wanaka talked to me about my father. She says she has a friend in the city who's a lawyer, and that as soon as we get back she'll speak to him, and get him to see that he is fairly treated. I feel ever so much better."

The voices of the girls all about them, laughing and singing as they made ready for the night, and the kindly words of Wanaka, made a great contrast to their loneliness of the night before. Then everything had seemed black and dismal. They hadn't known what they were going to do, or what was to happen to them; they had been hungry and tired, and with no prospect of breakfast when they got up. But now they had more friends, gained in one wonderful day, than they had made before in all their lives, and Wanaka had promised to see that in the future there should always be someone to guide them and see that no one abused them any more. No wonder that they looked on the bright camp fire, symbol of all the happiness that had come to them, with happy eyes. And they listened in delight as the girls gathered, just before they went to bed, and sang the good-night song: "Lay me to sleep in sheltering flame, Oh, Master of the Hidden Fire.

Wash pure my heart and cleanse for me My soul's desire.

In flame or sunrise bathe my mind, Oh, Master of the Hidden Fire, That when I wake, clear-eyed may be My soul's desire."

And so, with the flames' light flickering before them, Bessie and Zara went to sleep sure of happiness and companions.h.i.+p when they awoke in the morning, with the first rays of the rising sun s.h.i.+ning into the tents.

But Bessie was to awake before that. She lay near the door of one of the tents, which she shared with Zara, Minnehaha, and two other girls, and she awoke suddenly, coming at once to full consciousness, as anyone who had been brought up with Maw Hoover to wake her every morning was pretty certain to do at any unusual sound. For a moment, so deep was the silence, she thought that she had been deceived. In the distance an owl called; much nearer, there was an answer. A light wind rustled in the trees, stirring the leaves gently as it moved. Looking out, she saw that a faint, silvery sheen still bathed the ground outside, showing that the moon, which had risen late, was not yet set.

And then the sound that had awakened her came again -- a curious, hoa.r.s.e call, given in imitation of a whip-poor-will, but badly done. No bird had uttered that cry, and Bessie, country bred, listening intently, knew it. Silently she rose and slipped on moccasins that belonged to Minnehaha, and a dress. And then, making no more noise than a cat would have done, she crept to the opening in the front of the tent and peeped out. For Bessie had recognized the author of that imitation of the bird's call, and she knew that there was mischief afoot.

Still intent on keeping the alarm she felt from the others, until she knew whether there was a real cause for it, Bessie slipped out of the tent and into the shadow of the trees. The camp fire still burned, flickering in the darkness, and making great, weird shadows, as the light fell upon the trees. It had been built up and banked before the camp went to sleep, and in the morning it would still be burning, although faintly, ready for the first careful attentions of the appointed Wood-Gatherers, whose duty it was to see that the fire did not die.

Bessie, fearing that she might be spied upon, had to keep in the darkness, and she twisted and turned from the trunk of one tree to the next, bending over close to the ground when she had to cross an open s.p.a.ce where firelight or moonbeams might reveal her to watching eyes.

And now and again, crudely given, as crudely answered, from further down the lake, the call of the mock whip-poor-will guided her in her quest. And Bessie, plucking up all the courage she could muster, still trembled slightly, more from nervousness than from actual fear, for she knew whose voice it was that was imitating the plaintive bird -- Jake Hoover's!

All Hedgeville, as she well knew, must know that this camp of girls was at the lake -- and it would be just like Jake and some of the bullying, reckless crowd of boys that he made his chief friends, to think that it would be a fine joke to play some tricks on the sleeping camp, and alarm these girls who were trying to enjoy themselves with outdoor life, just as if they had been boys. Bessie, setting her teeth, determined that they shouldn't succeed, that in some fas.h.i.+on she would turn the joke on them.

Gradually she drew nearer to the sound, and she made up her mind, thankfully, that she had waked in time, before all the jokers had arrived. She had s.n.a.t.c.hed up a sheet as she left the camp, without a clear idea of what she meant to do with it, but now, as she stole among the trees, a dim figure, flitting from one dark place to the next, a wild idea formed in her mind.

It was risky -- but Bessie was not timid. If Jake Hoover caught her -- well, she knew what that would mean. He would not spare her, as his father had done, and there would be trouble for her, and for Zara and, worst of all, for Wanaka and her other new friends. And there was another danger. It might not, after all, be Jake Hoover that she heard.

At the Hoovers' she had heard stories of tramps and wandering gypsies, and she had been warned, whenever there was a report that any such vagrants were about, to keep off the roads and stay near the house. Jake, after all, could only betray her to his mother and the others who were after her, but a tramp or a gypsy might do far worse than that. But, though the solitude and darkness were enough to frighten people older and stronger than Bessie, she kept on. And at last, before her, she heard footsteps tramping down the dry leaves and branches, and she heard a murmur of voices, too.

At once part of her fears fled, for it was Jake Hoover's voice that came to her ears.

"Ha-ha!" he was laughing. "Gee it took you fellers long enough to git here. But, say, boys, won't we have some fun with them girls? Actin' up just like they was boys, sleepin' out in the woods an' pretendin' they're as brave as anythin'. I saw that one that bought a lot of truck from Paw to-day. Bet she'll scream as loud as any of them."

"Bet she will," said another voice. "Say, Jake, we won't hurt 'em none, will we? Jest throw a scare into them, like?"

"Sure, that's all!"

"'Cause I wouldn't want to hurt 'em none. They're jest girls, after all."

"All we'll do will be just to get around them tents an' start yellin' all at once -- an' I'll bet they'll come a-runnin'. Ha-ha!"

But the laugh was frozen on his lips. As he spoke he looked behind him, warned by a faint sound -- and his hair rose. For waving its arms wildly, a figure, all in white, was running toward him. As it came it made strange, unearthly sounds -- horrid noises, such as Jake had never heard.

For a moment Jake and the two boys with him stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed with fear. Then they yelled together, and, the sound of their own voices seeming to release their imprisoned feet, turned and ran wildly, not knowing where they were going.

They tripped over roots, fell, then stumbled to their feet again, and continued their flight, shrieking. And behind them the ghost, weak with laughter, collapsed on a fallen tree trunk and laughed silently as they fled -- for the ghost that had frightened these bold raiders was only Bessie, wrapped in the sheet she had so luckily s.n.a.t.c.hed up when they had given her the alarm.

CHAPTER VI.

A PIECE OF BAD LUCK.

Bessie laughed until she cried as the bold raiders who had been so sure that they could scare the camp of girls dashed madly off. She could hear them long after they had vanished from sight, crying out in their fear, plunging among the trees, but gradually the sounds grew fainter, and Bessie, sure that they need fear no more disturbance from Jake Hoover and his brave companions, set out on her return to the camp. This time she had no need of the precautions she had taken as she crept in the direction of the disturbing sounds, and she made no effort to conceal herself.

Wanaka was outside, looking about anxiously, when Bessie came again into the firelight. Always a light sleeper, and especially so when she was responsible for the safety of the girls who were in her charge, Eleanor Mercer had waked at the first of Bessie's terrifying shrieks, almost as frightened, for the moment, as Jake himself. She had risen at once, and a glance in the various tents, where the girls still lay sound asleep, showed her that Bessie alone was missing.

Naturally enough, she could not guess the meaning of the outcry. The cries of the frightened jokers puzzled her, and there was nothing about the din that Bessie made to enable the Guardian to recognize the voice of her newest recruit. But she had realized, too, that to go out in the woods in search of Bessie and of an explanation, was not likely to do much good. Her duty, too, was with the girls who remained, and she could only wait, wondering. She greeted Bessie with a glad cry when she saw her.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" she exclaimed. "But what are you doing with that sheet? And -- why, you're crying!"

"I'm not -- really," said Bessie. "But I laughed so hard that it made the tears come -- that's all, Wanaka."

Then she told her story, and Wanaka had to laugh too. She was greatly relieved.

"But you ought to have called me, Bessie," she said. "That's why I'm here, you know -- to look out for things when there seems to be any danger, or anything you girls don't quite understand."

"But I wasn't quite sure, you see," said Bessie. "And if it had really been a bird, it would have been awfully foolish to wake everyone up just because I thought I heard something."

"You'll be able to win a lot of honors easily, Bessie, when you come into the Camp Fire. That's one of the things the girls do -- they learn the calls of the birds, and to describe them and all sorts of things about the trees and the flowers. You must know a lot of them already."

"I guess everyone does who's lived in the country. Some people can imitate a bird so it would almost fool another bird -- but not Jake. He's stupid."

"Yes, and like most people who try to frighten others, he's a coward, too, Bessie. He showed that to-night."

"I'm not afraid of him any more. If I'd known before how easy it was to frighten him I'd have done it. Then he'd have let me alone, probably."

"Well, you go to bed now, and get to sleep again. And try to forget about Jake and all the other people who have been unkind to you. Remember that you're safe with us now. We'll look after you."

"I know that, and I can't tell you how good it makes me feel."

Wanaka laughed then, to herself.

"I say we'll look after you," she said, still smiling. "But so far it looks more as if you were going to look after us. You saved Minnehaha in the lake -- and to-night you saved all the girls from being frightened. But we'll have to begin doing our share before long."

"As if you hadn't done a lot more for me already then I'll ever be able to repay!" said Bessie. "And I know it, too. Please be sure of that. Good-night."

"Good-night, Bessie."

In the morning Bessie and Zara woke with the sun s.h.i.+ning in their faces, and for a long minute they lay quiet, staring out at the dancing water, and trying to realize all that happened since they had said good-bye to Hedgeville.

"Just think, Zara, it's only the day before yesterday that all those things happened, and it seems like ever so long to me."

"It does to me, too, Bessie. But I'll be glad when we get away from here. It's awfully close."

"And, Zara, Jake Hoover was around here last night!"

"Does he know you're here? Was that why he came?"

"No," said Bessie, laughing again at the memory of the ghost. And she told Zara what had happened.

"He won't come around again at night, but it would be just like him to snoop around here in the daytime, Bessie."

"I hadn't thought of that, Zara. But he might. If he stops to think and realizes that someone turned his own trick against him, or if he tells someone, and they laugh at him, he'll want to get even. I'd certainly hate to have him see one of us."

But their fears were groundless. For, as soon as breakfast was over, Wanaka called all the girls together.

"We're going to move," she said. "I know we meant to stay here longer, but Bessie and Zara will be happier if we're somewhere else. So we will go on to-day, instead of waiting. And I've a pleasant surprise for you, too, I think. No, I won't tell you about it now. You'll have to wait until you see it. Hurry up and clean camp now, and begin packing. We want to start as soon as we can."

Bessie was amazed to see how complete the arrangements for packing were. Everything seemed to have its place, and to be so made that it could go into the smallest s.p.a.ce imaginable. The tents were taken down, divided into single sections that were not at all heavy, and everything else had been made on the same plan.

"But how about the canoes?" asked Bessie. "We can't carry those with us, can we?"

"I've often carried one over a portage -- a short walk from one lake to the next in the woods," said Minnehaha, laughing. "It's a lot easier than it looks. Once you get it on your back, it balances so easily that it isn't hard at all. And up in the woods the guides have boats that they carry that way for miles, and they say they're easier to handle than a heavy pack. But these boats are very light."

"But we'll leave them here, anyhow," said another girl. "They don't belong to us. They were just lent to us by some people from the city who come here to camp every summer. They own this land, too, and they let us use it."

And then Bessie saw, as the first canoe was brought in, the clever hiding-place that had been devised for the boats. They were dragged up, and carried into the woods a little way, and there a couple of fallen trees had been so arranged that they made a shelter for the canoes. A few boards were spread between the trunks, and covered with earth and branches so it seemed that shrubbery had grown up over the place where the canoes lay.