CHAPTER III
Acrossa smooth stretch of bay dotted with tiny islets, past cliffs with great black fissures in the side; through a narrow channel between grim reefs and the ragged shore, went theTogo. Never a house did they pass. Never another boat did they meet. For Round Robin was hidden in an entirely wild part of the shore, too far from Old Harbor to suit most city people. The branch road ended at the Batchelders’ place. Beyond was wilderness. It was this very wildness that the Batchelders and their friends liked most; and because of it they had chosen this spot for their summer camp.
“Of course you know this Bay was once a great place for Indians?” said Dick, who came from an Indian-frequented part of the country. But Anne knew nothing of Indians andtheir history. “They had a village somewhere along here, Hugh says; Hugh is great on history. And out on that island away off there,” Reddy pointed into the misty east, “there was a terrible massacre once.”
Anne looked shocked. “There was a shipwreck on that reef,” volunteered Nancy, indicating a row of brown teeth piercing through foam.
“Better than that,” called out Hugh from the tiller, “did you girls know that this was the scene of a big sea-fight during the Revolution? One of my ancestors, who was master of a little fishing schooner, decoyed a British man-of-war right on to that shoal over there, and took him prisoner.”
“It’s not polite of you to mention it in Cicely’s presence,” laughed Nancy. “You might hurt her feelings.”
“Dear me, no!” protested Cicely. “We have forgotten all the grudges of those days, haven’t we? Our countries are just allies, aren’t they?”
“Of course they are!” said Hugh saluting like a soldier.
“Sure we are!” cried Victor doing likewise. “Ask France, too!”
“Look, Anne!” interrupted Dick, “that island out there is where Captain Kidd is said to have hidden his treasure. Maybe we shall find it this summer, who knows?”
“Pooh! They tell that same story about every island off the coast.” Nancy snubbed him.
“Well, he did hide it somewhere, didn’t he?” insisted Dick. “And nobody has ever found it yet? So!”
“This is the place where Gilda fell overboard while we were fishing yesterday.” Norma pointed out the place.
“Ze wasser was ve’y damp!” Gilda shrugged with a little frown. And they all began to laugh, even Anne, at the funny expression.
“And here’s where we go in bathing,” said Beverly, showing Anne a little sandy beach as they passed. “It is cold, oh, so cold! But it is fun, when you get used to it.”
“We had a heated pool at Idlewild,” said Anne dubiously. “I don’t like bathing in cold sea-water.”
“It’s the way we take our daily baths,” said Nancy. “There isn’t any running water at the camp, you know. There’s just the spring outside the kitchen. We have to bring in what we want in buckets, the way the first settlers did. Oh, it’s quite primitive, Anne!”
“No bathrooms then? No electric lights, I suppose?” Everybody began to laugh. Dick fished something from his pocket and flashed a torch in Anne’s face. “Of course we have electricity,” he said. “Everybody is his own firefly.”
Anne looked more and more pained at these revelations. They were approaching a point dark with fir trees, that made out into the water beside a tiny cove. There was a strip of pebbly beach, with a landing pier, from the end of which a path went wavering up the bank and disappeared into the woods. Anne caught a glimpse, through the trees, of a low log shack, and some brown canvas tents that seemed to blend in like a part of the woods.
“Here we are! Let’s give the camp yell,” suggested Nancy. And once again the newcomer’sears were deafened by the strange cry, “Heia! Hoia! Together! Round Robin!”
There was a high answering call; and down the slip came hurrying a tall, sweet-faced woman in a blue dress and big apron, followed by two little capering boys. The terrier pup could not wait another minute, but leaped out of the boat and ran to greet the children, barking noisily as if trying to tell them about his wonderful trip to the Harbor to meet the Stranger.
The woman, whom everyone called “Tante,” came straight to Anne and took her cordially by both hands. “Welcome to Round Robin, Anne,” she said. “I am very glad to see you. These are my Twins, Eddie and Freddie. Shake hands, boys.”
The Twins stared at Anne with unfeigned interest. “Yes, her hair is a sort of gold—” began Freddie. But Dick interrupted further comment on the Golden Girl by grabbing him up bodily and racing off, followed by Eddie and Doughboy in a tandem.
“I hope you will like our camp, Dear,” said Mrs. Batchelder, as they followed the girlsup the path, leaving the young men to bring the luggage. “We have very happy times here together. Though you have never camped before, you will soon get used to the queerness, I am sure.”
There was something so motherly and kind in her manner that a lump came in Anne’s throat. She turned abruptly, in what seemed a sulky way, and said nothing.
“I t’ink s’e is not pleasant,non?” whispered Gilda to Norma. And the latter shrugged her shoulders. “I’m glad she is not my tentmate,” she remarked. “But Beverly can get along with her, if anyone can.”
The pretty path led to a quaint cabin made of rough logs, such as the Pilgrims built in Plymouth when they first landed. There was a broad piazza, however, which those busy Pilgrims would have had no time to enjoy. On it were Gloucester hammocks, rough-finished chairs, and a table which Dick had made. “This is Round Robin,” said Tante, “where we meet to eat and work and dance and spend rainy hours. A real round robin himself has a nest in the top of that sprucetree. And the Twins and I have our nests upstairs. But I am sure you will like sleeping in a tent, Anne. The boys have pitched their tents down that path about fifty rods away, beside their favorite swimming place. That is where Dick does his studying every morning. Now, Beverly, I will turn Anne over to your Southern hospitality. You will make her feel at home as soon as possible, I know.”
The other girls had already disappeared on various errands. “This way to the Fairy Ring!” drawled Beverly, with her pretty smile. “That is what Nancy calls our tent circle. They do look rather like brown mushrooms, don’t they? Do you-all like mushrooms? We are beginning to find lovely ones in the woods.”
“Toadstools!” Anne exclaimed in disgust. “I’m afraid of the nasty things. Of course, I like the ones we get in the city,” she qualified, remembering.
“Wild ones are best,” declared Beverly. “You’ll learn to know the difference. But don’t be fooled by the rich-looking Amanita.It’s deadly! Well, here’s our mushroom—not too much-room, as Reddy says.”
They stood at the entrance to one of the little brown tents. Anne stared. “Goodness!” she said. “And I shall have only half of that?”
Two narrow cots stood against the sides of the tent; a small mirror hung from the post between them at the farther end, over a rough box that seemed to serve for a dressing table. There were, besides Beverly’s steamer trunk already in place, two camp stools, and a clothes-line stretched across the tent, on which dangled certain girlish garments. That was all. What a contrast to the dainty boudoir Anne had left behind in Chicago!
“I keep things that mustn’t get damp inside my bed,” said Beverly demurely. “I don’t know what Tante would say. She is so tidy. Your trunk will go there, opposite mine.”
“I have three trunks,” answered Anne sulkily. “I don’t see where they can go.”
Beverly laughed. “All full of clothes?” Anne nodded. “Well, you’ll never want them here, I reckon,” drawled the Southern girl.“You’ll keep them in the store-room, and be glad to get rid of them. You will never need to wear anything butthis—in Camp, at least.” She glanced down at her khaki costume. Anne sniffed.
“I never shall like it,” she said. “It’s so coarse and ugly.”
“I never shall like it,” she repeated in a letter to her father which she hastened to write that same afternoon, while she was supposed to be resting. (She did not write to her stepmother.) “Please don’t make me stay in this old camp!” Anne continued in her letter. “Mrs. Batchelder is lovely and kind. But she does the cooking herself! And we are all expected to help, taking turns at everything! And we have to take care of our tents, and sweep, and wait on table! Imagine it! There aren’t any servants; and they say it is the way the first settlers in America lived, only easier. I think it’s horrid! Please can’t I come to Canada, or wherever you are? I can keep out of the way, if you’re busy. And I won’t bother the baby.”
When Anne had finished her complainingletter she sat looking out of the tent into the trees, feeling very lonely. The Camp was silent, for it was the hour when those who wished to do so took their daily nap; while the others were expected to study or to keep quiet or to go away where they could be noisy without disturbing anyone else. Even the irrepressible Twins and Doughboy were invisible. Victor had taken them off on a small hike. Beverly had left Anne in undisputed possession of the tent. She and Cicely were going to pick wild strawberries for supper.
“I wonder what they are doing in Canada now?” thought Anne wistfully. “I wonder why Father wouldn’t let me come with them? It must have been Mother’s idea.” Ever since the baby came Mrs. Poole had acted oddly. But so had Mr. Poole. He had been different for a long time. There was something Anne didn’t understand, and it made her uncomfortable. Now they had sent her to this camp of strangers. It was very hard! Tears began to gather in her eyes, as Anne pitied herself.
Just then she became aware of a commotionin the trees outside the tent. The birds were screaming and complaining wildly; especially one father robin, who seemed to be having a fit of hysterics. “That must be the Round Robin for whom the camp is named,” thought Anne. “What a racket! You are so near the birds and things in this old camp that you can’t get away from their troubles.”
“What!What—what—what!” shrieked the old robin, still more anxiously, and Anne saw him flying back and forth about a certain tall cedar. Then the tree itself began to shake. The top was moving as if it were alive, thrashing back and forth strangely.
“What can it be?” thought Anne, laying down her pen and running outside. There was certainly something up in the tree; something alive. She caught the glitter of two yellow eyes peering down at her. “It is an animal!” thought Anne, and for a moment her heart stood still. She was alone in camp for all she knew. And Hugh had told that noon how he had seen a wildcat in the woods last summer. Wildcats were dangerous beasts, sometimes. What should she do? This creaturewas certainly furry, but it looked white. Weren’t wildcats always grey?
The creature was coming down! A great white cat-like thing, with a thick ruff around its neck, a tail like a feather plume, fur standing on end, and long, fierce whiskers. The robin kept up a ceaseless protest. Evidently he at least had reason to be afraid. Anne stood rooted to the spot with fear, while the animal descended. It gave a leap to the ground and came bounding straight towards her.
“Purr!” it cried. “Purr-miaou!” “Oh, what is it?” Anne whispered aloud to the air. But she stood her ground.
“Patsy! Patsy!” called a voice, and out of the bungalow ran Nancy. “You naughty cat! Are you bothering the birds again?”
“Is it only a cat?” asked Anne staring. “Why, it looks like a wild beast!”
“Patsy is an honest-to-goodness cat,” Nancy assured her proudly. “But our darling Patsy will chase the birds. We do the best we can. We keep him indoors at night. He has never been away from home one single night in allhis little life, Anne, and we don’t let him out till after he has been fed in the morning. But he will prowl for birds. Naughty Patsy, to wake up our new guest, too!”
“I wasn’t asleep,” said Anne simply. Patsy capered across the path and flung himself head foremost at the girls’ feet, rolling over in the most engaging fashion, snowy paws in the air. “What a beauty!” cried Anne. “I love Persian cats. They are so rare. He must be very valuable.”
“He isn’t rare, and he isn’t a foreigner. He is a Maine ‘shag cat,’ born right here in the Harbor,” declared Nancy. “There are more ‘shags’ than ‘snug-haired cats,’ as the people call them around here. But we like our kittieswell done, instead ofrare, don’t we, Patsy? He likes you, Anne.”
Sure enough. Patsy gave a winsome little purr and ran up to Anne’s outstretched hand, as if to welcome the newcomer, and rubbed against her knee.
“You are a darling!” cried Anne, picking up the roly-poly fellow, who wasn’t so very big after all, being mostly fluff, like an icecreamsoda. Patsy licked her cheek with his pink tongue. And Anne smiled. It was the first time Nancy had seen her smile, and she thought how pretty Anne could be.
“He is a fairy cat,” announced Nancy. “White cats are always fairies, you know. Look out he doesn’t bewitch you, Anne!”
“Nonsense!” cried Anne, turning up her nose at the words, but stroking Patsy’s fur very gently indeed. She thought Nancy talked in a very silly way about fairy-tales, almost as if she really believed them. She did not yet know that Nancy loved better than anything else to write fairy-tales herself. And if you do a thing like that, you must at least pretend to believe in it.
Already Patsy had made Anne feel that she had a four-footed friend at camp—which may or may not have been bewitchment. Anyway, she scribbled a postscript to the letter which she had been writing:
“P.S. Patsy is the most beautiful cat I ever saw; fine as the one who took the prize in the last cat show, you remember? Only this one is white. I am going to see if I can’t buy himof Nancy Batchelder and bring him home with me when I leave this old camp. I am sure it will be the only thing I shall want to bring away!”
However, this complaining letter of Anne’s was never sent. It remained in her pocket until it graduated from there into the fire-place at Round Robin. For it is a mistake to record your impressions of any place until you have spent at least one whole day and one entire evening there.
That first evening after supper, it being warm and dry, with a young June moon, the Round Robin gathered on the piazza; all but Hugh and Victor who had taken the canoe and had gone out on the water for a little. Perched on the piazza railing, snuggled in the Gloucester hammocks, curled on the grass mats, the Club purred like contented kittens after a good supper. First they played “I’m thinking of something.” But afterward they voted that the night was too beautiful for any game. Down in the pasture the fireflies were flickering. Sweet odors came from trees and grass and water; and sweet sounds. Now andagain a little bird chirped away up in a treetop, as if his happy long day was being continued into a nice dream. The sea itself was crooning a gentle tune.
“Sing, Norma!” begged somebody. And though there was no piano or other accompaniment than the noises of out-doors, Norma was willing enough. She had a beautiful voice, full and rich and mellow for a very young girl, and she loved to sing. She began with quaint melodies in Italian, new and lovely things which the others had never heard, and could not wholly understand. Her voice seemed to melt into the night like the wind and water. Then Norma sang old songs in English which they all knew, and in which they all joined, a jolly little chorus. Anne sang as loudly as anybody, there in the dark corner where nobody could see.
Presently the sound of music came from the ocean too, where they could just spy the red canoe gliding by in the moonlight.
“Allons, Citoyens! Formez vos bataillons!” Victor’s pure tenor rose in the stirring strains of theMarseillaise, Hugh joining in with asturdy baritone. The June wind brought the sound of the young veterans’ voices sweetly, and Tante’s eyes were moist, as she thought gratefully of what might have been. Instead, those soldier-voices might now be breathing up through the grasses of that land whose very flowers seem to sing the chant of liberty. No! There must be no more war!
Then Round Robin sangAmericawith vim. Anne noticed that there were at least two sets of words being sung to the same melody. It is not wholly accident that makes this old tune the hymn of several great nations.
“Hooray!” shouted voices from the shore in response toAmerica; and then the echoes woke to a rattling college yell. Hugh and Victor were coming up the path, and Doughboy scuttled barking to meet them.
“Well, it must be time for bed,” said Tante presently. “I suspect Anne Poole has found this a pretty long day, and is quite ready for sleep?”
“It has been a nice day,” said Anne simply. It might not be so bad at Round Robin, afterall, she thought, crumpling up the letter in her pocket.
One more song they sang all together before they separated—their favorite song of all they knew—“America the Beautiful.”
“America! America!God shed His grace on thee,And crown thy good with brotherhood,From sea to shining sea!”
“America! America!God shed His grace on thee,And crown thy good with brotherhood,From sea to shining sea!”
“America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood,
From sea to shining sea!”
The voices rang out lustily as the campers strolled away to their various tents. And the last word Anne heard before she swiftly dropped off to sleep in her snug cot was “America!” coming clearly and softly from the tent where the young ex-soldiers lay.