The Camp Fire Girls at School by Hildegard G. Frey

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"How did you ever manage to do it?" gasped Hinpoha, when they had
surrounded her with exclamations of joy and amazement. "You're a heroine
again."

"You're nothing of the sort," said Nyoda. "It was sheer foolhardiness or
carelessness that got you into that scrape. A girl who doesn't know
enough to keep out of the current isn't to be trusted with a canoe, no
matter what a fine paddler she is. I certainly thought better of you
than that, Sahwah. I never used to have the slightest anxiety when you
were on the water, I had such a perfect trust in your common sense, but
now I can never feel quite sure of you again."

Sahwah hung her head in shame, for she felt the truth of Nyoda's words.
"I think you can trust me after this," she said humbly. "I have learned
my lesson." She was not likely to forget the horror of the moment when
she had heard the water roaring over the dam and thought her time had
come. Sahwah liked to be thought clever as well as daring, and it was
certainly far from clever to run blindly into danger as she had done.
She sank dejectedly down on the bank, feeling disgraced forever in the
eyes of the Winnebagos.

"Girls," said Mrs. Evans, wishing to take their minds off the fright
they had received, "do you know that we are not many miles from one of
the model dairy farms of the world? I could take you over in the car and
bring you back here in time to go home in the launch."

"Let's do it, Nyoda," begged all the Winnebagos, and into the machine
they piled. When they were still far in the distance they could see the
high towers of the barns rising in the air. "We're nearly there," said
Mrs. Evans; "here is the beginning to the cement fence that runs all the
way around the four-thousand-acre farm." Mrs. Evans knew some of the
people in charge of the farm and they had no difficulty gaining
admittance. That visit to the Carter Farm was a long-remembered one. The
girls walked through the long stables exclaiming at everything they saw.

"Why, there's an electric fan in each stall!" gasped Migwan, "and the
windows are screened!"

"Oo, look at the darling calf," gurgled Hinpoha, on her knees before one
of the stalls, caressing a ten-thousand-dollar baby.

"It doesn't look a bit like its mother," observed Nyoda, comparing it
with the cow standing beside it.

"That isn't its mother, that's its nurse," said the man who was showing
them around.

"Its what?" said Nyoda. Then the man explained that the milk from the
blooded cows was too valuable to be fed to calves, as it commanded a
high price on the market, and so a herd of common cows were kept to feed
the aristocratic babies. The lovely little creatures were as tame as
kittens and allowed the girls to fondle them to their hearts' content.
Sometimes a pair of polished horns would come poking between a calf and
the visitors, and a soft-eyed cow would view the proceedings with a
comically anxious face, and then it was easy to tell which calf was with
its mother.

In one of the largest stalls they saw the champion Guernsey of the
world. Her coat was like satin and her horns were polished until they
shone. She did not seem to be in the least set up on account of her
great reputation and thrust out her nose in the friendliest manner
possible to be patted and fussed over. She eyed Gladys, who stood next
to her, with amiable curiosity, and then suddenly licked her face. Mrs.
Evans watched Gladys in surprise. Instead of quivering all over with
disgust as she would have a year ago she simply laughed and patted the
cow's nose. "What is going to happen?" said Mrs. Evans to herself,
"Gladys isn't afraid of cows any more!" But the most interesting part
came when the cows were milked. They were driven into another barn for
this performance and their heads fastened into sort of metal hoops
suspended from the ceiling. These turned in either direction and caused
them no discomfort, but kept them standing in one place. The milking was
done with vacuum-suction machines run by electricity and took only a
short time.

When the girls had watched the process as long as they wished they were
taken to see the prize hogs and chickens, and then went through the hot
houses. There were rows and rows of glass houses filled with grapes, the
great bunches hanging down from the roof and threatening to fall with
their own weight. And one did fall, just as they were going through, and
came smashing down in the path at their feet. Nakwisi ran to pick it up
and the guide said she might have it, adding that such a bunch,
unbruised, sold for twenty-five cents in the city market. "Oh, how
delicious!" cried Nakwisi,' tasting the grapes and dividing them among
the girls. Mrs. Evans bought a basketful and let them eat all they
wanted. In some of the hothouses tangerines were growing, and in some
persimmons, while others were given over to the raising of roses,
carnations and rare orchids. It was a trip through fairyland for the
girls, and they could hardly tear themselves away when the time came.

"There is something else I must show you while we are in the
neighborhood," said Mrs. Evans, as they passed through Akron. "Does
anybody know what two historical things are near here?" Nobody knew.
Mrs. Evans began humming, "John Brown's Body Lies A-mouldering in the
Grave."

"What has that to do with it?" asked Gladys.

"Everything, with one of them," said Mrs. Evans.

"Did you know that John Brown, owner of the said body, was born in
Akron, and there is a monument here to his memory?"

"Oh how lovely," cried Migwan, "let us see it." So Mrs. Evans drove them
over to the monument and they all stood around it and sang "John Brown's
Body" in his honor.

"Now, what's the other thing?" they asked.

"I believe I know," said Nyoda. "Doesn't the old Portage Trail run
through here somewhere?"

"That's it," said Mrs. Evans.

Then Nyoda told them about the Portage Path of Indian days, before the
canal was built, that extended from Lake Erie to the Ohio River. "The
part that runs through Akron is still called Portage Path," said Mrs.
Evans, and the girls were eager to see it.

"Why, it's nothing but a paved street!" exclaimed Migwan in
disappointment, when they had reached the historical spot.

"That's all it is now," answered Mrs. Evans, "but it is built over the
old Portage Trail, and some of these old trees undoubtedly shaded the
original path." In the minds of the girls the handsome residences faded
from sight, and in place of the wide street they saw the narrow path
trailing off through the forest, with dusky forms stealing along it on
their long journey southward.

"It's time to strike our own trail now," said Nyoda, breaking the
silence, and they started back to the river. Every one was anxious to
make it as pleasant as possible for Hinpoha, and the jests came thick
and fast as they drove along. "Who is the best Latin scholar here?"
asked Nyoda.

"I am," said Sahwah, mischievously.

"Then you can undoubtedly tell me what Caesar said on the Fourth of
July, 45 B.C." said Nyoda.

"I don't seem to recollect," said Sahwah.

"Then read for yourself," said Nyoda, scribbling a few words on a leaf
from her notebook and handing it to her.

"What's this?" said Sahwah, spelling out the words. On the paper was
written,

_Quis crudis enim rufus, albus et expiravit._

Sahwah tried to translate. "_Quis,_ who; _crudis_, raw; _enim_--what's
_enim_?"

"For," answered Migwan.

"And _expiravit_" said Sahwah, "what's that from?"

"_Expiro_" answered Migwan, "_expirare, expiravi, expiratus_. It means
'blow,' '_Expiravit_' is 'have blown.'"

"_Rufus_ is 'red,'" continued Sahwah, "and is _albus_ 'white'?" Migwan
nodded, and Sahwah went back to the beginning and began to read: "_Who
raw for red white and have blown._"

Nyoda shouted. "That last word is _blew_, not _have blown_" she said.

"I have it!" cried Migwan, jumping up. "It's '_Who raw for the red,
white and blew.' 'Hoorah for the red, white and blue!_'"

"Such wit!" said Sahwah, laughing with the rest.

"Now, I'll make a motto for Sahwah," said Migwan, seizing the pencil.
Migwan was a Senior and took French, and having a sudden inspiration,
she wrote, "_Pas de lieu Rhone que nous!_" The girls could not translate
it and Nyoda puzzled over it for a long time.

"I don't seem to be able to make anything out of it," she said at
length.

"Don't try to translate it," said Migwan, "just read it out loud," Nyoda
complied and Sahwah caught it immediately.

"It's '_Paddle your own canoe!_" she cried.

Thus, laughing and joking, they followed the road back to the dam and
embarked in the launch with all speed, for the sun was already sinking
beneath the treetops and they had a two-hour ride ahead of them. Mrs.
Evans took Hinpoha back in the machine and delivered her to her aunt
safe and sound at eight o'clock, with many expressions of pleasure at
the fun she had had with the Camp Fire Girls, which were intended as
seeds to be planted in Aunt Phoebe's mind.

"I think your mother's a perfect dear," said Sahwah to Gladys on the
trip home. "I used to be frightened to death of her, because she always
looked so straight-laced and proper, but she isn't like that at all.
She's a regular Camp Fire Girl!"

CHAPTER V.

A COASTING PARTY.

The memory of that happy day sustained Hinpoha through many of the
trials that came to her in the days that followed. It seemed that
everything she did brought down the wrath of her aunt in some way or
another. For instance, she left a bottle of bees standing on the table
in her room, and Aunt Phoebe's dog Silky, who had been in the habit of
going into the room and chewing Hinpoha's painted paddle, knocked the
bottle over and let the bees out, getting badly stung in the process.
Then there was a scene with Aunt Phoebe because she had brought the bees
in. This and a dozen more incidents of a similar nature made Hinpoha
despair of ever gaining the good will of her aunt. Thus the autumn wore
away to winter and as yet the Desert of Waiting had borne nothing but
thorns.

Gladys's progress through school was like the advance of a conquering
hero. Although she had just entered this fall she was already one of the
most popular girls in school. She had that fair, delicate prettiness
which invariably appeals to boys, and an open, unaffected manner which
endeared her to the girls. Beside her very lovable personality she had a
background which was almost certain to insure popularity to a girl. She
was rich and lived in a great house on a fashionable avenue; she had a
little electric car all her own, and she wore the smartest clothes of
any girl in school. Her fame as a dancer soon spread and she was in
constant demand at school entertainments. Nyoda watched her a trifle
anxiously at first. She was just a little afraid that Gladys's head
would be turned with all the homage paid her, or that, blinded by her
present success, she would lose the deeper meanings of life and be
nothing but a butterfly after all. But she need not have feared.
Gladys's experience in camp had kindled a fire in her that would never
be extinguished as long as life guarded the flame. Having changed her
Camp Fire name from Butterfly to Real Woman, she was anxious to prove
her right to the name. So she worked diligently to win new honors which
made her efficient in the home as well as those which helped her to
shine in society.

Mrs. Evans was returning from an afternoon card party. She was tired and
her head ached and she felt out of sorts. A remark which she had
overheard during the afternoon stayed in her mind and made her cross.
Two ladies on the other side of a large screen near which she was
sitting were discussing a campaign in which they were interested to
raise funds for a certain philanthropy. "I am going to ask Mrs. Evans if
she would not like to subscribe one hundred dollars," said the one lady.

"So much?" asked the other in an uncertain voice, "I don't believe I
would if I were you."

"Why not?" asked the first lady.

"Haven't you heard," replied the second lady, with the air of imparting
a delicious secret, "that Mr. Evans is on the verge of financial ruin?"

"No," replied the second in a tone of lively interest, "I haven't. Who
told you so?"

"A great many people are saying so," continued the first. "Do you know
that they took their daughter out of the private school she had been
attending and sent her to public school this year? They must be hard up
if they can't pay school bills any more."

"It certainly looks like it," said the first lady.

"Possibly I had better not ask Mrs. Evans for any subscription at all.
It might embarrass her, poor thing." The voices trailed off and Mrs.
Evans was left feeling decidedly annoyed. She was the kind of woman who
rarely discussed other people's affairs, and likewise disliked having
her own discussed by other people. The thought that some folks might
misconstrue Gladys's entering the public school to mean that her father
was about to fail in business, first amused, and then irritated her.
Nothing like that could be farther from correct, but the thought came to
her that such rumors floating around might have some effect on Mr.
Evans's standing in the business world. She began to wonder if after all
it had not been a mistake to take Gladys out of Miss Russell's school in
the middle of her course.

Thinking cynical thoughts about the gossiping abilities of most people,
she drove up the long driveway and entered the house. The long hall with
its wide staircase and large, splendidly furnished rooms opening on
either side, struck her as being cold and gloomy. The polished chairs
and tables shone dully in the fast waning light of the December
afternoon, cheerless and unfriendly looking. The house suddenly seemed
to her to be less a home than a collection of furniture. For the moment
she almost hated the wealth which made it necessary to maintain this
vast and magnificent display. The women she had played cards with that
afternoon seemed shallow and artificial. Life was decidedly
uninteresting just then. She went upstairs and took off her wraps and
came down again, aimlessly. Gladys was nowhere in sight, which made the
house seem lonelier than ever, for with Gladys around there would have
been somebody to talk to. At the foot of the stairs she paused. She
could hear some one singing in a distant part of the house. "Katy's
happy, anyway," she said with a sigh, "if she feels like singing in that
hot kitchen," A desire for company led her out to the kitchen. It was
not Katy, however, who greeted her when she opened the door. It was
Gladys--Gladys with a big apron on and her sleeves rolled up, just
taking from the oven a pan of golden brown muffins. The room was filled
with the delicious odor of freshly baked dough.

Gladys looked up with a smile when she saw her mother in the doorway.
"How do you like the new cook?" she asked. "Katy went home sick this
afternoon and I thought I would get supper myself." The kitchen looked
so cheerful and inviting that Mrs. Evans came in and sat down. Gladys
began mixing up potatoes for croquettes.

"Can't I do something?" asked her mother.

"Why, yes," said Gladys, bringing out another apron and tying it around
her waist, "you heat the fat to fry these in." Mrs. Evans and Gladys had
never had such a good time together. Gladys had planned the entire menu
and her mother meekly followed her directions as to what to do next. She
and Gladys frolicked around the kitchen with increasing hilarity as the
supper progressed. Never before had there existed such a comradeship
between them.

"Do you think this is seasoned right?" asked Mrs. Evans, holding out a
spoonful of white sauce for Gladys to taste.

"A little more salt," said Gladys judicially. Mrs. Evans had forgotten
her irritation of the afternoon. The conversation which had aroused her
ire before now struck her as humorous.

"If Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Jones could only see me now," she thought with
an inward chuckle, "doing my own cooking!" The half-formed plan of
sending Gladys back to Miss Russell's the first of the year faded from
her mind. Send Gladys away? Why, she was just beginning to enjoy her
company! Another plan presented itself to her mind. In the Christmas
vacation Gladys should give a party which would forever dispel any
doubts about the soundness of their financial standing. Her brain was
already at work on the details. Gladys should have a dress from Madame
Charmant's in New York. They would have Waldstein, from the Symphony
Orchestra, with a half dozen of his best players, furnish the music.
There would be expensive prizes and favors for the games. Mrs. Davis and
Mrs. Jones would have a chance to alter their opinions when their
daughters brought home accounts of the affair. She planned the whole
thing while she was eating her supper.

After supper Gladys washed the dishes and her mother wiped them, and
they put them away together. Then Gladys began to get ready to go to
Camp Fire meeting and Mrs. Evans reluctantly prepared to go out for the
evening. The nearer ready she was the more disinclined she felt to go.
"Those Jamieson musicales are always such a bore," she said to herself
wearily. "They never have good singers--my Gladys could do better than
any of them--and they are interminable. Father looks tired to death, and
I know he would rather stay at home. Gladys," she called, looking into
her daughter's room, "where is your Camp Fire meeting to-night?"

"At the Brewsters'," answered Gladys.

"Do you ever have visitors?" continued her mother.

"Why, yes," answered Gladys, "we often do."

"Do you mind if you have one to-night?" asked Mrs. Evans.

"Certainly not," replied Gladys.

"Well, then, I'm coming along," said her mother.

"Will you?" cried Gladys. "Oh goody!" The Winnebagos were surprised and
delighted when Mrs. Evans appeared with Gladys. Since that Saturday's
outing she had held a very warm place in their affections.

"Come in, mother," called Sahwah; "you might as well join the group too,
we have one guest. This is Mrs. Evans, Gladys's mother," she said, when
her mother appeared after hastily brushing back her hair and putting on
a white apron. The two women held out their hands in formal greeting,
and then changed their minds and fell on each other's necks.

"Why, Molly Richards!" exclaimed Mrs. Evans.

"Why, Helen Adamson!" gasped Mrs. Brewster. The Winnebagos looked on,
mystified.

"You can't introduce me to your mother," said Mrs. Evans to Sahwah,
laughing at her look of surprise. "We were good friends when we were
younger than you. Do you remember the time," she said, turning back to
Mrs. Brewster, "when you drew a picture of Miss Scully in your history
and she found it and made you stand up in front of the room and hold it
up so the whole class could see it?"

"Do you remember the time," returned Mrs. Brewster, "when we ran away
from school to see the Lilliputian bazaar and your mother was there and
walked you out by the ear?" Thus the flow of reminiscences went on.

"How little I thought," said Mrs. Evans, "when I first saw Sarah Ann
going around with Gladys, that she was your daughter!"

"How little I thought," said Mrs. Brewster, "when Gladys began coming
here, that she was _your_ daughter!"

"How many more of these girls' mothers are our old schoolmates, I
wonder?" said Mrs. Evans.

"Let's meet them and find out," said Mrs. Brewster. "Here, you girls,"
she said, "every one of you go home and get your mother." Delightedly
the girls obeyed, and the mothers came, a little backward, some of them,
a little shy, pathetically eager, and decidedly breathless. Migwan's
mother, Mrs. Gardiner, had known Mrs. Brewster in her girlhood, and
Nakwisi's mother had known Mrs. Evans, and Chapa's and Medmangi's
mothers had known each other. What a happy reunion that was, and what a
chorus of "Don't you remembers" rose on every side! Tears mingled with
the laughter when they spoke of the death of Mrs. Bradford, whom most of
them had known in their school days.

"Do you remember," said one of the mothers, "how we used to go coasting
down the reservoir hill? You girls have never seen the old reservoir. It
was levelled off years ago."

"I'd enjoy going coasting yet," said Mrs. Brewster.

"Let's!" said Mrs. Evans. "The snow is just right."

Girls and mothers hurried into their coats and out into the frosty air.
The street sloped down sharply, and the middle of the road was filled
with flying bobsleds, as the young people of the neighborhood took
advantage of the snowy crust. Sahwah brought out her brother's bob,
which he was not using this evening, and piled the whole company on
behind her. She could steer as well as a boy. Down the long street they
shot, from one patch of light into another as they passed the lamp
posts. The mothers shrieked with excitement and held on for dear life.
"Oh," panted Mrs. Brewster when they came to a standstill at the bottom
of the slope, "is there anything in the world half so exciting and
delightful as coasting?" Down they went, again and again, laughing all
the way, and causing many another bobload to look around and wonder who
the jolly ladies were. Most of the mothers lost their breath in the
swift rush and had to be helped up the hill to the starting point. Once
Sahwah turned too short at the bottom of the street and upset the whole
sledful into a deep pile of snow, from which they emerged looking like
snowmen. "Oh-h-h," sputtered Mrs. Brewster, "the snow is all going down
inside of my collar! Sarah Ann, you wretch, you deserve to have your
face washed for that!" She picked up a great lump of snow and hurled it
deftly at Sahwah's head. It struck its mark and flew all to pieces, much
of it going down the back of her neck.

"This coasting is all right," said Mrs. Gardiner, "but, oh, that walk up
hill!"

Mrs. Evans spied her machine standing in front of the Brewster house,
and it gave her an idea. "Why not tie the bob to the machine," she said,
"and go for a regular ride?" This suggestion was hailed with great joy,
and carried out with alacrity.

"Would you like to drive, mother?" asked Gladys.

"No, indeed!" said her mother. "I'm out sleigh-riding to-night. You get
in and drive it yourself!" Gladys complied, with Migwan up beside her
for company, and away they flew up one street and down another and
through the park. And just as they were going around a curve, Sahwah,
who sat at the front end of the sled, untied the rope, and away went the
machine around the corner, and left them stranded in the snow. Gladys
felt the release of the trailer, but pretended that she knew nothing
about it, and drove ahead at full speed, and traveling in a circle, came
up behind the marooned voyagers and surprised them with a hearty laugh.
This time she towed them back to Sahwah's house, where they drank hot
cocoa to warm themselves up, and all declared they had never had such
fun in their lives.

"And to think how near I came to missing this!" said Mrs. Evans, as she
and Gladys were driving home, and she shivered when she remembered how
she had almost gone to the musicale.

CHAPTER VI.

GLADYS UPHOLDS THE FAMILY CREDIT.

Mrs. Evans confided her plans for a Christmas week party to Gladys the
day following the snow frolic, and Gladys was delighted with the idea.
She dearly loved to entertain her friends. The frock was ordered from
New York and Mrs. Evans and Gladys spent long hours working out the
details of the affair. Rumors of the party and the dress Gladys was to
have leaked out to the Winnebagos and from them to the whole class.
Every one was on tiptoe to find out who would be invited. Mrs. Davis and
Mrs. Jones, hearing the talk about the coming function, began to wonder
if they were on the right track after all in regard to the Evans
fortune. Two weeks before Christmas the invitations came out.
Twenty-five girls and twenty-five boys, mostly from the high school
class, were asked. What a flutter of satisfaction there was among those
who had been invited, and what a disappointment among those who had not
been, and what consultations about dresses among the favored ones!

This question was an acute one with Migwan. She had not had a new party
dress for several years, and in the present state of their finances she
could not get one now. She looked at the old one, faded and spotted, and
shook her head despairingly. "I foresee where Miss Migwan develops a
sudden illness on the night of the party," she said with tight lips,
"unless I hear from my story in time." As if in answer to her thoughts
the story came back the very next day. There was no letter from the
editor concerning the merits or faults of the piece, only a printed
rejection slip, but that stated that only typewritten manuscripts would
be considered. Migwan's air castle tumbled about her ears. She had no
typewriter and knew no one who had. Her experience did not include a
knowledge of public stenographers, and even if she had thought of that
way out the expense would have prevented her from having her story
copied. Her dream of fame and wealth was short-lived, and the world was
stale, flat and unprofitable. The house was not yet rented, as the
repairs had been delayed again and again. It would be another month at
least before that would be a paying proposition. Hearing the other girls
talk about Gladys's party all the time filled her with desperation. She
began to shun the Winnebagos. The keen zest went out of her studying and
even her beloved Latin lost its savor.

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