The Meadow-Brook Girls Under Canvas

CHAPTER XXIII

HAR­RI­ET'S GRAVE MIS­TAKE

“Is that you, Jane?” cried Har­ri­et, splash­ing to­ward the spot where the third splash had been heard.

Jane gazed about her in com­ical dis­may.

“Oh, what a mess! A frisky gaso­line bug­gy nev­er stirred up so much trou­ble for a poor girl. Where is he?” she asked.

“Lost in the woods,” an­swered Har­ri­et, laugh­ing as she swam to­ward her com­pan­ion. “Get out of the wa­ter.”

“I'm go­ing to. Is it over my head?”

“I guess not un­less you lie down flat in it. Oh, Jasper! Please lend a hand to Miss Mc­Carthy. The bank is steep.”

“Girls! are you crazy!” It was the voice of the Chief Guardian that greet­ed the two as they emerged from the wa­ter.

“No, Mrs. Liv­ingston, but the bear is,” chuck­led Jane.

“That b'ar nev­er'll show up around these parts again,” averred Jasper.

“Come to my quar­ters, girls,” com­mand­ed Miss Par­tridge, sud­den­ly dis­cov­er­ing that both girls were wet and shiv­er­ing. Af­ter dry wrap­pers had been fur­nished them, they re­turned to their own tents, Har­ri­et to re­sume her out­door nap which had been in­ter­rupt­ed by the vis­it­ing bear. Har­ri­et first en­tered her tent to get an­oth­er blan­ket. She struck a match to as­sist her in find­ing it Pa­tri­cia lay in bed wide awake. She was re­gard­ing Har­ri­et an­gri­ly.

“Hasn't Miss Kid­der come in yet?” asked Har­ri­et, ob­serv­ing that Co­ra's cot was un­oc­cu­pied.

“You don't see her, do you?”

“No.”

“Then she hasn't.”

“Thank you,” an­swered Har­ri­et sweet­ly, blow­ing out the light and go­ing out. She was smil­ing an amused smile at the snap­pi­ness of Pa­tri­cia Scott. She puz­zled a lit­tle over the fact that Co­ra had not yet come in. How­ev­er, the camp had been so up­set that many of the girls were still talk­ing in their dark­ened tents, un­able to go to sleep. It was pos­si­ble that Co­ra might still be vis­it­ing some­where on the grounds. Har­ri­et did at that mo­ment re­call the con­ver­sa­tion that she had re­cent­ly over­heard be­tween Pa­tri­cia and Co­ra. She was ex­haust­ed af­ter her bear hunt and dropped off to sleep quick­ly af­ter get­ting in­to bed.

In the morn­ing Har­ri­et ran in­to the tent to wash and dress. Pa­tri­cia yawned, then turned over with­out open­ing her eyes. Har­ri­et glanced quick­ly at Co­ra Kid­der's cot. The clothes had been tum­bled about and the pil­low pat­ted down, but Har­ri­et saw in­stant­ly that the bed had not been slept in that night. Then all at once a thought came to Har­ri­et. Co­ra had gone to the dance at “The Pines” with Mr. Col­lier. She had not re­turned, though it was now broad day­light. The thought made Har­ri­et Bur­rell gasp. If the Chief Guardian were to know of this, the girl would be dis­missed in dis­grace for fla­grant dis­obe­di­ence of camp reg­ula­tions. A great wave of pity for the law­less girl welled up in Har­ri­et's heart. It made her very un­hap­py. The young Mead­ow-​Brook girl went about her dress­ing al­most with­out re­al­iz­ing what she was do­ing. She walked to the cook tent in much the same frame of mind. Her com­pan­ions not­ed her ab­strac­tion and com­ment­ed up­on it. They joked with her about her mid­night chase af­ter a bear. Har­ri­et scarce­ly smiled, though she tried to hide her un­hap­pi­ness that morn­ing.

“Where is Miss Kid­der?” asked Miss Par­tridge as they were seat­ing them­selves at the ta­ble.

“She was not feel­ing quite well last evening,” ex­plained the Chief Guardian. “She did not come in to din­ner. I told her to take a late sleep this morn­ing. How is Miss Kid­der feel­ing this morn­ing, Miss Bur­rell?”

“I--I don't know,” stam­mered Har­ri­et.

“She is not com­ing in to break­fast, then?”

“I--I be--lieve not.”

Har­ri­et's heart was thump­ing wild­ly. It seemed to her that a great gulf yawned be­fore her and that she was about to plunge in­to it. Mrs. Liv­ingston was speak­ing again. Her voice sound­ed far away to Har­ri­et.

“Will you take a break­fast tray to her when you re­turn to your tent, Miss Bur­rell?” asked the Chief Guardian.

“I will take it to the tent, Mrs. Liv­ingston,” fal­tered Har­ri­et.

“If Miss Kid­der is not feel­ing well this morn­ing, kind­ly come and tell me. I will see her my­self.”

“Very well,” hasti­ly an­swered the girl.

Glanc­ing up she saw Miss Par­tridge's gaze fixed in­quir­ing­ly up­on her. A sud­den re­vul­sion of feel­ing swept over Har­ri­et. She re­al­ized what she had done. She want­ed to scream out that she had de­ceived them. A look of ter­ror leaped in­to her eyes. Miss Par­tridge saw the ex­pres­sion, as did Miss Elt­ing from the oth­er end of the ta­ble. It was quite ev­ident that none of the guardians knew that Pa­tri­cia Scott had slept in Har­ri­et's tent that night. Har­ri­et glanc­ing quick­ly at Pa­tri­cia saw that she was sit­ting with eyes fixed on her plate calm­ly eat­ing her break­fast. There was a half smile on the lips of Pa­tri­cia. For the mo­ment Har­ri­et was filled with anger. Anger again gave place to hor­ror over her de­cep­tion.

Miss Par­tridge was still look­ing at Har­ri­et with a pained ex­pres­sion in her eyes.

“Oh, she sus­pects me,” thought Har­ri­et. “What shall I do?”

Af­ter break­fast the girl sum­moned all her will to her aid, wait­ed calm­ly un­til the tray for Co­ra had been pre­pared, then with trem­bling hands car­ried it to her tent. Just be­fore reach­ing her quar­ters Har­ri­et saw a slim fig­ure clad in a rain­coat with head com­plete­ly en­veloped by a hood dart in­to the tent. And when Har­ri­et stepped in­side, there was Co­ra tucked un­der the quilts ap­par­ent­ly asleep.

“Oh!” Har­ri­et gave a lit­tle cry of amaze­ment. She won­dered for the mo­ment if she had been dream­ing, if Co­ra had not been there all the time. Har­ri­et then re­called that a mo­ment be­fore she had seen some one en­ter­ing her quar­ters from the rear of the tent. A bit of sleeve ob­serv­able at the edge of the blan­ket told her that Co­ra was ful­ly dressed, not in her uni­form but in a blue evening gown that Har­ri­et had seen among Miss Kid­der's per­son­al ef­fects.

“Why did you wake me up?” de­mand­ed Co­ra petu­lant­ly, open­ing her eyes.

“I beg your par­don,” an­swered Har­ri­et cold­ly. “Here is a tray that Mrs. Liv­ingston asked me to take to you.”

“Put it on the chair. I wish you would go out and leave me. I don't feel like talk­ing. If any girl comes here ask her to stay out of the tent for the next half hour. I'm go­ing to get up and dress soon.”

Har­ri­et set the tray down and walked from the tent. Her heart was heavy on ac­count of the de­cep­tion she had prac­tised. Her pride had been wound­ed, too. Did Co­ra Kid­der think her so stupid as not to know what had been go­ing on? Then the next thought was one of re­morse that she had de­ceived Miss Par­tridge and Mrs. Liv­ingston.

“My of­fense is as great as theirs,” ac­cused Har­ri­et.

At that junc­ture her at­ten­tion was at­tract­ed to a girl run­ning to­ward her. It was Crazy Jane. Har­ri­et walked away from the tent. Jane came up with her a few yards fur­ther on.

“Har­ri­et, what is the mat­ter?” she de­mand­ed, bend­ing a keen glance in­to the face of Har­ri­et Bur­rell.

“Oh, Jane. I'm so un­hap­py,” replied Har­ri­et sad­ly.

“Tell me all about it dar­ling” begged Jane sooth­ing­ly, link­ing an arm with­in that of her com­pan­ion, lead­ing her far­ther in­to the woods.

“Oh, yes, I will tell you. I must tell you. I am burst­ing, I shall go mad if I do not tell some one. But Jane, you must keep se­cret what I tell you. You must promise me that.”

“If it's your se­cret, I'll promise. If it isn't, I won't promise.”

Har­ri­et re­gard­ed her com­pan­ion steadi­ly for a mo­ment.

“I must tell you,” she whis­pered. Then, halt­ing­ly, at first, Har­ri­et told Jane that Co­ra Kid­der had slipped away in the night and gone to the dance at “The Pines.” There could be no doubt of it. Jane learned from Har­ri­et of the con­ver­sa­tion that she had over­heard, was re­mind­ed of the vis­it of Mr. Col­lier the day be­fore and was made ac­quaint­ed with Co­ra's re­turn to the tent while the Camp Girls were at their break­fast, a time when one might be cer­tain of find­ing the camp clear of pry­ing eyes.

Jane's face wore a se­ri­ous ex­pres­sion.

“You say his sis­ter went with them?”

“That was the plan. But, oh, Jane, I am sus­pect­ed of treach­ery. I know Miss Par­tridge and Miss Elt­ing sus­pect­ed that I was de­ceiv­ing them this morn­ing. I didn't mean to, but I just couldn't see Co­ra dis­graced and sent home. Don't you see what it would have meant to her?”

Jane re­gard­ed her thought­ful­ly.

“Co­ra doesn't like you, Har­ri­et. She and Pa­tri­cia are your en­emies, but I don't know why. I have won­dered if those two girls didn't have some­thing to do with that soup af­fair. Do you know that Co­ra came in­to the cook tent from the front just as you sat down that night?”

“Yes, I know she did. She helped to haze me that night too. And--and--oh, Jane, don't be­tray her, but I over­heard Co­ra and Pa­tri­cia talk­ing the oth­er night. Words were dropped that left no doubt in my mind that Co­ra had done that aw­ful thing.”

“Spoil­ing the soup?”

“Yes.”

“The mis­er­able sneak!” ex­plod­ed Jane. “Let me tell her!” Jane sprang up. Her face was flushed, her eyes snap­ping.

“Oh, no, no, no! She isn't to blame. It is Pa­tri­cia, who is so venge­ful, and Co­ra is so weak. She has been in­flu­enced by the oth­er girl. Oh, you mustn't, you mustn't say a word to her! Promise me that you will not.”

“I'd like to tell her what I think of her,” breathed Jane in a low, tense voice, shak­ing a clenched first “Oh, wouldn't I like to.”

“You must keep out of it. I must suf­fer for my de­cep­tion. Oh, Jane, I can't stay here af­ter this. I nev­er shall be able to look any of them in the face af­ter this. Go away now and let me think.”

Jane left her com­pan­ion abrupt­ly. On her way back to­ward the camp­fire she saw Miss Par­tridge hur­ry­ing to Co­ra's tent. The As­sis­tant Chief Guardian re­mained in­side but a few mo­ments af­ter which she was seen re­turn­ing, walk­ing with less haste. Har­ri­et stole in­to the for­est that she might be alone.

Miss Par­tridge, sat­is­fied that all was well with Co­ra was puz­zling her mind as to what had so dis­turbed Har­ri­et, when Jane see­ing her re­turn, act­ed up­on a sud­den im­pulse and hur­ried to Co­ra Kid­der's tent. She paused in the door­way. Co­ra was in her wrap­per, look­ing as if she had just got­ten up.

“Well, what do you want?” she de­mand­ed, turn­ing on Jane.

“I want to talk with you.”

“Please go away and let me alone.”

“Where were you last night?” Jane flung the ques­tion at her with­out warn­ing. Co­ra flushed to the roots of her hair. Jane saw that her hands trem­bled too.

“Is there no such thing as pri­va­cy in this camp?” flared Co­ra.

“Yes, for those who are en­ti­tled to it.”

Co­ra drew her­self up, en­raged past all en­durance.

“Steady there! Steady! I know where you were last night. I know you went to 'The Pines' with that Col­lier chap. Oh, I know all about it, and what's more, you went with him alone.”

“I didn't. His sis­ter was with us. She came back with us, and----”

Crazy Jane threw back her head and laughed soft­ly.

“Thanks, dar­lin',” she chuck­led. “Con­fes­sion is good for a guilty soul.”

“Oh!” gasped Co­ra Kid­der, re­al­iz­ing that she had con­fessed, that Jane had trapped her in­to the con­fes­sion. Then she burst forth an­gri­ly.

“It's that hate­ful Har­ri­et Bur­rell! I might have known it. She has been spy­ing on me all the time. I hate her! I hate her! Oh, how I hate her! I could claw her eyes out, and----”

“Soft­ly, my dar­lin', soft­ly!”

“I don't care. I'm go­ing any­way. I'll have Jasper take me to the train to-​day. I don't want to stay here with such sneaks fol­low­ing me and spy­ing on ev­ery­thing I do. You're no bet­ter than the rest. I sup­pose she's told Mrs. Liv­ingston, I sup­pose ev­ery girl in the camp knows about it by this time. I haven't done any­thing of which I'm ashamed.”

“Oh, yes, you have,” in­ter­ject­ed Jane quick­ly. “Har­ri­et has not told the Chief. Co­ra Kid­der, sit down there and lis­ten to me; lis­ten to the sto­ry of the finest bit of loy­al­ty that any girl ev­er heard.”

“I won't! Get out of my tent!”

“Sit down there. Har­ri­et Bur­rell has not told any one.”

“She told you; you know she did!”

“I had to drag it out of her. Then she tried to make me promise I wouldn't tell the Chief Guardian.”

“And you will? You'll give me away?”

“You have giv­en your­self away, Co­ra. Now that I've had it from your own lips I am free to tell whom I please. But I think you are go­ing to tell Mrs. Liv­ingston your­self.”

“Nev­er!” with a stamp of the foot.

“Lis­ten! Har­ri­et Bur­rell de­ceived them this morn­ing. When they asked her about you she led them to be­lieve that you were sleep­ing. She was try­ing to pro­tect you. She did wrong. I shouldn't have done it if you had been as mean to me as you have to her. Oh, my stars! what a girl!”

Co­ra Kid­der opened her eyes. She re­gard­ed Crazy Jane won­der­ing­ly.

“She knew all the time that you were plan­ning to go to the dance, but she nev­er said a word to any one, though it most broke her pre­cious heart to think you would do such a thing. Last night when she came in here af­ter we had chased the bear, she found you gone. Pa­tri­cia was mean to her when she asked about you. This morn­ing when she came in to dress, you weren't here. She saw that your bed hadn't been slept in. Then she knew. She was very un­hap­py. When they asked her about you this morn­ing at break­fast Har­ri­et avoid­ed the ques­tions and gave Mrs. Liv­ingston in­di­rect an­swers. She even brought a tray to you to keep up the de­cep­tion. Now do you re­al­ize what that means to a girl like Har­ri­et? The mo­ment she gave a sec­ond thought to what she had done she was hor­ri­fied. There isn't a more un­hap­py girl in the world than Har­ri­et Bur­rell at this minute.”

“Oh!” ex­claimed Co­ra weak­ly.

“That isn't all. She knows more about you than this, even if this weren't enough.”

“What does she know?” de­mand­ed Miss Kid­der with a vi­olent start, the col­or leav­ing her face sud­den­ly.

“She knows you and Pa­tri­cia were in that haz­ing af­fair. Then she knew some­thing worse than that. She knows that you were the one who spoiled the con­somme and lost the 'hon­or' bead for her.”

Co­ra sat down heav­ily on the edge of the cot. Her eyes were wide with ter­ror.

“She--she knows?”

“Yes. And I shouldn't be sur­prised if she knew more. She isn't the girl to tell all she knows. Now, what are you go­ing to do about it, Co­ra Kid­der?”

“Oh, I don't know,” moaned the un­hap­py girl, bury­ing her face in the pil­lows, her shoul­ders ris­ing and falling with her smoth­ered sobs.

Jane watched her in si­lence. There was an ex­pres­sion of com­pas­sion in the eyes of Crazy Jane. Fi­nal­ly she rose and stepped soft­ly to the cot. Co­ra was aroused by a gen­tle touch on her shoul­der.

“Dearie!” mur­mured Crazy Jane sooth­ing­ly.

“Oh, what shall I do! What shall I do?” moaned Co­ra.

“Go straight to Mrs. Liv­ingston and tell her ev­ery­thing. Do not spare your­self, nor Pa­tri­cia, for she is the one who is to blame. She has been us­ing you to avenge what she thinks are her own pri­vate wrongs. Tell it all, and set right that no­ble girl who has pro­tect­ed you, and who has got­ten her­self in­to an aw­ful mess in do­ing so. Co­ra will you do it?”

“I can't, I can't,” moaned Co­ra.

“Then I will do it my­self,” warned Jane, with­draw­ing her hand sharply.

“No, no, no! Don't! I'll do it. I'll go. I'll tell her ev­ery­thing. I don't care what she does to me. I just can't stand this! Oh, I nev­er thought there were such peo­ple in the world! I'll go to Mrs. Liv­ingston to-​night, and----”

“Not to-​night. Go, now, Co­ra. You can't tell what might hap­pen be­tween this and to-​night.”

“Yes, I'll go,” was the faint re­ply. A veil seemed to fall from be­fore the eyes of Co­ra Kid­der. She saw her­self as she had nev­er done be­fore, saw her own un­wor­thi­ness, saw how she had been led to com­mit acts that were for­eign to her re­al na­ture. She won­dered how she ev­er could have been so blind. Co­ra rose and hur­ried­ly be­gan do­ing up her hair. Jane gave the girl an en­cour­ag­ing pat on the shoul­der and slipped from the tent with­out an­oth­er word.

“What a mess, oh what a fine mess,” mut­tered Crazy Jane, swing­ing in­to a long stride as she start­ed for the oth­er end of the camp.