The Meadow-Brook Girls Under Canvas

CHAPTER III

THE TRAIL TO CAMP WAU-​WAU

“I un­der­stand that your par­ents have been con­sid­er­ing your go­ing to the sea shore with them, Grace?” said Miss Elt­ing with a ris­ing in­flec­tion in her voice. “I sup­pose you are ea­ger to go?”

“No, I'm not. What'th, more, I'm not go­ing. I'm go­ing to thtay here with the girlth. Why?” Tom­my re­gard­ed the teach­er keen­ly.

“Be­cause my dear, if you are not go­ing to the sea shore I wish to in­clude you in my plans for the sum­mer. I have a fine va­ca­tion planned for the four of you. Does any of you know the lo­ca­tion of Pocono Woods?”

The girls shook their heads.

“It is a for­est near James­burg about twen­ty-​five miles from here. How would you young wom­en en­joy spend­ing your va­ca­tions in a camp in the woods, liv­ing in tents and----”

“Re­al­ly tru­ly tent­th?” in­ter­rupt­ed Tom­my.

“Yes, dear. Re­al tents and camp­fires and all that sort of thing, right in the heart of the Pocono Woods, miles and miles from civ­iliza­tion.”

“Are there any thnaketh there?” ques­tioned Grace ap­pre­hen­sive­ly.

“No, no snakes.”

“Moth­quitoeth?”

“There may be a few mosquitoes. I can­not say as to that. But it is a love­ly spot. This camp,” Miss Elt­ing went on to say, “is for young girls and young wom­en, and is part of the Camp Girls' As­so­ci­ation, a large and grow­ing or­ga­ni­za­tion. You will find a great many oth­er young wom­en there and you will, while there, be in charge of a guardian.”

“Guardian!” in­ter­rupt­ed Grace. “My fa­ther ith my guardian.”

“Oh, I don't mean that sort of a guardian,” an­swered Miss Elt­ing with a bright smile. “The guardians are mere­ly the wom­en who take charge of the girls dur­ing their stay in camp. I am to be one of them this sum­mer. I had planned to take you four girls there af­ter the close of school, but did not think it ad­vis­able to speak of my plans un­til they were more ful­ly de­vel­oped and all ar­range­ments com­plet­ed. Now what do you think of it?”

“It is per­fect­ly splen­did,” cried Margery. “Won't that be great, girls? But,” she added, her face sober­ing, “I do not think my fa­ther and moth­er would per­mit me to go.”

“I am quite sure that mine would not,” agreed Hazel solemn­ly.

“I gueth Mith Elt­ing hath theen to that,” spoke up Tom­my, her eyes nar­row­ing.

“You have made a close guess, Grace. They have agreed, all ex­cept in your case. Your moth­er wish­es to talk the mat­ter over with you and your fa­ther be­fore mak­ing a fi­nal de­ci­sion.”

“Then it ith all right,” nod­ded Tom­my con­fi­dent­ly. “I'll make them let me go any­way and--ith Har­ri­et go­ing?”

“Yes. I hope so.”

“Doeth thhe know about it!”

“I have not spo­ken to Har­ri­et about it. I had hoped to do so out here to-​day. That is why I pro­posed just now that we re­turn to the vil­lage. We shall have a chance to talk it over on the way back, when I will tell you more about the pro­posed va­ca­tion.”

“You thay my folk­th know about it, Mith Elt­ing?”

“Yes, dear.”

“What did they thay?”

“That they thought you had bet­ter go to Nar­ra­gansett with them, but that if you in­sist­ed, they sup­posed you would have to go to the sum­mer camp with us,” ad­mit­ted the teach­er with a tol­er­ant smile.

Tom­my twist­ed her face in­to a gri­mace.

“My folk­th know what ith good for them,” averred the lit­tle blonde girl.

“I am afraid, my dear, that you do not ful­ly know what is good for your­self,” de­clared the teach­er re­prov­ing­ly. “You will have to obey the rules when you get to camp, and they are quite strict. There are so many girls there, that rather strict reg­ula­tions have to be en­forced. Ev­ery girl is ex­pect­ed to live up to them. Fail­ing to do so she un­doubt­ed­ly would be sent home.”

“If they catch her,” an­swered Tom­my wise­ly. “You thay that Har­ri­et doethn't know about thith?”

“Not yet, Grace.”

The girl re­flect­ed for a mo­ment. They had start­ed slow­ly to­ward the vil­lage. All at once Tom­my start­ed down the road at top speed.

“Grace, Grace!” called Miss Elt­ing.

“She's gone to tell Har­ri­et what you have said,” de­clared Margery.

A shade of an­noy­ance passed over Miss Elt­ing's face, quick­ly giv­ing place to an amused smile as she watched the light-​foot­ed Tom­my speed­ing down the road. Tom­my whisked her­self out of their sight in no time.

“Let us hur­ry on,” urged the teach­er. “Grace is sure to con­fuse the sto­ry if she tries to tell it. Mrs. Bur­rell wished me to tell Har­ri­et of the camp­ing trip that is be­fore her.”

The girls nod­ded their ap­proval of the sug­ges­tion. Margery held her head a lit­tle high­er than usu­al. She want­ed to im­press up­on Miss Elt­ing the fact that she was too dig­ni­fied to do what Tom­my had just done.

In the mean­time Grace had con­tin­ued her wild flight to the door of the Bur­rell home in­to which she burst like a minia­ture cy­clone. Her face was flushed and her eyes sparkled. Her white dress was crum­pled and stained from sprawl­ing on the hill­side and falling out of the road in­to the way­side ditch.

“Oh, Har­ri­et! Har­ri­et!” she gasped, fling­ing her­self in­to the room where Har­ri­et Bur­rell and her moth­er sat sewing on one of Har­ri­et's dress­es which, though the young wom­an did not know it, was in­tend­ed for her to wear dur­ing the com­ing va­ca­tion in camp.

Har­ri­et sprang up and ran to the ex­cit­ed Tom­my, be­liev­ing that some­thing ter­ri­ble had oc­curred.

“Tom­my, Tom­my! What is it?” she cried.

“The greatetht thing you ev­er heard. Oh, I won't tell you. It ith too good. Gueth what? Gueth!” chuck­led Grace.

“I am afraid I can­not,” laughed Har­ri­et, now dis­cov­er­ing that noth­ing was amiss with Grace. “I am not a good guess­er, but I do guess that you are very much ex­cit­ed.”

“You're go­ing, too,” in­ter­rupt­ed Grace. “We're all go­ing, and we're all go­ing to live in----”

“Sit down, Tom­my and calm your­self. You are so ex­cit­ed that I can't un­der­stand any­thing from your jum­ble of words,” ad­mon­ished Har­ri­et, lay­ing a firm hand on the arm of her friend and push­ing Grace in­to a chair.

“I don't want to thit down,” ob­ject­ed Tom­my bob­bing up again. “I want to talk, then I want to dan­the. Oh, I'm tho hap­py. But I'm a thight,” she added, glanc­ing down at her gown.

“I agree with you,” an­swered Har­ri­et, smil­ing­ly. “Do sit down and com­pose your­self. Where are the girls? Are they as flus­trat­ed as you are?”

“Yeth, and they're go­ing, too. They're com­ing here with Mith Elt­ing. They're com­ing from over there.” Har­ri­et smiled as Grace waved an ex­cit­ed hand to­ward the west, the di­rec­tion in which the hill lay.

“Tell me about it. I am grow­ing cu­ri­ous. Where is it we are go­ing?”

Tom­my bobbed up from her chair and be­gan danc­ing about the room.

“Oh, ev­er and ev­er tho far.”

By this time Mrs. Bur­rell be­gan to un­der­stand. She re­al­ized that the cat was about to jump out of the bag, but made no ef­fort to as­sist Grace in telling the sto­ry. In­stead Har­ri­et's moth­er sat with an amused smile on her face.

“We're go­ing away, we're go­ing away. Don't you un­der­th­tand?”

“No, Tom­my, I don't.”

“Oh, fid­dle!”

“Where is it that we are go­ing?”

“Ev­er and ev­er tho far away. Way off in the woodth where the birdth thing and the frogth croak and the moth­quitoeth bite you and th­poil your com­plex­ion. And, oh, gueth, gueth, Har­ri­et.”

Har­ri­et threw up her hands, an ex­pres­sion of com­ical de­spair on her face.

“I give you up, Tom­my. You are hope­less. Here come Miss Elt­ing and the girls. Per­haps Miss Elt­ing can tell us what it is all about. I am not go­ing away. You are go­ing to the sea shore, are you not, Tom­my?”

Tom­my shook her head vig­or­ous­ly.

“I'm not,” she de­clared, with a stamp of her foot. “I'm go­ing to the woodth and----”

“You ran away from us, you naughty girl,” chid­ed Miss Elt­ing af­ter hav­ing greet­ed Mrs. Bur­rell and Har­ri­et. Margery and Hazel had fol­lowed her in, and were now shak­ing hands with Har­ri­et, though it had been on­ly a mat­ter of some two hours since last they met.

“I sup­pose Grace has told you all about it, Har­ri­et. How­ev­er, there may be a few dry de­tails left for me,” con­tin­ued Miss Elt­ing with a se­vere frown at Tom­my.

“She hasn't told me any­thing. She has tried to tell me, but she is too ex­cit­ed to be in­tel­li­gi­ble. Please tell me what it is all about. I am anx­ious to hear the news.”

“Let Grace tell it, now that she has be­gun,” sug­gest­ed Miss Elt­ing, nod­ding to the ex­cit­ed Tom­my.

How­ev­er, with the en­trance of the teach­er and the two girls, Tom­my in her haste to blurt out the full sto­ry had be­come hope­less­ly tan­gled. She hes­itat­ed, stam­mered, then stopped short. There was a mer­ry laugh at her ex­pense.

“I shall have to tell you af­ter all, young ladies,” said the teach­er. “You four girls, it has been de­cid­ed, are to go with me to the sum­mer camp in the Pocono Woods. Do you know about the sum­mer camp there, Har­ri­et?”

“I have heard of it,” an­swered Har­ri­et, gaz­ing steadi­ly at the speak­er. “It is quite an im­por­tant or­ga­ni­za­tion, is it not?”

“Just so. As I al­ready have ex­plained to the girls, I am one of the guardians. I thought it would be fine to have my Mead­ow-​Brook Girls ac­com­pa­ny me, and with the con­sent of the par­ents of each girl, I have ar­ranged for you to re­main in the camp for six weeks, at least, or un­til we have to re­turn to get ready for the fall term of school here.”

“Yeth, and, and, and----” be­gan Tom­my.

“Oh do hur­ry up and tell the retht, Mith Elt­ing,” she end­ed im­pa­tient­ly.

The smile slow­ly fad­ed from Har­ri­et's face, and now that the an­ima­tion had left it, it was rather plain. Her hair brushed straight back from a broad fore­head, made more pro­nounced the un­de­ni­able plain­ness of her fea­tures. But when an­imat­ed that face was fair­ly trans­formed. As Miss Elt­ing had ex­pressed it, “Har­ri­et light­ed up di­vine­ly.” She was a tall, well built girl whose erect car­riage and grace­ful poise in­di­cat­ed ath­let­ic train­ing.

“Yes, that will be fine, in­deed,” agreed Har­ri­et. “Of course you know it will not be pos­si­ble for me to go with you, much as I should like to. You un­der­stand why with­out my ex­plain­ing, Miss Elt­ing.”

“Yeth you will go,” burst out Grace, sud­den­ly find­ing her voice again. “I'll pay for you. I've got lot­th and lot­th of mon­ey.”

Har­ri­et's face flushed.

“You are a dear, Tom­my. But you know I could not per­mit you to do that,” was Har­ri­et's gen­tle re­ply. “It is very, very good of you, but whol­ly im­pos­si­ble. You know Miss Elt­ing, that I could not af­ford a va­ca­tion such as that, much as I should like to go. Oh, wouldn't it be fine if we four girls might spend our va­ca­tion in camp to­geth­er?” she ex­claimed, her fea­tures light­ing up again.

“And so you shall,” an­swered Miss Elt­ing with a fi­nal­ity in her tone that led Har­ri­et Bur­rell to gaze at the young wom­an with keen, ques­tion­ing eyes. “Lis­ten, my dear. I am go­ing to take you with me as my guest. As I have al­ready ex­plained, I am one of the guardians of the camp. The guardians re­ceive no re­mu­ner­ation for their ser­vices, but each is en­ti­tled, if she wish­es, to take one girl with her as her guest. The girl so tak­en would be a mem­ber of the camp, just the same as the oth­ers. She would in no sense be a char­ity mem­ber ei­ther. She would be on ex­act­ly the same foot­ing as her com­pan­ions. That is the way you are go­ing to join the camp­ing par­ty. I am invit­ing you to be my guest. Your name al­ready has been reg­is­tered with Mrs. Liv­ingston, the Chief Guardian of the camp. Your place will be ready for you when you reach there, and I be­lieve you will en­joy your sum­mer thor­ough­ly.”

“Now what have you got to thay to that?” de­mand­ed Grace tri­umphant­ly.

Har­ri­et turned a thought­ful gaze on the smil­ing face of her moth­er.

“And you knew about this all the time, but said nev­er a word to me, Moth­er?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Oh, you dar­ling Moth­er,” cried the girl im­pul­sive­ly, throw­ing both arms about Mrs. Bur­rell's neck, kiss­ing her af­fec­tion­ate­ly. From her moth­er Har­ri­et turned her at­ten­tion to Miss Elt­ing whom she al­so em­braced in a bear-​like hug. “How can I ev­er thank you?”

“By go­ing with us,” an­swered Miss Elt­ing.

“Thay, aren't you go­ing to kith me? Didn't I firtht tell you about it?” de­mand­ed Tom­my.

Har­ri­et ran over to her lit­tle friend, kiss­ing her light­ly, at the same time giv­ing Tom­my's ear a pinch.

“Girls, you have been in the se­cret all the time, too, haven't you?”

“Do you think I could keep a the­cret all that time?” an­swered Grace. “Didn't I near­ly break my prethiouth neck to get down here to tell you the good newth the minute I heard it? Didn't I get run over by an au­to­mo­bile, too?”

“Grace fell down the hill. She did have a nar­row es­cape from be­ing run down by Crazy Jane,” ex­plained Miss Elt­ing.

Har­ri­et re­gard­ed her lit­tle friend with twin­kling eyes.

“When do we go?” she asked.

“On Sat­ur­day, the day af­ter to-​mor­row.”

“So soon! Oh, that will be glo­ri­ous. But how about clothes. What do the girls wear? Any­thing they hap­pen to have?”

“No. They dress alike, or near­ly so.”

“Then I fear I shan't be able to go. You see I have noth­ing ex­cept my reg­ular clothes.”

Miss Elt­ing con­tin­ued speak­ing, un­heed­ing the in­ter­rup­tion.

“The ev­ery­day dress is of dark blue serge, the waist is batiste lined, it has long sleeves and a large flow­ing bow, made of plaid or Ro­man-​striped silk at the neck. The skirt for the large girls is plain with a wide box pleat at the back. The skirt for the small­er girls is kilt­ed and made an­kle-​length or short­er if de­sired. The dress has three pock­ets, one of them in the sleeve----”

“Fun­ny plathe for a pock­et,” ob­served Tom­my.

“Now do you be­gin to un­der­stand?” smiled Miss Elt­ing.

“Why--why,” stam­mered Har­ri­et, “That is the very thing moth­er and I have been work­ing on. I've been at work on my camp dress all the time and didn't know it.” Har­ri­et laughed ex­cit­ed­ly. There were tears of joy in her eyes. “Oh, what a goose I have been, haven't I, girls?”

“Yeth,” agreed Tom­my, bob­bing her head up and down.

“The of­fi­cial hat,” con­tin­ued Miss Elt­ing, “is al­so of dark blue serge to match the rest of the out­fit. It has a white silk cord about the crown with the name of the camp in white on the blue back­ground. I for­got to say that the em­blem of your rank in the camp or­der, will be worked on the sleeve. That may be done af­ter reach­ing camp.”

“What is the name of the camp--Pocono?” asked Har­ri­et for the sake of con­tin­uing the con­ver­sa­tion. She was too dazed to think clear­ly as yet.

“Camp 'Wau-​Wau' is the name. It is a Chi­nook In­di­an name. 'Wau-​Wau' is a term, usu­al­ly ap­plied to a num­ber of squaws gath­er­ing for a con­fab, and cor­re­sponds to the 'pow-​wow' of the braves. Now you know all about it. We shall start from here on the noon train Sat­ur­day.”