“Oh, Mother, isn’t it just beautiful?” exclaimed the princess the night of the fagot party, as she watched the flames leap and dance down on the lawn.
“Yes; it is very suggestive, too,” answered Mrs. Van Vorst, “for it makes one think of the witches in Macbeth, as they stood around the cauldron watching their queer concoction ‘boil and bubble.’”
“O dear!” was Nita’s wail again, “it is lovely to see the fire and the girls, but I do want to hear the stories they tell.”
“Perhaps Nathalie will come up later,” suggested her mother, “and tell you some of the thrillers. Is that what she calls them?”
“There, they have stopped the witches’ dance and are forming a circle. Oh, one of the girls has thrown on a bundle of fagots! Yes, it’s that friend of Nathalie’s, Miss Sensible. Oh, Mother,” cried the little shut-in with a woeful countenance, “I am sure I could walk down there.” She stood up as she spoke and began to walk restlessly up and down the room.
“Oh, Nita, be careful!” pleaded her mother. “You do not want to overdo your walking, and you have been on your feet a good deal to-day.” Notwithstanding Mrs. Van Vorst’s protest there was a note of hope in her voice that betrayed that she had at last begun to see things as Nathalie had predicted, that she had made a mistake in housing her daughter behind high walls, and that the mingling with girls of her own age might bring new life to her.
“Ah, there’s Grace,” went on the voice at the window. “She’s the other girl who came with Nathalie. Oh, she’s throwing on her fagots!” The girl turned from the window as she perceived that Ellen had entered the room and was telling her mother that some one desired to see her in the library.
As Mrs. Van Vorst arose to leave the room Nita demurred, “Oh, Mother, I don’t want to be left here alone.”
“I will return as soon as possible, Nita, dear,” was the reply; “Ellen will stay with you. You can tell her about the fagot party,” she added hastily as she saw the cloud on the girl’s face. With a backward glance, as she hurried from the room, she saw that her suggestion had been followed and that Ellen had drawn her chair close to Nita’s, and was eagerly listening as her daughter related the incidents leading up to the demonstration down on the lawn.
Indeed it was not long before the faithful nurse,always interested in anything to brighten the life of her young charge, was watching the Pioneers and their doings as keenly as Nita, while wishing with her that they could hear the stories the girls were telling.
Suddenly Nita, who had been unusually silent for some time, drew Ellen’s head down to hers, and began to whisper softly in her ear.
“Oh, Ellen, will you?” she coaxed pleadingly, as she finished her whispering of something that had brought a protest from the good woman. Ellen looked dubious for a minute or so, and then the persuasive pleader had her way, for Ellen had given her assent and Nita was clapping her hands happily, as she thought of the fun in store for her later in the evening.
Meanwhile, the girls on the lawn with tense expectancy kept their eyes on Nathalie, who arose, walked towards the flaming pyre, and with a quick toss landed another bundle of fagots on the leaping flames.
“Oh, Nathalie, you will have to hurry,” called Grace excitedly, as her friend scurried back to her seat. “One of your fagots is already ablaze.”
Nathalie needed no warning for she had already plunged into her tale, and in short, concise sentences—she had practiced with Helen—was describing in graphic tone a colonial wedding, the going away of the bridal pair, the building of a log hut in the wilderness, the departure of the young husband, and the loneliness of the young bride. She paused a moment and drewa long breath as if to gather her forces for the coming ordeal.
Then with her eyes fastened in a rigid stare on the twirling glare from the flames—so as to bring her story to a proper climax when the fiery fagots fell apart—she went on and told of the face of a redskin suddenly being thrust into a window of the little cabin, of a shriek of terror, of cruel, fiendish laughter, of the fair bride being carried on the back of a tall savage, and of the final arrival at an Indian encampment, where a paint-bedaubed warrior with flaunting head-gear tried to induce the wailing bride to become his squaw.
Nathalie’s eyes, big in the flaming redness of the firelight, were riveted on the seething flames as if she saw in the twist and curl of their darting tongues the enactment of the story she was telling. The girls all bent forward eagerly, for the fagots were getting ready to burst apart as she told of the imprisonment of the bride, the making of a big bonfire, the tying of the bride to the stake, the lighting of the underbrush at her feet, and the whirling flames as they leaped up and greedily licked the terror-stricken face.
But Nathalie, like a photo-play screen, had transported her listeners to a sun-baked plain, where a white man was galloping in mad speed. A fagot had leaped from its fellows. “Oh, Nathalie, hurry!” whispered Grace, wringing her hands nervously. Ah, but Nathalie was on time, and as the fagots gave a loudsnap and fell into a shower of twinkling lights the horseman came galloping into the street of the Indian encampment with a troop of soldiers close at his heels, and leaped into the fiery embers and cut—There was a loud clapping followed by cries of applause, for there was no need to tell what happened after that leap into the fire, every one knew.
“Now, Lillie, it is your turn!” shouted several voices as Nathalie, exhausted by her strenuous race between words and flames, sank back somewhat exhausted against her friend’s shoulder.
Lillie Bell, in response to her name, seized a bundle of fagots, and with a few flourishes, which she declared to be an incantation for success, threw it on the blazing pile. In a moment she was back in her seat and had started her tale of romance.
“When Washington Irving’s headless horseman was the terror of the Hudson, a party of young girls, who were wandering in the fields one moonlight night, was chased by a huge and airy phantom to the banks of the river. In order to escape their foe two of the girls darted into an empty boat fastened near the bank and rowed out into the stream. The phantom, a strange and weird object, pursued, swimming rapidly in the wake of the canoe.
“Suddenly, to the horror of the girls crouched up against a rock on shore they saw, in a broad band of moonlight shining on the water, that the phantom wasthe headless one. Even as they gazed it had reached the boat, and with one sweep of its mighty arm had grabbed one of the girls from her sister’s clutch, and was swimming swiftly back to land.
“The girl in the boat rowed quickly back, only to see, with her companions on shore, the phantom disappear into the woods. With phenomenal courage she flew after the headless one, screaming with all her strength. But alas, her speed and screams were of no avail, for she ran after the phantom only to see it dash into an uninhabited mansion that stood in a park thick with the gloom of forest trees.
“Horror-stricken, the girls hastened home and parties were sent in pursuit of the stolen girl, but no trace of her was found, although the empty mansion, dark with the forest gloom was searched from attic to cellar.
“Time passed, and the maiden returned not to her home, nor was any trace of her ever discovered, although every effort possible had been made. At last her sister, loved by a young farmer, refused to marry him unless he would visit the haunted mansion at midnight, to see if possibly he could obtain any clew to her sister’s whereabouts, it being generally believed that she had been murdered in the house and that her ghost haunted the abode.
“Determined to win the girl, the young farmer with his revolver and a few tapers secreted himself in thecellar of the house one day, just before twilight. He was resolved to solve the mystery of the girl’s disappearance and the reason why the house at night was filled with a peculiar, bluish light, said to be the candle borne by the headless one in his midnight tour of the premises.
“Just before midnight the farmer hastened to the upper floor and hid in a closet, where, with quaking limbs and wildly beating heart he awaited the magic hour. Unfortunately, weary with waiting, he fell asleep, but was soon awakened by a peculiar, creeping sensation along his spine. He crouched against the door holding it ajar with one hand and the pistol in the other.
“All at once there was the swish of a garment against the door. He scratched a match, lit his taper, and glared forth into the darkness. Again he heard that swish. It was in the hall. Stealthily he tiptoed to the hall door, opened it with trembling hand, and stepped forth into dense blackness, when—”
“Oh, Lillie, hurry!” screamed the Sport. “Your logs will fall in a minute!”
A strange smile flitted over Lillie’s face, but her voice went thrillingly on. “When something huge and hairy spread over him like a net, benumbing every nerve and muscle. He struggled, and finally succeeded in getting free of the unknown thing and sprang for the door leading to the open. He would get out of thathouse. No, he would lose Kitty, he could not live without her! He turned—ah, what was that weird flash at the top of the staircase? He heard the swish again—this time very near—it was some one coming down the stairs! He crouched against the wall and peered up; the rattling of a chain sounded on his ears; again came that weird glare, and he saw—” the fagots fell with a loud sputter, throwing forth a shower of fiery sparks. Lillie remained silent a moment, each girl held her breath in paralyzed terror, and then, as the last fagot dropped a shapeless heap on the grass, Lillie cried with tragic emphasis, “Girls, I leave you to guess what he saw!”
A second of space, Lillie’s eyes shown in a mocking smile as she glanced around the circle, and then, the smile froze on her lips, her eyes dilated wildly, and she jumped to her feet crying in frenzied horror, “What is that?” pointing as she spoke to a clump of trees on the lawn. Another second and she had turned, and with an unearthly shriek was flying across the lawn towards the house!
The girls, whose nerves had been wrought up to the highest pitch by Lillie’s weird tale, remained dumb, thinking as they saw her strange actions that it was a new thriller, and were uncertain whether to laugh or cry, as they stared at her flying figure.
Jessie, who always disliked Lillie’s tragic tales, with a half laugh sprang to her feet crying, “Well, if sheisn’t the limit!” Her glance had followed Lillie’s to the clump of trees with a curious stare; the stare became fixed; she uttered a wild scream, and the next moment she, too, was rushing in mad terror across the lawn in the wake of the story-teller!
As the girls saw her glance and heard her cry, terror struck each one like an electric shock, and the next second every girl present had broken into a wild cry, and without waiting to see what was the cause of the rush over the lawn, was speeding, helter-skelter towards the house!
Nathalie had run with the others, and then, swayed by some unknown impulse, she had halted and glanced back in the direction she had seen Lillie and Jessie look. She gave a low cry, started to flee again, and then stood suddenly still, and with panting breath gazed again at the clump of trees. She caught her breath, for under the swaying boughs stood a weird, white object pointing a long white finger at her!
What was it? Could it be a Boy Scout trying to frighten them? She bent forward with intent eyes, for as the white figure swayed slightly there was something curiously familiar in its movements. The next instant Nathalie had turned, and as if shot from a catapult was speeding towards the white figure that still stood, uncannily waving its arms to and fro in the moonlight.
With an unearthly shriek was flying across the lawn.With an unearthly shriek was flying across the lawn.
“Oh, Nita!” burst from the girl, “how did you come here?“ Before the white figure could answer, Ellen was seen running swiftly towards them.
“Oh, Miss Nita,” she wailed, “what a scare you have given me! Oh, you naughty girl, you promised that you would not leave the lower porch!”
“Well,” flashed the girl, “I changed my mind!” Then seizing Nathalie, who was still staring at her with big, frightened eyes, she began to laugh hysterically. “Oh, wasn’t it funny, Nathalie? Did you see how she ran? What a joke, when she was trying to scare the girls—and was scared herself—O dear, it is so funny!”
But Nathalie, with a sober face was staring down at the grass. “Oh, Nita,” she exclaimed with a sudden fear, “the grass is wet, and, Ellen, she will take cold! Oh, how did she get here? Mrs. Van Vorst will be so displeased!”
But at that instant Mrs. Van Vorst came running down the path followed by Mrs. Morrow. “Oh, Nita! Nita!” she wailed, “how could you be so foolish, you will surely take your death! Ellen, how did it happen?”
“Sure, there’s no harm done,” broke in Peter’s voice at this critical moment. “I have her chair and we’ll soon get her in, marm. Sure, I saw her stealing across the lawn all alone by herself, and I hurried after the chair, thinking she would be tired before she had gone far.”
“Thank you, Peter,” cried Nita’s mother, “you are so good and considerate. O dear, I hope she won’t take cold! It was such an imprudent thing for her to do, but Ellen, how did it happen?” There was a note of condemnation in the lady’s voice.
But before Ellen could answer, Nita, whom Peter had wrapped and placed in her chair, cried, “Now, Mamma, don’t blame Ellen. It was all my fault. I sent her to get my shawl and then I stole down here. I just wanted to hear some of the stories. But when I got here that girl—the Pioneers called her Lillie—was telling a story. She was trying to scare the girls, and then—oh, Mother, it was so funny to see her run—why, I thought I would scare her, and when she looked up, just as she had worked the girls all to a fever, I waved my arm and pointed my finger at her. Oh, Mother, if you could have heard her shriek!” Nita was again in hysterical laughter.
By this time she had her audience laughing with her, especially Peter and Ellen, who thought their young mistress had been most brilliant in outwitting them, and in frightening the young lady who had been trying so hard to frighten her companions.
“O dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Morrow, who proved to be the lady who was visiting with Mrs. Van Vorst when Nita stole down to the lower porch, “I am ashamed of my Pioneers; they are supposed to be very brave, but to-night’s performance does not appear asif they were. Nathalie, how was it you did not run with the others?”
“I did,” confessed Nathalie frankly, “but something brought me to a halt and I turned and looked back. O dear, but Nita did look terrible waving her white arms to and fro! And then it came to me that there was something familiar about the figure, I stared a moment, and then I knew! But, Mrs. Morrow, hadn’t I better look for the girls? Please do not blame them, I am sure you would have run, too, if you could have seen Nita in that sheet, pointing her finger at you.”
Then Nathalie was off, running swiftly over the lawn, peering first on one side and then the other as she gave a Bob White whistle, then a Tru-al-lee, ending with the shout, “Girls! Girls! where are you?” then the Bob White whistle again.
Her cry was heard, and one by one the Pioneers sheepishly crawled from their places of safety and joined Nathalie on the lawn. They listened with shamed faces as she told them who and what it was that had caused their sudden departure. They were reluctant to show themselves at first, especially when they learned that Mrs. Morrow was there and had heard all about their foolish flight. But with a bit of coaxing on Nathalie’s part they returned, and in a few minutes were again in their cheer-fire circle, with two additional guests, Mrs. Van Vorst and Nita, besidesMrs. Morrow, who had thought when the girls first began to tell their stories to slip in and thank Mrs. Van Vorst for her kindness, with the result that she had been a witness to their lack of bravery, as she termed it.
The rest of the evening passed quickly after one or two had told their thrillers, to the great satisfaction of Nita, who enjoyed them immensely. After the stories were told, there was a marshmallow roast, which was entered into with zest, and then came the burning send-off to Louise Gaynor, who, when her name was called, came shyly forward to receive an enormous pie, from which hung streamers of gay colored ribbons, each streamer being tied to a keepsake from one of the Pioneers.
Mrs. Morrow now expressed the regret of the Pioneers at losing so good a comrade and friend, with the added wish that she would always remember them with love, and the assurance that they would carry her on their hearts with devout wishes for her health and happiness. The streamers were pulled one by one and the loving gifts were brought forth as a tribute to the sweetest songster of the band.
The last streamer brought to light a Round Robin letter, which Louise faithfully promised not to open until the dates set, as for each day in the year of absence she would find a few words of cheer and love from her comrades, the Girl Pioneers of America.
After a few songs from the girls, Louise sang one or two of her old English songs, Lillie accompanying her on the mandolin, and then Mrs. Morrow, in a neat little speech, commended Nathalie for her courage in holding her ground when the others had taken to flight. As she ended there was a moment’s silence and then each and every girl was shouting as loud as she could:
“Hear! hear! a brave Pioneer!Three cheers for Nathalie dear!”
This cheer was most embarrassing to Nathalie, who wiggled uneasily with flushed cheeks as she tried to make the girls hear that she was not brave at all. But her protests were drowned by the merry voices, as after three cheers they broke into their Pioneer song of good-by to Louise. This was followed by the song that every Pioneer loves to sing and that was:
“We’re Pioneers, Girl Pioneers!We’re Pioneers, Girl Pioneers!We will be brave, and kind and true;We’re Pioneers, Girl Pioneers!Hear! Hear! Hear!Girl Pioneer!Come, give a cheer!Girl Pi-o-neer!!!”
One bright morning two weeks after the fagot party, Helen with wondering surprise mingled with pleasure read the following:
“Madame Van Vorst presents her compliments to Mistress Helen Dame, and begs the pleasure of her company on the afternoon of the sixth of July, at aKraeg, to meet her daughter, Mistress Anita Van Vorst, in the celebration of the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the building of the Van Vorst homestead. Mistress Helen is requested to appear in the costume of a ‘goede vrouw’ of Mana-ha-ta.”
“AKraeg—what does that mean?” queried the girl, as with puzzled brows she eyed the tiny picture of the “Homestead” surmounting the invitation, with the dates, 1664-1914. “Ah, Nathalie will know!” The next moment the girl was hurrying across the lawn to her neighbor’s veranda, where she had spied her cosily ensconced in the hammock screened from observant eyes by a bower of green leaves.
Nathalie looked up as she heard her step and trilled a soft tru-al-lee in recognition, as Helen gave the brownish envelope in her hand a flourish.
“I knew you would be wanting to know what that meant.” Nathalie smiled happily at her friend as she pointed to the envelope.
“I understand the invitation all right,” was the quick retort, “and congratulate you on your success in winning the madame to your views that it was a shame to allow little Anita to bloom behind those high walls. But—can you tell me what kind of a thing aKraegis?”
“It means a Dutch house-warming! But there, Iam not going to tell you any more, wait until the sixth.”
“‘In the costume of a goede vrouw of Mana-ha-ta,’” read Helen slowly. “May I deign to ask your Dutch Majesty to explain what this means?”
“You may,” nodded the occupant of the hammock, “for her Dutch Majesty has spent many weary hours with Miss Anita studying just that part of the program. You see, we want to have the real Dutch atmosphere of the early period, so we decided to have each girl impersonate some woman pioneer, and then tell who she was and what she did.”
“Well, I don’t imagine that the girls will care to get themselves up like those old Dutch vrouws, as they were so terribly stolid and uninteresting.”
“Oh, Helen,” exclaimed Nathalie sitting suddenly up in the hammock, “those Dutch vrouws were anything but uninteresting. Nita and I have read all about them in a book Mrs. Van Vorst bought for us in New York, it has just been published and is very interesting. As a matter of fact, the women who settled New York were the most efficient, the most industrious, and the most capable of any of the early pioneer women of that period.”
“I did not know that,” said Helen, raising her eyebrows; “I thought they were just stolid Dutch peasant women with little ability to do anything but knit, tend the cows, and so on.”
“A great many people seem to have that idea,” returned her friend, “but the Dutch housewives were not mere stoical drudges. Holland at that time, you know, was the only country that gave as good an education to her girls as to her boys. They were not only educated to fill responsible positions, but to have a love for literature as well as for painting, music, and the arts. So these Dutch peasants, as you call them, were better educated, better protected by the laws of the colony, and held more important positions than any of their Southern or Northern sisters.
“It is claimed,” she went on, warming to her subject, “that the Dutch housewife was the manufacturer of the day, producing under her own roof nearly all the necessities for the family use. Besides being proficient in the art of cooking, she made perfumes from the flowers in her garden, planted, gathered, dried, and brewed the hops. She culled simples and herbs for medicine, thus becoming the physician of the household. She taught her maids to card and weave wool for clothes; she spun the fine thread of the flax, grown in her yard, for the linen, knit the socks, oh, I could not begin to tell you her many industries!
“But besides all that,” continued the girl, “the goede vrouws had such good sense and judgment, and such a fine eye for commercial values that they not only owned real estate, but ofttimes carried on their own business. The burgomasters of the town paid greatdeference to the Dutch women’s shrewdness, judgment, and independence, so that they exerted no little influence in the state affairs of New Amsterdam.”
“Well, I never!” laughed Helen teasingly. “If you haven’t become a regular schoolma’am since you have been teaching the princess. Pray, how much am I to pay you per word?”
Nathalie laughed merrily. “Yes, isn’t it funny? I started reading about the Pioneer women to get Nita interested in something that would be instructive as well as entertaining. And lo, she has not only become absorbed in anything that pertains to the pioneers, but in many other historical subjects as well. As for me, why, I have learned a great deal, too, and that is how, when Mrs. Van Vorst said she would like to entertain the Pioneers in return for amusing Nita by the drill and the fagot party, we decided to have aKraeg.”
“How will the girls know what characters they are to take, what they did, and so on?”
“Oh, Mrs. Morrow and I arranged all that. Notices were sent—you’ll get yours—telling the girls that all information would be furnished by Annetje Jans—that’s I—gratis. I will arrange with each girl as to her character and so on. Oh, there’s Grace! I’ll warrant you she has her notice and is in a hurry for news. But, Helen, here is the book that tells all about these Dutch women. I wish you would take it and look it over, for I know I shall need lots of help.”
The sixth of July had arrived, and little Miss New York was fidgeting nervously in her chair—draped with the Star Spangled Banner and the flaunting colors of the Dutch Republic—placed in line with the hostess and the receiving party of the day. She was a rather startling Miss New York, arrayed as a Goddess of Liberty—she had claimed she was too modern to be a vrouw—with her chair as well as her small person hung with placards of well-known places, streets, and buildings of the metropolis.
By her side stood Madame New Amsterdam—Mrs. Van Vorst—whose multitudinous skirts stood out from her figure with such amplitude that she resembled the quaint little green pincushion that dangled from her waist. Her neat white cap was tied under her chin with formal stiffness, while a large silk apron completed a make-up that transformed the slender, dignified Mrs. Van Vorst into a typical Dutch matron. She too, like her daughter, was hung with tiny white signs from bodice to skirt, which excited curiosity if not admiration.
“Oh, Mother, I do wish they would hurry and come!” cried Miss New York impatiently, craning her neck to see if some one had not yet appeared on the broad stairway leading to the main sitting-room. “Oh, somebody’s coming!” and the little lady, with the weight of a city on her shoulders, drew back as she clapped her hands with delight.
“Ah, here comes the Governor’s lady,” exclaimed Madame New Amsterdam as Madame Stuyvesant—Mrs. Morrow—announced her coming by stopping on the threshold of the low-ceiled room, and bowed with such stately formality that Miss New York’s eyes suddenly stilled, as she stiffened with similar dignity to receive the first guest.
The Governor’s lady was followed by Annetje Jans, her comely little person looking like a blooming Dutch posy, arrayed in a bright green petticoat and a blue waistcoat with yellow sleeves. The brown eyes, ready smile, and brilliant cheeks of Miss Nathalie made her a fitting representative of the little lady who formed so large a part of the history of New Amsterdam, coming over in 1630 in the shipEndrachtwith her husband and three children from Holland. After the death of her husband, who left her abouwerie(farm) of sixty acres, a good part of New York, she married Dominie Bogardus, thus becoming with her wealth and influence a dominant character in the colony.
Annetje came a few steps forward, and then bobbedsuch a low curtsy that the wings of her lace cap flapped out like the sails of a windmill in a greeting to her hostesses. But in a second her old-time pose was forgotten, as her eyes fell on the much “be-signed” person of the lady of the house, and she flew to her aid, declaring that she was losing some of her signs.
“This will never do,” she commented as she hurriedly pinned the sign “Bouwerie” in its place. “Oh, and here’s another old place that’s gone astray!” poking “Der Halle” on a straight line with its neighbor, “De claver Waytie.”
“Will you please inform me why New Amsterdam is thus placarded?” It was the voice of the Governor’s lady, who was curiously watching this adjustment of signs.
“Why, these signs are the Dutch names of the different localities and streets as named in the days of New Amsterdam,” explained Annetje quickly. “See. Broad street means Broad way;Kloch-Hoeckwas the site of the first village, as it was all covered with bits of clam and oyster shells, the word means Shell Point.De claver Waytiewas a hill leading to a spring covered with grass, where the young maidens used to bleach their linen. The path they wore up the hill came to be known asMaadje-Paatje, Maiden Lane.Der Hallewas the name of a tavern near a big tree on the corner of Broad and Wall Street. It took the arms of six men to go roundder groottree.
“Here isCowfoot Hill, the old cow-path up the hill,Canoe Place, where the Indians used to tie their canoes, andCatiemutsis the hill where the Indians had built their castle.Collectmeans a dear little lake near-by, yes, and here’s the Boston Highway, here’s theStadt-Huys, the town hall.Graftwas a ditch crossed by a bridge;De Smits Vlyewas an old blacksmith shop near the ferry to Long Island.Vlackewas the grazing ground for the cows, now the City Hall Park.De Schaape Waytiewas the sheep pasture—”
“Annetje Jans,” exclaimed Madame Van Stuyvesant at this point, with a solemn face, “do you expect me to remember all those Dutch names? Verily, child, you have improved your time and twisted your tongue.” But Annetje was off, for at that moment she spied another arrival, one of the Orioles, and as the sprightly dominie’s widow was to act as mistress of ceremonies, she was soon by her side, as she stood hesitatingly in the doorway.
“How do you do,Mutter. Oh, but you do look fine!” cried Nathalie as her keen eyes noted the broad appearing figure with hair pushed straight back under a close fitting cap, short petticoat and gown displaying her wooden sabots. Themutterwas knitting industriously, like a typical Dutch vrouw, as she talked to Annetje and told of the woes that attended the getting up of her make-up.
Annetje now led the new arrival to the line waiting to welcome her. “Allow me to present to you Catalina de Trice, themutterof New York, having been the first woman to land on that famous little isle.”
“Yes,” added themutterwith a stiff little bow to the grand Dutch dames receiving her with stately courtesy, “I came over in the first ship, theUnity, sent by the West India Company to the settlement, and I have the added distinction,” another quaint bob, “of being the mother of the first white child born in New Amsterdam, Sara Rapelje.”
Catalina had no time to continue her family history for Annetje had hurried her to Miss New York, a little lady in whom all the Pioneers were greatly interested. She was next shown a table in the rear of Nita, holding a ship encrusted with silver frosting to represent snow, and bearing the words, “Half-Moon.” On the deck of this famous craft was the miniature figure of a man, which Nathalie explained, was intended for the discoverer who had named the river Hudson after himself. Back of the ship were small sized rocks with the sign, “Great Rocks of Wiehocken,” which Annetje declared needed no explanation.
A few feet away was a large windmill guarded by a demure little serving-maid who was no other than Carol. With her flower-blue eyes and corn-colored hair hanging in two braids from under her cute little cap she was a miniature Dutch vrouw. Catalina wasnow invited to pull one of a number of gay-colored streamers that flew with the windmill as it buzzed rapidly around.
To the girl’s surprise, as she gave a quick pull to a ribbon, a card dropped from one of the sails. It was painted with a gaudy red tulip with an appropriate verse on Holland’s national posy. Catalina, on being told to keep it, pinned it to her bodice, and then hurried with Annetje to receive the guests standing at the door, the two girls being the oldest representatives of the Dutch colony.
The new comer proved to be Tryntje Jonas, alias Barbara Worth. She was made known to the hostess as the mother of Annetje, and as the first nurse and woman doctor in the settlement. Her skirt was of true linsey-woolsey, from which hung an immense pincushion. With her glasses and her knitting-bag on her arm she looked duly professional as she paid her respects to the Dutch vrouw with stately dignity.
A sweeping curtsy and Madame Kiersted, Annetje’s daughter, otherwise Grace Tyson, was telling with pride of the part she had played as Indian interpreter, when the officials of the town were making a treaty with the Indians. She was well-versed in the Algonquin language, she explained, as she had played with little Indian children from the time she was a wee lassie.
She told, too, how she had signed a petition and presentedit to the councillors, begging that the good vrouws be permitted to hold a market day. This petition was granted, and market day was held thenceforth on Saturdays, when the dames of the colony were permitted to offer their wares for sale on the Strand near her home. Furthermore, the Madame stated she had a shed built in her back yard, so that the Indian squaws could make brooms and string wampum, which they, too, sold on market day. From a little bag she now produced a wampum belt, explaining that it was made of twisted periwinkle shells strung on hemp. A blue clam-shell was also brought forth, which had been punctured with holes and which was calledsewant; these two shells at that time constituting the currency of the colony.
But the Indian’s friend had gone and in her place stood agrande dame, the famous Madame Van Cortland, generally known in the olden days as “the maker of a stone street.” Madame, when inquiry was made, said she had been born in Holland, but came to thedorpto marry her lover, Captain Oloff Van Cortland. “We lived in a very grand house for those times, for it was made of glazed brick and had a sloping roof with a gable turned towards the street, after the manner of the ‘Patria,’” she added with pompous gravity. “There were steps leading to the roof, too, so when it rained or snowed the water could run into a hogshead in the yard instead of on my neighbor’s sidewalkor head. The house was furnished in a grand style, all the furniture came from Holland, and in front of it was a little stoop with two side benches and a door with an enormous brass knocker.”
“But the stone street, Madame?” inquired Madame New Amsterdam, who seemed greatly interested in these little stories of the people and doings of the city whose name she bore.
“Cobbles,” corrected Dame Van Cortland. “You see, it was this way. My husband, the captain, resigned from the militia and went into the brewing business. He built a brewery on Brower Street near the Fort, one of the first lanes made by the settlers. But alas,” sighed Madame ruefully, “when my husband’s brewery wagons made their way over the lane they raised so much dust and dirt that I begged my better half to pave it with stones. He laughed at me, as was his wont, and the dust and dirt grew thicker on the lane. Driven desperate, I now marshaled my servants to the lane, and we laid it with small, round cobblestones. I won my way as well as fame, for the little stone street was the first of its kind in thedorp, and was regarded with much curiosity by the burghers.”
Annetje, now spying two more comers, flew to welcome them and the grande dame of Manhattan Isle was forgotten, as an ancient little lady appeared with silver curls peeping from beneath a cap of rare old lace, a rustling silk crossed with a kerchief, and a chatelainehanging from her girdle. She bowed with quaint grace before the ladies, as Madame Killiaen Van Rensselaer, otherwise known as, “The Lady of the Thimble.”
“Yes,” spoke the little old lady, who by the way was a Bob White, and who had studied her part with due diligence, “I was the first woman to wear a gold thimble. I was seated at my work one day with an ivory thimble, big and cumbersome, on my fingers, the kind ’tis claimed the tailors use. A young friend of mine to whom I had rendered some slight service was at work in his shop just across the lane. He spied my thimble, and, being a goldsmith, then and there vowed that on my birthday I should receive a gift. ’Tis needless to say that this vow was fulfilled, for the young man presented me with a gold thimble on that day, which he had made with the wish that I would wear his finger-hat as a covering to a diligent and beautiful finger.”
A comely Dutch matron with bright eyes and ruddy cheeks was now bowing in sprightly manner before the hostess. By her pose she was immediately recognized as Lillie Bell, who indeed was just the one to personate the fair and bewitching “Lady of Petticoat Lane,” alias Polly Spratt, Polly Prevoorst, and Polly Alexander. The fair Polly was the recognized social leader of New York in the days when coasting downFlattenbarack Hill, or skating on theCollectwith a party oflads and lassies as merry as herself gained her the name of a hoyden. Always the bonniest, the merriest lass at a wedding or dance, the acknowledged leader of her set, counting her suitors by the score, it was not to be wondered when she became a matron at seventeen. As a widow of twenty-six she assumed control of her husband’s business, building a row of offices in front of her house. She, too, built a stone street, Marketfield Lane, thus inciting her neighbors to do the same. Hence, the brick walks that now came into fashion calledStrookes.
The keeper of a shop, the maker of a stone lane, the owner of a wonderful coach, Madame’s fame as a beauty and a social leader, added to her shrewdness, her ingenuity, and sprightly intelligence, won her an influence in the more weighty matters of the town, gaining her the title of “My Lady of Petticoat Lane.” Undoubtedly it also won her another husband, as when thepinterflower was in bloom, pretty Polly married Mr. James Alexander, one of the most distinguished gentlemen of the times.
But on they came, the Pioneer Girls, as Dutch matrons or maidens, impersonating those famous pioneer women, who not only were the bone and sinew of old New York, but who were the progenitors of some of its most distinguished men in the days that followed. Katrina de Brough, who lived in a fine stone house on Hanover Square, was a most suitable example ofthe housewife of the day. Her days were spent in planting her garden, culling her simples, distilling her medicines, and many other well-known crafts of the times.
Judith Varleth had gained the name of the “witch maiden,” having been arrested and imprisoned in Hartford, Connecticut, when quite a young girl. Whether her beauty or her Dutch tongue brought this dire calamity upon her is not known, but the witch maiden was duly released and returned to her home by her brother, and in a few years disposed of her unfortunate name by marrying a gallant gentleman by the name of Col. Nicholas Bayard.
Margaret Hardenbroeck not only won a husband, Captain Patrus de Vries, a wealthy ship-owner, but won fame as well. On the death of her husband she continued his business, and established a line of ships, the first packet line that crossed the Atlantic. Her ability as a business woman evidently won her not only fame, but a husband, for she soon married again, a Mr. Frederick Phillipse, and in later days became the owner of the Phillipse Manor, so well known during the days of the Revolution.
Cornelia Lubbetse became Mrs. Johannes de Beyster, while her daughter Marie, the wife of three husbands, became known as the wealthiest woman in the settlement. She was also noted for her industry, filling a greatkos(chest) with beautiful linen tied in packageswith colored tape and marked by herself at the time of her first marriage. She also carried on a thrifty business trading with ships between New Amsterdam, Connecticut, and Virginia, as well as being the mother of “The Lady of Petticoat Lane,” who married a younger brother of her third husband.
Anna Stuyvesant, Rachel Hartjers, and Madame Van Corlear were all in due turn presented to the hostess, as well as Grietje Janssen, who was known in the old days as a double-tongued woman, having won fame as being the gossip of the burgh.
But the merry chatter and low-pitched laughter of these would-be historic maidens was suddenly stilled, as a strange, grotesque figure was seen in the doorway gazing at the assembled company with an odd little smile on its bedaubed face.
A murmur of surprise and astonishment caused eyes and mouths to open in curious wonder, as Annetje, although as bewildered as her neighbors, made her way to the door to welcome the unknown intruder.
As Nathalie approached the uncouth, blanketed savage it emitted a strange sound; some claimed it was a grunt, while others said it was a groan. The girl stared a moment in startled inquiry and then a smile parted her lips, which was quickly repressed as in a quick glance she noted the eyes heavily underlined with black paint, the brown dyed skin, the red patched cheeks much besmeared with grease, and the black snake-likestrings of hair that straggled from beneath a derby hat, several sizes too small for the head.
As the redskin strode with measured gait to the ladies, the painted lips opened, and an excellent imitation of an Indian warwhoop broke forth with startling intensity. Little Miss New York jumped nervously, Madame New Amsterdam started back in surprise, but Mrs. Morrow and Nathalie burst into laughter as they both cried, “Why—it’s Edith!”
Yes, it was the Sport, who seeing she was the sensation of the moment took off her derby hat and with a low bow to hostesses, in guttural tone exclaimed, “No, me no Edith, me Indian squaw from Mana-ha-ta!”
This unexpected announcement created no little astonishment, and the girls flocked around her with exclamations of wonder and surprise. As they began to ply her with questions she cried triumphantly, “Ah, girls, I fooled you that time, for I guess you had all forgotten about the Indian women of Manhattan, who always wore their husband’s hats.”
“Oh, girls,” cried Nathalie quickly, “the joke is on me, for I had forgotten, as Edith says, all about these Indian squaws.”
“Edith, it was clever of you to remember,” now interposed the Governor’s lady, “and your get-up too, is very good.” She gazed with keen eyes at the girl’s deerskin robe, fringed at the sides, with its embroidered bodice, and the rows of colored beads that decoratedher neck and her brown bedaubed arms. “But Edith,” she continued, “can’t you tell us something about these squaws?”
The girl looked somewhat dismayed for a moment; perhaps the sudden recollection of the last time she had faced her companions, the shame she had felt, and the punishment that had been meted out to her, caused the flush that showed even beneath her paint and grease.
“Why—I—oh, I don’t think there is much to tell,” she faltered. But encouraged by a nod from Mrs. Morrow she continued, “Lillie Bell lent me Washington Irving’s History of New York. It tells how Peter Minuit purchased the island from the Indians—the Dutch people called them Wilden—and where the bargain was made. It was close to a little block house inside a palisade of red cedars very near the traders’ hut in a place calledCapsey, the place of safe landing. Washington Irving claimed that the name, ‘Manhattan,’ came from a tribe of Indians whose squaws always wore their husband’s hats, but I never knew that Indians wore hats, so I suppose it is just one of his jokes.”
There was a general laugh at Edith’s sally, and then the girls broke into loud applause. Perhaps they, too, were doing a little thinking and were anxious to show Edith that the deeds of the past were forgotten in her well-doing.
Annetje, after marshaling her forces, now led the girls through the quaint Dutch room to show them the many relics of past days. The wide-throated fireplace with its gay-colored tiles—still in a state of good preservation—with their queer scriptural figures, each picture with the number of the text in the Bible that told its story, awakened great interest.
Mahogany tables, queer little sideboards, and curiously carved chairs next claimed their attention, while theslaap-bauck, a funny little closet built in the side walls of the room, its shelf covered with a mattress, and with folding doors to open at night for a guest bed, won special favor.
A flowered tabby cloth, a foot-warmer, and an old chest called akos, and which Nathalie declared was similar to the one that the industrious Marie de Peyster had filled with linen, was regarded with much awe. A nutwood case, a wardrobe called akasten—filled with old Dutch costumes, grimy and moth-eaten—divided honors with a beautiful old cupboard with glass doors, displaying rare old blue and white Delft, said to have come from Holland years and years ago.
But curios pall in time, and so the girls were not at all reluctant to follow their hostesses into the quaint old kitchen, gayly decorated with the orange and blue of the Dutch Republic. Here, many exclamations of admiration escaped them when they saw the long table in the center of the room, with its bloom of hyacinths,gillyflowers, narcissus, daffodils, and tulips, all reminders of the little beau-pots that adorned the window sills, or peeped from the flower patches in front of the gable-roofed houses in the days of the first settlers.
Embowered in this floral display was a huge silver bowl hung with tiny silver spoons. This was the caudle dish, the inseparable accompaniment of feast gatherings or when thekinderwere christened. From the hot, spicy odor that emanated from this relic of Dutch festivity the girls knew it held something good.
But there was no more time to admire, for it was now discovered that a flower was tied with daintily colored ribbon to the back of each chair. Recognizing that they were intended for place-cards, the girls flew hurriedly around the table trying to find the flower that matched the one on the cards they had received from the windmill.
Mrs. Van Vorst, typifying the first Dutch settlement in the New World, now cordially welcomed her guests with a few appropriate words. She was followed by Nita, who, standing on the platform of her chair, recited a greeting in Dutch—a little thing that Nathalie had taught her—with quaint precision, while her eyes twinkled humorously.
The edibles were now served, the little serving-maid being Carol assisted by Peter attired as a herdsman in low-heeled shoes, brass buckles, gray stockings, andwith a twisted cow’s horn hanging from his shoulder.
Roasted oysters served with hot split biscuits tempered with butter were the first course. Then came salmon à la Hollandaise and patriotic crabs, so called because the settlers declared that they were the color of the flag of the Prince of Orange. Frankfurters now appeared, so deliciously prepared that the Pioneers barely recognized their hike stand-by, served with carrots and turnips garnished with parsley. Green salad now followed with the caudle served from the silver bowl, each girl ladling this particular Dutch dainty, piping hot, into her own china cup.
The goodies were jellies, custards,oly krecks—sometimes called doughnuts because of the tiny nut in the center—krullers,izer-cookies, or waffles, syllabubs, and many other toothsome sweets. All of these viands were greatly enjoyed, not only because they were of Dutch renown, but because they were eaten, as their Director declared in memory of thegoede vrouvenwho helped theirgoedemen to lay the first stones of the great city of New York.
Every one was at their merriest when Annetje Jans, who had suddenly grown unduly restive, arose in her chair and holding her caudle cup high proposed a toast to Madame New Amsterdam, Mrs. Van Vorst, their hostess!
Immediately glasses were touched to the lady so honored, who in return proposed a like honor forMadame Stuyvesant, Mrs. Morrow, the Director of the Girl Pioneers of America. Little Miss New York was now honored, who, as she bowed in response to the loud clapping that followed her name, passed the honor on to her friend, Miss Nathalie Page, in Dutch, Madame Annetje Jans.
There was more applause in appreciation of Nita’s tribute, although her voice was low and tremulous with timidity at speaking before so many. But when Nathalie rose on her feet to reply, the clapping grew so vociferous that the color deepened her cheeks to a more vivid pink.
But she stood her ground, and as the teasing girls wearied of clapping she spoke. There was a slight tremor in her voice, but she went steadily on, and after expressing in the name of the Pioneers the great pleasure it had given them to meet the daughter of their hostess, voiced their desires in asking Miss Nita to join with them in their endeavors to imitate the sterling qualities of the early pioneer women, and to become a Girl Pioneer of America!
As Nathalie sank back in her seat glad to think the ordeal—to her—of the day was over, there was a moment’s silence, and then every Pioneer was doing her best to second this invitation to the daughter of their hostess by making as loud a demonstration as possible.
Nita, as she heard this invitation, grew white, speechless with surprise, but only for a moment, as the next second, with joy shining in her eyes, she leaned over crying in a tense whisper, “Oh, Mother, tell them yes! Tell them yes!”
But Mrs. Van Vorst had already risen to her feet, eyes smiling but tear dimmed as she gazed down at the bright expectant faces upturned to hers. For a moment she stood, and then in a voice broken by emotion and pleasure thanked the Pioneers for an invitation that she knew had been prompted by kindness and that she appreciated more than she could express. Her little daughter, as they all knew, was a shut-in. She would be delighted to become one of a band of girlswho had proved so worthy of the name they bore, but, her face saddened, would she not prove a burden to them, for would it not require too much patience to bear with one who perhaps had been over indulged on account of her misfortune?
At this juncture Madame Stuyvesant stepped to her side crying, “Oh, Mrs. Van Vorst, your little shut-in is just the one I want my girls to be with, so that by the patience they will acquire in her companionship they will become more gentle and considerate to others. And as for Miss Nita, the mingling with healthy, active girls of her own age and the exercise and aid she will derive from the sports, and industries—taken lightly of course—I am sure will brighten her life in many ways.”
A few more words from Helen, Lillie, and one or two of the older girls, and Mrs. Van Vorst’s consent was won, and Nita with bright, happy eyes was clapping her hands very softly under the Starry Banner that fell in folds across her chair.
Each girl in turn was then toasted, under the name of the pioneer she impersonated, being required in response to tell something about herself, as to who and what part she had played in the days of New Amsterdam. When the name of Mrs. Polly Prevoorst was called, Lillie Bell stood up, and had just begun with her usual dramatic gestures and intonations to relate some little incident in the life of that noted lady, whena shrill falsetto voice shrieked, “Pretty Polly! Pretty Polly! Polly want a cobble?”
There was a sudden turning and twisting of heads and necks at this unlooked for interruption, to see who was making sport of the fair lady, but before the speaker could be seen, with a quick flutter of wings Mr. Jimmie landed in the middle of the table. Surprise caused the girls to exclaim and then laugh, as they watched the new guest cocking his head from side to side as he winked at them with his red-rimmed eyes.
All at once his head stopped its restless motion, as with a quick glance he seemed suddenly to spy Lillie Bell, who was still standing, waiting for a chance to deliver her little speech. The girls ceased to giggle and with observant eyes wondered what was going to happen. They did not have to wait long for Jimmie, with another flash of his wings, screeched shrilly, “Polly! Poor Polly! Polly want a petticoat—Polly—want a petticoat?”
But Jimmie’s concern for the “Lady of Petticoat Lane” was drowned in shouts of laughter, while Lillie Bell with a reddened, embarrassed face sat down. Thus Jimmie became the beau of the afternoon, as each girl vainly tried to coax him with a sweetie to notice her, but Jimmie disdained their advances and, flying to the shoulder of Nathalie, evinced his partiality for that young lady by chattering noisily, “Hell Nat!Ah—Blue Robin, pretty Blue Robin!” And then a shrill Tru-al-lee, tru-al-lee! rang through the room.
But this effort to do the wise thing ended Jimmie’s performance, for suddenly noting the applause that greeted him, he set up such a hideous shrieking, interspersed with fiendish laughter, that he was promptly seized by Peter and carried from public sight to muse on his sins in the privacy of his cage.
When Lillie’s tormentor disappeared she was able to act the part of the fair Polly and relate the incident she had striven so vainly to tell. As she finished, finding that all the notables had been duly honored, the girls again turned to the rather novel menus that they had found in front of their plates.
These were post-card holders, rather dainty little affairs of flowered silk that had contained post-cards, one for each course that had been served. One was a quaint little picture of New Amsterdam. Another was a well-known building or landmark of old New York, while others portraits of famous Dutch painters or authors, each one with an appropriate inscription either in Dutch or English.
These cards had excited many comments of admiration, and as the girls’ attention was drawn to them again Edith suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, girls, why see, my post-card holder has a tiny white envelope in it!” As she began to tear it open each girl turned eagerly to hers and with renewed interest began to inspect itagain, while Mrs. Van Vorst and Nita with smiling eyes watched the little by-play that was being enacted.
By this time Nathalie had read the contents of her envelope and with eyes all alight was crying, “Oh, girls! my envelope contains an invitation from Mrs. Van Vorst as a Pioneer to camp—”
“At Eagle Lake!” broke in a chorus from the girls as they excitedly flourished the bits of white paper to and fro while watching Nathalie intently.
Nathalie was too dazed to speak, but in a moment, as she realized that each girl present had been honored with a similar invitation, she bent forward and began to talk to Helen in low, hurried tones. When she finished she was on her feet crying in tremulous voice, “Oh, Mrs. Van Vorst—this seems too good to be true—O dear, how are we to thank you for your kindness, it is too much for us to accept!”
But her hostess was ready with a reply, as with brightening eyes she answered, “Girls, the invitations you have read I repeat, I want you Girl Pioneers to spend the three weeks of your camp life at Eagle Lake. I have a bungalow there and expect to leave for the Lake next week, and shall be pleased to welcome you there whenever you think best to come.
“The Lake is very beautiful, surrounded by woods and within two or three miles of a town. Of course, I have not accommodations for you all, but I have an empty bungalow near mine, and a little log cabin thatwas once a summer house, so that with a few tents I think you will find ample accommodations for your three bird groups. And girls—” she spoke earnestly, “I do not want you to thank me, for your thanks will be the acceptance of this invitation and coming up to the Lake and having a merry time. I am sure I stand ready, and my daughter Nita, to help you towards that end.”
As Mrs. Van Vorst finished Helen arose, and on behalf of the Pioneers thanked her for her kind invitation. “Indeed, Mrs. Van Vorst,” she continued, “we shall be most pleased to camp at Eagle Lake—if our Director is willing—and I hope that we shall be able to show you that we are worthy the kindness you have seen fit to extend to us. Now, girls—”
“Girl Pi-o-neers! Now give a cheer!For our hostess so kind and dear!Girl Pi-o-neers! again we cheer,This time for Miss Nita, the dear!”
As the cheering ceased Mrs. Van Vorst stood again, and in a few words declared she felt impelled to say that the Pioneers should be very proud of a young lady in their group who had so ably helped her in the arrangements and the getting up of the afternoon’s festivity. She would mention no names—Nathalie’s face was a full-blown rose—as they all knew to whom she referred, but she would like it known that the invitation to the Lake had been given not only to furnishpleasure to the Pioneers, but in appreciation of the great kindness, sympathy, and aid that had been given to her daughter and herself by that same Pioneer, a kindness that she would always remember.
The girls, laughing and talking about the pleasure of theKraeg, of the joys and the future held in store for them at camp, now returned to the sitting room. Here they were greeted with another surprise in the shape of a huge, unwieldy figure in baggy knee-breeches, full skirted coat, wide-brimmed hat and long white beard and locks, whom Mrs. Van Vorst presented as Father Knickerbocker, although several declared that he was the exact counterpart of the famous pictures of Rip Van Winkle.
Whomever he personated was a matter of indifference to the girls as long as his identity was concealed, which was ably done behind a red-checked mask, through the eye-holes of which two eyes glinted humorously in merry jest or pleasantry as he joined the girls in a game of quoits or a game of nine-pins which Peter had arranged on an old billiard table.
As Nathalie and Helen were doing their best to beat this strange antagonist, and at the same time to provoke him to speech—as he would persist in playing he was deaf and dumb—Peter led in an old darkey who, with fiddle in hand, was soon squeaking away to the delight of the girls. In a few moments old-time melodies were heard, and they went flying over the floorin waltz, schottische, polka, and in many of the long-forgotten dances.
When the dancing began the mysterious guest was seen to edge towards the door, but Nathalie and Helen were too quick for him, and in a moment he was surrounded by a bevy of girls, each one begging him to dance the Virginia reel with her. Even these many honors failed to loosen the strings of his tongue, but Nathalie did not despair.
Presently, as he had made this young lady his honored choice in the dance, she was led up and down the room, or twirled about like a pin-wheel. That he was nimble of foot was soon perceived as they all spun round like a merry-go-round.
Suddenly Annetje was seen to whisper to her neighbor. The whisper spread like a whirlwind, and all eyes were soon fastened on the whirling Father as he chasséed to the right and left of the merry girls. Suddenly there was a stampede to his side, and the next minute he was surrounded by a cordon of slim young hands, while one of his assailants made a spring towards him. Just another moment, and nose, beard, and locks were on the floor, while his tormentors laughed and danced merrily around their prisoner, a good friend who had eased many of their aches and pains, for it was no other but Dr. Morrow!
Four weeks later Nathalie stood on the veranda with her arms around her mother. “Oh, Mumsie,” shewailed, “I hate to go and leave you!” She winked hard, she was determined not to get lachrymose. “I just wish I wasn’t going, it does seem so mean to leave you here in this heat.”
“But, Daughter, I have Dick with me, and it is lovely and cool here on the veranda. We shall not mind it at all, and then you know the nights are generally comfortable in August,” Mrs. Page ended with a cheery smile.
“Mumsie, you’re a dear—” rejoined Nathalie with another suppressed sniffle. “You’re just trying to make the best of it, but—”
“There is no but about it,” answered her mother quickly, “for I am afraid I am very selfish, but I shall have to confess that there has been so much going on these last days, well, I shall enjoy the rest and quiet. Felia is here, too, and I shall have nothing to do but to be—”
“Jolly!” broke in Dick at this moment, who for some mysterious reason seemed unusually jubilant. He had received a letter a few days before; Nathalie had caught him reading it, but he had slipped it hurriedly into his pocket as he saw her, declaring in answer to her questioning that it was nothing, but nevertheless, ever since that day he had seemed more like his old self.
Did they really want to get rid of her? Was Mamma in earnest? How much more cheerful shehad seemed the last few days! These thoughts flashed in quick succession through Nathalie’s brain. Somewhat puzzled, but disarmed of her fears by these signs of cheer from her loved ones, the girl bestowed a final kiss all round, notwithstanding Dick’s protests, who declared that he had been slobbered over about fifty times already. Then she flew down the path and into the automobile, where Mrs. Morrow, the kiddies, and the doctor were waiting to drive her to the depot.
Seventeen happy girls, their hearts pulsating with joyful anticipation, boarded the train at the New Jersey Central that August morning. Notwithstanding the fact that the day was intensely warm, their tongues, hands, and feet kept up a ceaseless activity as they disposed of their bags, valises, and the impedimenta that they had found it impossible to squeeze into their trunks, for it was rather tight packing when there were two girls to a trunk.
Lillie Bell carried her mandolin, the Scribe her book for reporting the many happenings that were to be, while Barbara was burdened with several books on bird, flower, and wood lore, for camp was the place to study nature. With tennis-rackets and golf-bags it certainly seemed as if those seventeen girls and their belongings were going to fill the car.
Mrs. Morrow, who had a great dislike of annoying people, began to look worried, but suddenly catching sight of the faces of several of the passengers, alllooking so smiling, so in sympathy with this young life and its overflow of exuberance, as if they were enjoying the clamor and bustle as much as the girls themselves, her face relaxed. She broke into a smile of relief, although shaking her head at two of the girls who were making the greatest noise.
They finally settled in their seats, but as hands and feet became more quiet, alas, it seemed as if the clack of their tongues grew greater! They fell to discussing their plans for the camp, the sports they would have, and a thousand and one things that occupied their minds at the present moment.
But even tongues need a rest, and the girls at last quieted down and began to read, each one having provided herself with some book to while away the hours. After a time, however, they all seemed to tire of reading, and growing restive had just started an argument as to the respective merits of their books, when the train dashed into a little wooden station and the conductor yelled, “Eagle Lake!”
Bags, knapsacks, rackets, and all camping impedimenta were hastily gathered up, and a few minutes later the merry girls were crowding into an old-fashioned stage that Mrs. Van Vorst had hired for the occasion, giving due honor to the doctor and his wife by sending her own automobile for them.
It was a delightful ride to the lake, and thoroughlyenjoyed by the girls, who evinced their pleasure by being unusually silent. Eyes were keenly alert, however, noting the rolling patches of green meadows with their grazing cows, the rippling brook meandering from a hill near by, and the somber foliage of a long range of low foothills in the distance crowned with a misty haze. But the silence was broken when some one spied a reddish gray chipmunk scurrying across the road in frantic terror as he saw the many faces bearing down upon him, and heard their hurried exclamations of eager delight at this, the girls’ first glimpse of one of the green forest people of Eagle Lake.
It was not long before the sheen of silver water glimmered in the distance, bordered with somber foliage, and then hearts beat quicker and voices grew louder in excited hubbub as in a minute or so they could see the cupola of Mrs. Van Vorst’s cottage against the green of its shores.
After a joyous welcome from Mrs. Van Vorst and Nita, seconded by Peter and Ellen, who all stood awaiting them on the large veranda, the girls ran riot. With swift steps they hurried—after first inspecting Mrs. Van Vorst’s bungalow, so suggestive of luxury and cozy cheer—to the smaller bungalow, where the Morrows were to abide, with its big living-room abloom with golden-rod. This was to be used as an assembly room for the Pioneer Rallies. Then they hastened tothe little wooden shack, which they dubbed the Grub House, as it was here that the camp cooking was to be done.
After duly admiring the boat-house, which they all declared would make a lovely place for a dance, they were conducted by Peter to the loft above, where he stood silently enjoying their delight as they exclaimed over this unexpected surprise. It had been turned into a good sized bedroom with two bureaus, a center-table, a few odd chairs, and four little white cots, looking so restful that the Sport declared she wanted to go to bed that very second.
But their rhapsodies came to an abrupt end as Lillie Bell suddenly spied the Lake from one of the windows. In a moment the girls were crowding about her, gazing in hushed silence at the silver sheet of water—three miles round Peter informed them—with its enticing little inlets, or coves, and tiny islands running like a series of stepping-stones through the center.
The Sport had caught sight of several newly painted boats and canoes that bobbed cheerily at her, moored to the pier below, and a moment later the girls were off like a cavalcade of young Indians to inspect them, for did they not all have to be named on the morrow, when a general christening of all camp tents, boats, and so on was to take place?
But there were other things to claim a share of their hearts’ joy they found, as Carol, who made the seventeenthcamper, suddenly saw a large tent on the edge of the woods to which they all made a mad rush. Here they found the doctor and his wife, who said it was an army tent that had been loaned, put up, and furnished by that good lady, Mrs. Van Vorst. Lifting the flap the girls peeped in to see four more tiny cots, a little book-case made from soap-boxes by Peter, and the usual camp furniture staring at them invitingly.
A tiny log cabin was also inspected—Peter said it had once been a summer-house—which contained two cots. But time was limited, and Dr. Morrow—who was for the time being captain of the working squad—began to issue his orders. All baggage and camp equipment had arrived the day before and the girls were soon busily engaged in putting up tents. It meant lots of work, but each one was at her cheeriest best as she overhauled canvases, measured spaces, dug pole-holes, sewed on rings for tape, tied ropes, and performed the various odd jobs necessary to have the camp city in shape before night.