VWIND AND WEATHER
Olga, sitting under a big oak, was embroidering her ceremonial dress, and, as usual, Elizabeth sat near, watching her as she worked. Olga did it as she did most things, with taste and skill, but she listened indifferently when Laura Haven, stopping beside her, spoke admiringly of the work.
“I wouldn’t waste time over it if I hadn’t promised Miss Grandis to embroider it. She gave us all the stuff, you know,” Olga explained.
“It isn’t wasting time to make things beautiful,” Laura replied. “That is part of our law, you know, to seek beauty, and wherever possible, create it.” She looked at Elizabeth and added, “You’ll be learning by-and-by to do such work.”
There was no response from the Poor Thing, only the usual shrinking gesture and eyes down-dropped. Acting on a sudden impulse, Laura spoke again. “Elizabeth, the cook is short of helpers this morning, and I’ve volunteered to shell peas. There’s a big lot of them to do. I wonder if you would be willing to help me.”
To her surprise Elizabeth rose at once with a nod. “Olga will be glad to have her away for a little while,” Laura was thinking as they went over to the kitchen.
It certainly was a big lot of peas. Forty girls, livingand sleeping in the open, develop famous appetites, and the “telephone” peas were delicious. But as the two worked, the great pile of pods grew steadily smaller, and finally Laura looked at Elizabeth with a laugh. “I’ve been trying my best, but I can’t keep up with you,” she said. “How do you shell them so fast, Elizabeth?”
A wee ghost of a smile—the first Laura had ever seen there—fluttered over the girl’s face. “I’m used to this kind of work. You have to do it fast when you’re cookin’ for eight,” she explained simply.
“And you have cooked for eight?” Laura questioned, and added to herself, “No wonder you look like a ghost of a girl.”
Elizabeth nodded. Laura could not induce her to talk, but still she felt that somehow she had penetrated a little way into the shell of silence and reserve. As they went back across the camp, she dropped her arm over Elizabeth’s shoulders, and said,
“You’re a splendid helper, Elizabeth. May I call on you the next time I need any one?”
Another silent nod, and then the girl slipped back into her place beside Olga.
“Then I will—and thank you,” Laura returned as she passed on. Olga glanced after her with something odd and inscrutable in her dark eyes, and there was a question in the look with which she searched the face of Elizabeth. But she did not put the question into words.
Afterwards Laura spoke to her friend of the Poor Thing with a new hopefulness, telling how willingly she had helped with the peas.
“You know I’ve tried in vain to get her to do otherthings, but this time she was so quick to respond! I’m almost afraid to hope, but maybe I’ve had an inspiration. I must try the child again though before I can feel at all sure.”
She made her second trial the next day, when she sent Bessie Carroll to ask Elizabeth to help her with the dishes. “It’s my day to work in the kitchen,” Bessie told her, “and Miss Laura thought you might be willing to help me. Most of the girls, you know, hate the kitchen work. You don’t, do you?”
“Iliketo help,” replied Elizabeth promptly.
“I like Elizabeth!” Bessie confided to Laura that night. “Before, I’ve tried to get her into things because she seemed so lonesome and ‘out of it,’ don’t you know? But I like her now, she was so willing to help me to-day. I thought she was awfully slow, but she was quick as anybody with the dishes.”
Then Laura felt sure she had found the key. “Elizabeth loves to help,” she told Anne Wentworth.
“‘Love is the joy of service so deep that self is forgotten,’” she quoted. “Anne, I believe that that spirit is in the Poor Thing—deep down in the starved little heart of her—while Olga—with Olga it is the other. She ‘glorifies work’ because ‘through work she is free.’ She works ‘to win, to conquer, to be master.’ She works ‘for the joy of the working.’ That’s the difference.”
Anne nodded gravely. “I am sure you are right about Olga. It has always seemed to me that to her ‘Wohelo means work’ and only that.”
“And to Elizabeth it means—or will mean—service and that means, underneath—love,” said Laura, her voice full of deep feeling. “O Anne, I solongto helpthat poor child to get some of the beauty and joy of life into her little neglected soul!”
“If she has love, she has the best thing in life already,” Anne reminded. “The rest will come—in time.”
A day or two later Laura found another excuse for asking Elizabeth’s help, and as before, the response was quick, and again Olga’s busy fingers paused as she looked after the two, and quite unconsciously her dark brows came together in a frown. Elizabeth had gone with scarcely a glance at her. A week—two weeks earlier, she would have hung back and refused. Olga shook her head impatiently as she resumed her work, and wondered why she was dissatisfied with Elizabeth for going so willingly. Of course she must do what her Guardian asked. Nevertheless——Olga left it there.
It was an hour before Elizabeth came back, and this time there was in her face something half shy, half exultant, and she did not say a word about what Miss Laura had wanted her for. Olga made a mental note of that, but she was far too proud to make any inquiries.
The next morning after breakfast Elizabeth disappeared again, and this time too it was fully an hour before she returned, and as before she came back with a shining something in her eyes—a something that changed slowly to troubled brooding when Olga did not look at her or speak to her all the rest of the morning.
When the third day it was the same, Olga faced the situation in stony silence. She would not ask why Elizabeth went or where, but she silently resented hergoing, and Elizabeth, sensitively conscious of her resentment, after that, slipped away each time with a wistful backward glance; and when she returned, there was no shining radiance in her eyes, but only that wistful pleading which Olga coldly ignored. So it went on day after day. Olga always knew where Elizabeth was except for that one hour in the morning, which was never mentioned between them. The other times she was always helping some one—darning stockings for Louise Johnson—Elizabeth knew how to darn stockings—or helping little Bessie Carroll hunt for some of her belongings, which she was always losing, or helping Katie the cook, who declared that nobody in camp could pare potatoes and apples, or peel tomatoes or pick over berries so fast as the Poor Thing. There was not a day now that some one did not call on Elizabeth for something like this, for the girls had found out that she was always willing. She seemed to take it quite as a matter of course that she should be at the service of everybody. But Laura noted the fact that she never asked anybody to help her.
Then came a night when Mrs. Royall detained the girls for a moment after supper in the dining-room.
“I think we are going to have a heavy storm,” she said, “and we must be prepared for it. Put all your belongings under cover where they will be secure from wind and rain. I should advise you to sleep in your gymnasium suits—you will be none too warm in this northeast wind—and have your rubber blankets and overshoes handy. Guardians will examine all tent-pins and ropes and see that everything is secure. No tent-sides up to-night, of course. I shall have a fire here, and lanterns burning all night; so if anything is neededyou can come right here. Now remember, girls, there is nothing to be afraid of—and Camp Fire Girls, of course, are never afraid. That is all, but attend to these things at once, and as it is too chilly to stay out, we will all spend the evening here.”
The girls scattered, and the next half-hour was spent in making everything ready for stormy weather. Only Louise Johnson, her mouth full of mint gum, gaily protested that it was all nonsense. It might rain, of course, but she didn’t believe there was going to be any heavy storm—in August——
“If the rest of you want to bundle up in your gym. suits you can, but excuseme!” she said. “And I can’t put all my duds under cover.”
“All right, Johnny, you’ll have nobody but yourself to blame if you find your things soaked, or blown into the bay before morning,” Mary Hastings told her. “I’m going to obey orders,” and she hurried over to her own tent.
The evening began merrily in the big dining-room. The canvas sides had been securely fastened down, and a splendid wood fire blazed in the wide fireplace. Tables were piled at one side of the room, and the girls played games, and danced to the music of two violins. At bedtime Mrs. Royall served hot chocolate and wafers, and then the girls went to their tents. By that time the sky was covered with a murk of black clouds, and a penetrating wind was blowing up the bay and whistling through the grove. Extra blankets had been put over the cots and rubber blankets over all, and the girls were quite willing to pull their flannel gym. suits over their night clothes, and found them none too warm. Even Louise Johnson followed theexample of the others. “Gee!” she exclaimed as she tucked the extra blanket closely around her shoulders, “camping out isn’t all it’s cracked up to be—not in this weather. Isn’t that thunder?”
It was thunder, and some of the more timid girls heard it with quaking hearts. But it was distant, low growling thunder, and after a little it died away. The girls, under their wool coverings, were warm and comfortable, and their laughter and chatter ceased as they dropped off to sleep.
It seemed as if the storm spirits had maliciously waited that their onset might be the more effective, for when all was quiet, and everybody in camp asleep, the muttering of the thunder grew louder, lightning began to zigzag across the black cloud masses, and the whistling of the wind deepened to a steady ominous growl. Tent ropes creaked under the strain of the heavy blasts; trees writhed and twisted, and the rain came in gusts, swift, spiteful, and icy cold. In the dining-room Mrs. Royall awoke from a light doze and piled fresh logs on the fire. Anne and Laura, whom she had kept with her in case their help might be needed, peered anxiously out of the windows.
“Can’t see a thing but black night except when the flashes come,” Anne said, “but this uproar is bound to awaken the girls.”
“And some of them are sure to be frightened,” added Mrs. Royall.
“It is enough to frighten them—all this tumult,” Laura said. “I wish we could get them all in here.”
“I’d have kept them all here and made a big field bed on the floor if I had thought we were going to have such a storm as this,” Mrs. Royall said anxiously.“If it doesn’t lessen soon, I shall take a lantern and go the round of the tents to see if all is right.”
As she spoke there came a loud rattling peal of thunder, followed immediately by a blinding flash of lightning that zigzagged across the sky, making the dense darkness yet blacker by contrast.
It was then that Mary Hastings, sitting up in bed, caught a glimpse, in the glare of the lightning, of Annie Pearson’s white terrified face in the next cot.
“O Mary, I’m sc—scared to d—death!” Annie whimpered, her teeth chattering with cold and terror.
“We are all right if only our tent doesn’t blow over,” returned Mary, and her steady voice quieted Annie for the moment. “If it does, we must make a dive for the dining-room. Got your raincoats and rubbers handy, girls?”
“I’m putting mine on,” Olga’s voice was as cool and undisturbed as Mary’s. She turned towards the next cot and added, “Elizabeth, you’ve no raincoat. Wrap yourself in your rubber blanket if the tent goes.”
“Ye—es,” returned Elizabeth, with a little frightened gasp.
Under the bedclothes Annie Pearson was sobbing and moaning, “O, I wish I was home! I wish I was home!”
Mary Hastings spoke sternly. “Annie Pearson, if you don’t stop that whimpering I’ll shake you!”
Annie subsided into sniffling silence. Outside there was a lull, and after a moment, Mary added hopefully, “There, I guess the worst is over, and we’re all right.”
While the words were yet on her lips, the storm leaped up like a giant refreshed. Rain came down ina deluge, beating through tent-canvas and spraying, with fine mist, the faces of the girls. Another vivid glare of lightning was followed by a long, loud rattling peal ending in a terrific crash that seemed fairly to rend the heavens, while the wind shook the tents as if giant hands were trying to wrest them from their fastenings. Then from all over the camp arose frightened shrieks and wails and cries, but Annie Pearson now was too terrified to utter a word. The next moment there was a loud, ripping tearing sound, and as fresh cries broke out, Mrs. Royall’s voice, clear and steady, rose above the tumult.
“Be quiet, girls,” she called. “One tent has gone over, but nobody’s hurt. Mary Hastings, slip on your coat and rubbers, and come and help us—quick!”
“I’m coming,” called Mary instantly, and directly she was out in the storm. Where the next tent had been, nothing but the wooden flooring, the iron cots, and four wooden boxes remained, and over these the rain was pouring in heavy, blinding sheets. Mrs. Royall, as wet as if she had just come out of the bay, was holding up a lantern, by the light of which Mary caught a fleeting glimpse of four figures in dripping raincoats scudding towards the dining-room, while two others followed them with arms full of wet bedding.
Mrs. Royall told Mary to gather up the bedding from a third cot and carry that to the dining-room, “And you take the rest of it,” she added to another girl, who had followed Mary. “And stay in the dining-room—both of you. Don’t come out again. Miss Anne will tell you what to do there.”
She held the lantern high until the girls reached the dining-room, then she hurried to another tent, fromwhich came a hubbub of frightened cries. Pushing aside the canvas curtain she stepped inside the tent, and holding up her lantern, looked about her. The cries and excited exclamations ceased at the sight of her, though one girl could not control her nervous sobbing.
“What is the matter here? Your tent hasn’t blown over. What are you crying about, Rose?” Mrs. Royall demanded.
Rose Anderson, an excitable little creature of fifteen, lifted a face white as chalk. “O,” she sobbed, “something came in—right up on my bed. It was big and—and furry—andwet! O Mrs. Royall, I never was so scared in my life!” She ended with a burst of hysterical sobbing.
Mrs. Royall cast a swift searching glance around the tent, then—wet and cold and worried as she was, her face crinkled into sudden laughter.
“Look, Rose—over there on that box. That must be the wet, furrybigintruder that scared you so!”
Four pairs of round frightened eyes followed her pointing finger; and on the box they saw a half-grown rabbit, with eyes bulging like marbles as the little creature crouched there in deadly terror. One glance, and three of the girls broke into shrieks of nervous laughter in which, after a moment, Rose joined. And having begun to laugh the girls kept on, until those in the other tents began to wonder if somebody had gone crazy. Mrs. Royall finally had to speak sternly to put an end to the hysterical chorus.
“There, there, girls, that will do—now be quiet! Listen, the thunder is fainter now, and the lightningless sharp. I think the wind is going down too. Are any of you wet?”
“Only—only Rose, where thebigfurry thing——” began one, and at that a fresh peal of laughter rang out. But Mrs. Royall’s grave face silenced it quickly.
“Listen, girls,” she repeated, “you are keeping me here when I am needed to look after others. I cannot go until you are quiet. I’ll take this half-drowned rabbit”—she reached over and picked up the trembling little creature—“with me; and now I think you can go to sleep. I am sure the worst of the storm is over.”
“We will be quiet, Mrs. Royall,” Edith Rue promised, her lips twitching again as she looked at the shivering rabbit.
“And I hope nowyoucan get some rest,” another added, and then Mrs. Royall dropped the curtain and went out again into the rain, which was still falling heavily. All the other tents had withstood the gale, and when Mrs. Royall had looked into each one, answered the eager questions of the girls, and assured them that no one was hurt and the worst of the storm was over, she hurried back to the dining-room. There she found that Anne and Laura had warmed and dried the girls, who had been turned out of their tent, given them hot milk, and made up dry beds for them on the floor.
“They are warm as toast,” Anne assured her.
“And now you and I will get back to bed, Elizabeth,” Mary Hastings said, again slipping on her raincoat, while Laura quietly threw her own over the other girl’s shoulders.
“Wait a minute,” Mrs. Royall ordered, and broughtthem two sandbags hot from the kitchen oven. “You must not go to sleep with cold feet. And thank you both for your help,” she added. “I’ll hold the lantern here at the door so you can see your way.” But Laura quietly took the lantern from her, and held it till Mary called, “All right!”
“Is that you, Mary?” Olga’s quiet voice questioned, as the girls entered the tent.
“Yes—Elizabeth and I. The excitement is all over and the storm will be soon. Let’s all get to sleep as fast as we can.”
“Elizabeth!” Olga repeated to herself. She had not known that Elizabeth had left her cot. “Why did you go?” she asked in a low tone, as Elizabeth crept under the blankets.
“Why—to help,” the Poor Thing answered, squeezing the hand that touched hers in the darkness.
The storm surely was lessening now. The lightning came at longer intervals and the thunder lagged farther and farther behind it. The rain still fell, but not so heavily, and the roar of the wind had died down to a sullen growl. In ten minutes the other three girls were sound asleep, but Olga lay long awake, her eyes searching the darkness, as her thoughts searched her own soul, finding there some things that greatly astonished her.
VIA WATER CURE
There were some pale cheeks and heavy eyes the next morning, but no one had taken cold from the exposure of the night, and most of the girls were as fresh and full of life as ever. The camp, however, was strewn with leaves and broken branches, and one tree was uprooted. Mrs. Royall’s face was grave as she thought of what might have been, had that tree fallen across any of the tents. It was a heavy responsibility that she carried with these forty girls under her charge, and never had she felt it more deeply than now.
The baby bunny was evidently somebody’s stray pet, for it submitted to handling as if used to it, showed no desire to get away, and contentedly nibbled the lettuce leaves and carrots which the girls begged of Katie.
“He fairlypurrswhen I scratch his head,” Louise Johnson declared gaily. “Girls, we must keep him for the camp mascot.”
“Looks as if we should have to keep him unless a claimant appears,” Mary Hastings said. “I’ve almost stepped on him twice already. I don’t believe we could drive him away with a club.”
“Nobody wants to drive him away,” retorted Louise, lifting him by his long ears, “unless maybe Rose,” she added, with a teasing glance over her shoulder.“You know Rose doesn’t care forbigfurry things.”
“Well, I guess,” protested Rose, “if he had flopped into your face all dripping wet, in the dark, as he did into mine last night, you wouldn’t have stopped to measure him before you yelled, any more than I did. Hefeltas big as—a wildcat, so there!” and Rose turned away with flushed cheeks, followed by shouts of teasing laughter.
“It’s—too bad. I’d have been scared too,” said a low voice, and Rose, turning, stared in amazement at the Poor Thing—thePoor Thing—for almost the first time since she came to camp, volunteering a remark.
“Why—why, you Po—Elizabeth!” Rose stammered, and then suddenly she slipped her arm around Elizabeth’s waist and drew her off to the hammock behind the pines. “Come,” she said, “I want to tell you about it. The girls are all laughing at me—especially Louise Johnson—but it wasn’t any laughing matter to me last night. I was scared stiff—truly I was!” She poured the story of her experiences into the other girl’s ears. The fact that Elizabeth said nothing made no difference to Rose. She felt the silent sympathy and was comforted. When she had talked herself out, Elizabeth slipped away and sought Olga, but Olga was nowhere to be found—not in the camp nor on the beach, but one of the boats was missing, and at last a girl told Elizabeth that she had seen Olga go off alone in it. That meant an age of anxious watching and waiting for the Poor Thing. She never could get over her horror of the treacherous blue water. To her it was a great restless monster forever reaching out after some living thing to clutch and drag down into its cruel bosom. It was agony to her to see Olga swim and dive; hardly less agony to see her go off in a boat or canoe. Always Elizabeth was sure thatthistime she would not come back.
We pull long, we pull strong.
She had put on her bathing suit, for Olga still made her wade every morning, and she wandered forlornly along the beach, and finally ventured a little way into the water. It was horrible to do even that alone, but she had promised, and she must do it even if Olga was not there to know. A troop of girls in bathing suits came racing down to the beach, Anne and Laura following them.
“What—who is that standing out in the water all alone?” demanded Anne Wentworth, who was a little near-sighted.
Annie Pearson broke into a peal of laughter. “It’s that Poor Thing,” she cried. “Did you ever see such a forlorn figure!”
“Looks like a sick penguin,” laughed Louise Johnson.
“Why in the world is she standing there all alone?” cried Laura, and hurried on ahead, calling, “Elizabeth—Elizabeth, come here. I want you.”
Elizabeth, standing in water up to her ankles, hesitated for a moment, swept the wide stretch of blue with a wistful searching glance, and then obeyed the summons.
“Why were you standing there, dear?” Laura questioned gently, leading her away from the laughing curious girls.
Elizabeth lifted earnest eyes to the kind face bending towards her.
“I promised Olga I’d wade every day—so I had to.”Then she broke out, “O Miss Laura, do you think she’ll come back? She went all alone, and she isn’t anywhere in sight.”
Laura drew the shivering little figure close to her side. “Why, of course she’ll come back, Elizabeth. Why shouldn’t she? She’s been out so scores of times, just as I have. What makes you worry so, child?”
Elizabeth drew a long shuddering breath. “I can’t help it,” she sighed. “The water always makes mesoafraid, Miss Laura!”
She lifted such a white miserable face that Laura saw it was really true—she was in the grip of a deadly terror. She drew the trembling girl down beside her on the warm sand. “Let’s sit here a little while,” she said, and for a few minutes they sat in silence, while further up the beach girls were wading and swimming and splashing each other, their shouts of laughter making a merry din. Some were diving from the pier, and one stood on a high springboard. Suddenly this one flung out her arms and sprang off, her slim body seeming to float between sky and water, as she swept downward in a graceful curving line.
Laura caught her breath nervously as her eyes followed the slender figure that looked so very small outstretched between sky and water, and Elizabeth covered her eyes with a little moan.
“O, I wish she wouldn’t do that—I do wish she wouldn’t!” she said under her breath.
Laura spoke cheerfully. “She is all right. See, Elizabeth, how fast she is swimming now.”
But Elizabeth shook her head and would not look. Laura put her arm across the narrow shrinking shouldersand after a moment spoke again, slowly. “Elizabeth, you love Olga, don’t you?”
Elizabeth looked up quickly. She did not answer—or need to.
“Yes, I know you do,” Laura went on, answering the look. “But do you love her enough to do something very hard—for her?”
“Yes, Miss Laura. Tell me what. She won’t ever let me do anything for her.”
“It will be very, very hard for you,” Laura warned her.
The girl looked at her silently, and waited.
“Elizabeth, I don’t think you could do anything else that would please her so much as to conquer your fear of the waterfor her sake. Can you do such a hard thing as that—for Olga?”
A look of positive agony swept over Elizabeth’s face. “Anything but just that,” she moaned. “O Miss Laura, you don’t know—youcan’tknow how I hate it—that deep black water!”
“But can’t you—even for Olga?” Laura questioned very gently.
Elizabeth shook her head and two big tears rolled down her cheeks. “I would if I could. I’d do anything, anything else for her; but that—Ican’t!” she moaned.
Laura put her hand under the trembling chin, and lifting the girl’s face looked deep into the blue eyes swimming with tears.
“Elizabeth,” she said slowly, a world of love and sympathy in her voice, “Elizabeth, youcan!”
In that long deep look the dread and horror and misery died slowly out of Elizabeth’s eyes, and a faintincredulous hope began to grow in them. It was as if she literally drew courage and determination from the eyes looking into hers, and who can tell what subtle spirit message really passed from the strong soul into the weaker one?
“I never, never could,” Elizabeth faltered; but Laura caught the note of wavering hope in the low-spoken words.
“Elizabeth, you can. Iknowyou can,” she repeated.
“How?” questioned Elizabeth, and Laura smiled and drew her closer.
“You are afraid of the water,” she said, “and your fear is like a cord that binds your will just as your arms might be bound to your sides with a scarf. But you can break the cord, and when you do, you will not be afraid of the water any more. Myra Karr was afraid just as you are—afraid of almost everything, but one wonderful day she conquered her fear. Ask her and she will tell you about it, and how much happier she has been ever since, as you will be when you have broken your cords. And just think how it will please Olga!”
There was a little silence; then suddenly Elizabeth leaned forward, eagerly pointing off over the water. “Is it—is she coming?” she whispered.
“Yes, she is coming. Now just think how you have suffered worrying over her this morning, and all for nothing.”
Elizabeth drew a long happy breath. “I don’t care now she’s coming,” she said, and it was as if she sang the words.
Laura went on, “Have you noticed, Elizabeth, howdifferent Olga is from the other girls? She never laughs and frolics. She never really enjoys any of the games. She cares for nothing but work. She hasn’t a single friend in the camp—she won’t have one. I don’t think she is happy, do you?”
Elizabeth considered that in silence. She had known these things, but she had never thought of them before.
“It’s so,” she admitted finally, her eyes on the approaching boat.
“Elizabeth, I think you are the only one who can really help Olga.”
“I?” Elizabeth lifted wondering eyes. Then she added hastily, “You mean—going in the water?” She shuddered at the thought.
“Yes, dear, if you will let Olga help you to get rid of your fear of the water, it will mean more to her even than to you. Olga needs you, child, more than you need her, for you have many friends now in the camp, and she has only you.”
“I like her the best of all,” Elizabeth declared loyally.
“Yes, but you must prove it to her before you can really help her,” Laura replied. “See, she is almost in now, and I won’t keep you any longer.”
Olga secured her boat to a ring and ran lightly up the steps. In a few minutes she came back in her bathing suit. As she ran down the beach, she swept a swift searching glance over the few girls sitting or lying on the sand; then her eyes rested on a little shrinking figure standing like a small blue post, knee deep in the water. It was Elizabeth, her cheeks colourless, her eyes fixed beseechingly, imploringly, onOlga’s face. In a flash Olga was beside her, crying out sharply,
“What made you come in alone?”
“I p-promised you——” Elizabeth replied, her teeth chattering.
“Well, you’ve done it,” said Olga. “Cut out now and get dressed.”
But Elizabeth stood still and shook her head. “No,” though her lips trembled, her voice was determined, “no, Olga, I’m going up to my—my neck to-day,” and she held out her hands.
“You are not—you’re coming out!” Olga declared. “You’re in a blue funk this minute.”
“I—know it,” gasped Elizabeth, “but I’m going in—alone—if you won’t go with me. Quick, Olga, quick!” she implored.
Some instinct stilled the remonstrance on Olga’s lips. She grasped Elizabeth by her shoulders and walking backward herself, drew the other girl steadily on until the water rose to her neck. Elizabeth gasped, and deadly fear looked out of her straining eyes, but she made no sound. The next instant Olga had turned and was pulling her swiftly back to the beach.
“There! You see it didn’t hurt you,” she said brusquely, but never before had she looked at Elizabeth as she looked at her then. “Now run to the bathhouse and rub yourself hard before you dress,” she ordered.
But Elizabeth had turned again towards the water, and Olga followed, amazed and protesting.
“Go back,” cried Elizabeth over her shoulder, “go back. I’m going in alone this time.”
And alone she went until once more the watersurged and rippled about her neck. Only an instant—then she swayed and her eyes closed; but before she could lose her footing Olga’s hands were on her shoulders and pushing her swiftly back to the beach. This time, however, she did not stop there, but swept the small figure over to the bathhouse. There she gave Elizabeth a brisk rubdown that set the blood dancing in her veins.
“Now get into your clothes in a hurry!” she commanded.
“I’m—n-not c-cold, Olga,” Elizabeth protested with a pallid smile, “truly I’m not. I’m just n-nervous, I guess.”
“You’re just abrick, Elizabeth Page!” cried Olga, and she slammed the door and vanished, leaving Elizabeth glowing with delight.
Each day after that Elizabeth insisted on venturing a little more. Olga could guess what it cost her—her blue lips and the terror in her eyes told that—but day after day she fought her battle over and would not be worsted. She learned to float, to tread water, and then, very, very slowly, she learned to swim a little. Laura, looking on, rejoiced over both the girls. Everybody was interested in this marvellous achievement of the Poor Thing—they spoke of her less often by that name now—but only Laura realised how much it meant to Olga too. The day that Elizabeth succeeded in swimming a few yards, Olga for the first time took her out on the water at sunset; she had never been willing to go before. Even now she stepped into the boat shrinkingly, the colour coming and going in her cheeks, but when she was seated, and the boat floating gently on the rose-tinted water, the tense lines fadedslowly from her face, and at last she even smiled a little.
“Well,” said Olga, “are you still scared?”
“A little—but not much. If I wasn’t any afraid it would be lovely—like rocking in a big, big beautiful cradle,” she ended dreamily.
A swift glance assured Olga that they had drifted away from the other boats—there was no one within hearing. She leaned forward and looked straight into the eyes of the other girl. “Now I want to know what made you get over your fear of the water,” she said.
“Maybe I’ve not got over it—quite,” Elizabeth parried.
“What made you? Tell me!” Olga’s tone was peremptory.
“You,” said Elizabeth.
“I? But I didn’t—I couldn’t. I’d done my best, but I couldn’t drag you into water above your knees—you know I couldn’t. Somebody else did it,” Olga declared, a spark flickering in her eyes.
“Miss Laura talked to me that day you were off so long in the boat,” Elizabeth admitted. “She told me I could get over being afraid. I didn’t think Icouldbefore—truly, Olga. I honestly thought I’d die if ever the water came up to my neck. I don’t know how she did it—Miss Laura—but she made me see that I could get over being so awfully afraid—and I did.”
“You saidIdid it,” there was reproach as well as jealousy now in Olga’s voice, “and it was Miss Laura.”
“O no, it was you really,” Elizabeth cried hastily,“because I did it for you. I never could have—never in this world!—only Miss Laura said it would please you. I did it for you, Olga.”
“Hm,” was Olga’s only response, but now there was in her eyes something that the Poor Thing had never seen there before—a warm human friendliness that made Elizabeth radiantly happy.
“There comes the war canoe,” Olga cried a moment later.
“How fast it comes—and how pretty the singing sounds!” Elizabeth returned.
They watched the big canoe as it flashed by, the many paddles rising and falling as one, while a dozen young voices sang gaily,
“‘We pull long, we pull strong,We pull keen and true.
We sing to the king of the great black rocks,Through waters we glide like a long-tailed fox.’”
“Next year,” said Olga, “I’m going to teach you to paddle, Elizabeth.”
VIIHONOURS WON
The camp was to break up in a few days, and the Guardians had planned to make the last Council Fire as picturesque and effective as possible—something for the girls to hold as a beautiful memory through the months to come. It fell on a lovely evening, a cool breeze blowing from the water, and a young moon adding a golden gleam to the silvery shining of the stars. Most of the girls had finished their ceremonial dresses and all were to be worn to-night.
“I’m ridiculously excited, Anne,” Laura said, as she looked down at her woods-brown robe with its fringes and embroideries. “I don’t feel a bit as if I were prosaic Laura Haven. I’m really one of the nut-brown Indian maids that roamed these woods in ages past.”
“If any of those nut-brown maids were as pretty as you are to-night, they must have had all the braves at their feet,” returned Anne, with an admiring glance at her friend. “What splendid thick braids you have, Laura!”
“I’m acquainted with the braids,” Laura answered, flinging them carelessly over her shoulders, “but this beautiful bead headband I’ve never worn before. Is it on right?”
“All right,” Anne replied. “The Busy Corner girls will be proud of their Guardian to-night.”
Laura scarcely heard, her thoughts were so full of her girls—the girls she had already learned to love. She turned eagerly as the bugle notes of the Council call rang out in silvery sweetness. “O, come. Don’t let them start without us,” she urged.
“No danger—they will want their Guardians to lead the procession.”
In a moment Mrs. Royall appeared, and quickly the girls fell into line behind her. First, the four Guardians; then two Torch Bearers, each holding aloft in her right hand a lighted lantern. Flaming torches would have been more picturesque, but also more dangerous in the woods, and all risk of fire must be avoided. After the Torch Bearers came the Fire Makers, and last of all the Wood Gatherers, with Katie the cook wearing a gorgeous robe that some of the girls had embroidered for her. Katie’s unfailing good nature had made her a general favourite in camp.
As the procession wound through the irregular woods-path Laura gave a little cry of delight.
“O, do look back, Anne—it is so pretty,” she said. “If it wasn’t that I want to be a part of it, I’d run ahead so I could see it all better.”
Mrs. Royall began to sing and the girls instantly caught up the strain, and in and out among the trees the procession wound to the music of the young voices, the lanterns throwing flashes of light on either side, while the shadows seemed to slip out of the woods and follow “like a procession of black-robed nuns,” Laura said to herself.
The Council chamber was a high open space, surrounded on every side but one by tall pines. The open side faced the bay, and across the water glimmered a tiny golden pathway from the moon in the western sky, where a golden glow from the sunset yet lingered.
The girls formed the semicircle, with the Guardians in the open space. Wood had been gathered earlier in the day, and now the Wood Gatherers, each taking a stick, laid it where the fire was to be. As the last stick was brought, the Fire Makers moved forward and swiftly and skilfully set the wood ready for lighting. On this occasion, to save time, the rubbing sticks were dispensed with, and Mrs. Royall signed to Laura to light the fire with a match.
The usual order of exercises followed, the songs and chants echoing with a solemn sweetness among the tall pines in whose tops the night wind played a soft accompaniment.
To-night the interest of the girls centred in the awarding of honours. All of the Busy Corner girls had won more or less, and as Laura read each name and announced the honours, the girl came forward and received her beads from the Chief Guardian. Mrs. Royall had a smile and a pleasant word for each one; but when Myra Karr stood before her, she laid her hand very kindly on the girl’s shoulder and turned to the listening circle.
“Camp Fire Girls,” she said, “here is one who is to receive special honour at our hands to-night, for she has won a great victory. You all know how fearful and timid she was, for you yourselves called her—Bunny. Now she has fought and conquered her great dragon—Fear—and you have dropped that name, and she must never again be called by it.”
“Wood had been gathered earlier in the day”“Wood had been gathered earlier in the day”
With a pencil, on a bit of birch back, she wrote the name and dropped the bark into the heart of the glowing fire. “It is gone forever,” she said, her hand again on Myra’s shoulder. “Now what shall be the new Camp Fire name of our comrade?”
Several names were suggested, and finally Watéwin, the Indian word for one who conquers, was chosen. Myra stood with radiant eyes looking about the circle until Mrs. Royall said, “Myra, we give you to-night your new name. You are Watéwin, for you have conquered fear,” and the girl walked back to her place, joy shining in her eyes.
Then Mrs. Royall spoke again, her glance sweeping the circle of intent faces. “There is another who has conquered the dragon—Fear—and who deserves high honour—Elizabeth Page.”
Elizabeth, absorbed in watching Myra’s radiant face, had absolutely forgotten herself, and did not even notice when her own name was spoken. Olga had to tell her and give her a little push forward before she realised that Mrs. Royall was waiting for her. For a second she drew back; then, catching her breath, she went gravely forward. The voice and eyes of the Chief Guardian were very tender as she looked down into the shy blue eyes lifted to hers.
“You too, Elizabeth,” she said, “have fought and conquered, not once, but many times, and to you also we give to-night a new name.” She did not repeat the old one, but writing it on a bit of bark as she had written Myra’s, she told the girl to drop it into the fire. Elizabeth obeyed—she had never known whatthe girls had christened her and now she did not care. Breathlessly she listened as Mrs. Royall went on, “Camp Fire Girls, what shall be her new name?”
It was Laura who answered after a little silence, “Adawána, the brave and faithful.”
“Adawána, the brave and faithful,” Mrs. Royall repeated. “Is that right? Is it the right name for Elizabeth, Camp Fire Girls?”
“Yes, yes,yes!” came the response from two score eager voices.
“You are Adawána, the brave and faithful,” said Mrs. Royall, looking down again into the blue eyes, full now of wonder and shy joy.
“Now listen to the honours that Adawána has won.”
As Laura read the long list a murmur of surprise ran round the circle. The girls had known that Elizabeth would have some honours, for they all knew how Olga had compelled her to do things, but no one had imagined that there would be anything like this long list—least of all had Elizabeth herself imagined it. Perplexity and dismay were in her eyes as she listened, and as Laura finished the reading, Elizabeth whispered quickly,
“O Miss Laura, there’s some mistake. I couldn’t have all those—not half so many!”
“It’s all right, dear,” Laura assured her, and in a louder tone she added, “There is no mistake. The record has been carefully kept and verified; but you see Elizabeth was not working for honours, and had no idea how many she had won.”
Elizabeth looked fairly dazed as Mrs. Royall threwover her head the necklace with its red and blue and orange beads. Turning, she hurried back to her place next Olga.
“It was all you—you did it. You ought to have the honours instead of me,” she whispered, half crying.
“It’s all right. Don’t be ababy!” Olga flung at her savagely, to forestall the tears.
Then somebody nudged her and whispered, “Olga Priest, don’t you hear Mrs. Royall calling you?”
Wondering, Olga obeyed the summons. She had reported no honours won, and had no idea why she was called. Laura, standing beside Mrs. Royall, smiled happily at the girl as she stopped, and stood, her dark brows drawn together in a frown of perplexity.
“Olga,” Mrs. Royall said, “it has been a great joy to us to bestow upon Adawána the symbols which represent the honours she has won. We are sure that she will wear them worthily, and that her life will be better and happier because of that for which they stand. We recognise the fact, however, that but for you she could not have won these honours. You have worked harder than she has to secure them for her; therefore to you belongs the greater honour——”
“No!No!” cried Olga under her breath, but with a smile Mrs. Royall went on, “We know that to you the symbols of honours won—beads and ornaments—have little value—but we have for you something that we hope you will value because we all have a share in it, every one in the camp; and we ask you to wear this because you have shown us what one Camp Fire Girl can do for another. The work is all Elizabeth’s.The rest of us only gave the beads, and your Guardian taught Elizabeth how to use them.”
She held out a headband, beautiful in design and colouring. Olga stared at it, at first too utterly amazed for any words. Finally she stammered, “Why, I—I—didn’t know—Elizabeth——” and then to her own utter consternation came a rush of tears.Tears!And she had lived dry-eyed through four years of lonely misery. Choked, blinded, and unable to speak even a word of thanks, she took the headband and turned hastily away, and as she went the watching circle chanted very low,
“‘Wohelo means love.Love is the joy of service so deep that self is forgotten—that self is forgotten.’”
With shining eyes—yet half afraid—Elizabeth waited as Olga came back to her. She knew Olga’s scorn for honours and ornaments. Would she be scornful now—or would she be glad? Elizabeth felt that she never, never could endure it if Olga were scornful or angry now—if this, her great secret, her long, hard labour of love—should be only a great disappointment after all.
But it was not. She knew that it was not as soon as Olga was near enough to see the look in her eyes. She knew then that it was all right; and the poor little hungry heart of her sang for joy when Olga placed the band over her forehead and bent her proud head for Elizabeth to fasten it in place. Elizabeth did it with fingers trembling with happy excitement. The coldness that had so often chilled her was all gone now from the dark eyes. Olga understood. Elizabethhad no more voice than a duckling, but she felt just then as if she could sing like a song sparrow from sheer happiness. It was such a wonderful thing to be happy! Elizabeth had never before known the joy of it.
But Mrs. Royall was speaking again. “Wohelo means work and health and love,” she said, “you all know that—the three best things in all this beautiful world. Which of the three is best of all?”
Softly Anne Wentworth sang,
“‘Wohelo means love,”
and instantly the girls took up the refrain,
“‘Wohelo means love,
Wohelo means love.
Love is the joy of service so deep that self is forgotten.
Wohelo means love.’”
Laura’s eyes, watching the young, earnest faces, filled with quick tears as the refrain was repeated softly and lingeringly, again and yet again. Mrs. Royall stood motionless until the last low note died into silence. Then she went on:
“Work is splendid for mind and body. Some of you have worked for honours and that is well. Some have worked for the love of the work—that is better. Some have worked—or fought—for conquest over weakness, and that is better yet. But two of our number have worked and conquered, not for honour, not for love of labour, not even for self-conquest—but for unselfish love of another. That is the highest form of service, dear Camp Fire Girls—the service that isdone in forgetfulness of self. That is the thought I leave with you to-night.”
She stepped back, and instantly each girl placed her right hand over her heart and all together repeated slowly,
“‘This Law of the FireI will strive to followWith all the strengthAnd endurance of my body,The power of my will,The keenness of my mind,The warmth of my heart,And the sincerity of my spirit.’”
The fire had died down to glowing coals. At a sign from the Chief Guardian two of the Fire Makers extinguished the embers, pouring water over them till not a spark remained. The lanterns were relighted, the procession formed again, and the girls marched back, singing as they went.
“O dear, I can’t bear to think that we shall not have another Council Fire like this for months—even if we come here next summer,” Mary Hastings said when they were back in camp.
“And wasn’t this the very dearest one!” cried Bessie Carroll. “With Myra’s honours and Elizabeth’s, and Olga’s headband—wasn’tshe surprised, though!”
“First time I ever saw Olga Priest dumfounded,” laughed Louise. “But, say, girls—that Poor Thing is a duck after all—she is really.”
Bessie’s plump hand covered Louise’s lips. “Hush, hush!” she cried in a tone of real distress, for she loved Elizabeth. “That name is burnt up.”
“So it is—beg everybody’s pardon,” yawnedLouise. “But Elizabeth couldn’t hear way over there with Olga and Miss Laura. I say, girls,” she added with her usual giggle, “I feel as if I’d been wound up to concert pitch and I’ve got to let down somehow. Get out your fiddle, Rose, and play us a jig. I’ve got to get some of this seriousness out of my system before I go to bed.”
Rose ran for her violin, and two minutes later the girls were dancing gaily in the moonlight.
“I wish they hadn’t,” Laura whispered to Anne. “I wanted to keep the impression of that lovely soft chanting for the last.”
“You can’t do it—not with Louise Johnson around,” returned Anne. “But never mind, Laura, they won’t forget this meeting, even if they do have to ‘react’ a bit. I’m sure that even Louise will keep the memory of this last Council tucked away in some corner of her harum-scarum mind.”