The Outdoor Girls Around the Campfire - Laura Lee Hope (best young adult book series txt) 📗
- Author: Laura Lee Hope
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“But how does it work?” asked Mollie, impatiently.
“Just a moment, fair maid. I’m coming to that,” protested Will. “You see, it’s this way. You roll all your bedclothes inside this flap, whatever you think you may need. Then you crawl in——”
“Allee same Indian pappoose, eh,” murmured Betty, irrepressibly.
“About the same idea,” agreed Will. “Only a little more so. After you’ve tucked your covers in comfortably about you, you lace this outside flap up to your chin and, presto, you’ve got the most complete sleeping bag in captivity.”
“Seems almost too good to be true,” drawled Grace. “Won’t this sleeping bag be a little too warm for comfort?”
“Depends on how many covers you use,” returned Will.
“I suppose,” said the Little Captain, “it’s also pretty good for keeping the bugs off.”
“Precisely,” returned Will, enthusiastically. “Completely puzzles the little dears, and by the time they’ve figured out how to get at you——”
“They have tired of the hunt and gone to find easier game,” finished Frank.
When, some time later, four tired Outdoor Girls tested the wondrous new mattresses, they did not wonder at Will’s enthusiasm. It was, as the Little Captain had said, like floating on clouds.
Betty was the last to go to sleep. She lay for what seemed a long time, luxuriating in the air mattress and the thought that Frank and Will were in the makeshift tent so near them.
“If only——” she murmured drowsily, “if only Allen were with them.”
THE OLD MAID OF THE MOUNTAINS
Rather early the next morning, although the girls did their best to dissuade them, Frank and Will declared that they must be getting back to Deepdale.
“If we expect to come up for the week-end,” said Will, “we’ll have to work hard for the next two or three days.”
So the girls were forced to let them go, accompanying them quite a little distance along the rough woods road that led to the main highway a mile or two further on.
“If you girls need provisions or anything,” Frank told them just before they said good-by, “there are several prosperous farms a little further on that could supply you with fresh milk and eggs and butter.”
“See you later,” added Will, swinging his bicycle into position, adding, for Betty’s special benefit: “And next time we come we’ll bring Allen along.”
“Be sure you do,” said Mollie, wickedly. “Betty is simply pining away.”
Then the girls turned back to camp once more, feeling rather lonesome. They did wish the boys could have stayed.
“I guess we might as well pull down this thing,” said Betty, eyeing the tent which they had erected on the first night of their stay in the woods. “We have a real tent now and when the boys come up for the week-end, they’ll have that big one of Roy’s with them.”
So down came the tarpaulin, although the girls had almost as much difficulty in the dismantling of the improvised tent as they had had in the erecting of it.
At last it was down, however, and they set about making the camp as neat as possible. This done, they wandered through the woods, trying to find if there were any camp in the neighborhood which might harbor tramps.
They found none, and they finally returned to camp more mystified than before.
That night around the campfire—the prettiest one they had yet made—Betty cautioned them that the best thing they could do would be to put “this scare about tramps” out of their minds.
“There’s no use ruining our whole summer,” she said. “The chances are, even if there are tramps about, they don’t mean to annoy us. We haven’t any jewelry or valuables that they might hope to steal, and they will probably be only too glad to give us a wide berth.”
“That’s what I say,” agreed Mollie, heartily. “It’s up to us to say whether we’re going to let such a foolish thing ruin our fun. I, for one, don’t intend to.”
“Nor I,” said Amy, stoutly. “Now that I’m here I’m going to have the time of my life.”
“Good,” said Betty, patting Amy’s hand encouragingly. “That’s the way to talk. And now will you put some more wood on the fire, Gracie? I feel like telling some stories.”
“All right,” agreed Grace, with a glance into the black shadows of the woodland beyond the dancing light of the fire. “Tell as many as you like, as long as they’re not ghost stories.”
And so, after this, the Outdoor Girls did really make a determined effort to forget all about the possibility of tramps lurking in the neighborhood and set about, as only they knew how, to crowd each day to the brim with fun.
They made several trips through the woods to a near-by farmhouse for supplies, and on one of these trips they decided not to stop at the farmhouse but to hike a little further on, up into the hills.
They had never been so far away from camp before, and it was with a feeling of adventure that they started to climb a miniature mountain into the denser woodland beyond.
“Oh, it’s lovely up here,” said the Little Captain. “The higher up you get the better the air becomes.”
“Fine,” agreed Grace, adding as she came abreast of Betty: “What’s that over there, Little Captain? Doesn’t it look like smoke?”
The girls gazed in the direction of her pointing finger and saw that, sure enough, right above the rise of the hill, a thin line of smoke was curling.
“Somebody’s camp, maybe,” said Mollie, instinctively lowering her voice. “Funny thing, away out here in the wilds.”
“About the only place you’d expect to find a camp, I suppose,” drawled Grace, but Betty interrupted, cautiously pushing them a little further back down the hill.
“Listen,” she said, in a whisper, her eyes bright with eagerness. “Maybe that’s the camp of the tramps that we’ve been looking for. And if it is we’ll have to be careful not to let them know we’re around.”
“You said something, Betty Nelson,” agreed Grace, beginning to back still further down the hill. “I vote we get away from here.”
“Nonsense,” said Betty, sharply, but still in a whisper. “You can run away, if you want to, but I’m going to see what that smoke means.”
“Right you are,” agreed Mollie, and together they began cautiously to ascend the hill, Amy and Grace bringing up the rear.
They had almost reached the top of the hill when some one came suddenly toward them through the trees, bringing them to a short stop.
And what they saw made them rub their eyes hard to make sure they were not dreaming.
A little old lady she was, with a figure so slight and thin it looked as if a breath of wind might blow it away and a face that was sweet in spite of the wrinkles of age. Her head was uncovered and her hair, curly and snow-white, framed her face softly and pleasantly. Altogether she was a little old lady who looked as though she might have stepped straight out of a story book.
She did not seem to see the astonished girls at first but came straight on, head bent and old feet faltering uncertainly on the rocky path. Then suddenly she looked up and saw them.
A thin, blue-veined hand flew to her throat in swift alarm and she stared at them silently.
Betty, recovering from her surprise, flew to the old lady’s side, taking a wrinkled old hand in her firm young one.
The Outdoor Girls Around the Campfire. Page 141
“Oh, I’m so sorry if we startled you,” said the Little Captain, penitently. “You see we saw the smoke from your fire and we thought——”
“Oh, were you coming to see me?” asked the little old lady, a light springing to her eyes. “I’m glad. I’ve been very lonesome, lately. Do come up, dears, and rest yourselves. You look very worn.”
And so she turned, retracing her steps and evidently taking it as a matter of course that the girls would follow her. Betty ran forward, catching the old lady’s arm and helping her over the rough places, meanwhile sending an urgent look of command over her shoulder to the still amazed girls. The look said more plainly than words:
“If you dare tell this old soul we didn’t come on purpose to see her, I’ll murder you all.”
“We’ll play the game,” Mollie called, as though in response to spoken words, and Betty nodded contentedly.
Their queer little hostess caught nothing of this byplay, she was seemingly too intent upon not stumbling over the stones and tree stumps that dotted her front yard.
“Some day,” she said, in quaint apology, “I am going to have all these rocks and logs removed. But, you see, I’m not strong enough to do it myself.” At this pathetic admission Betty felt a strong desire to take the frail little person in her arms and tell her it was all right. Who minded a few sticks and stones, anyway?
Midway of the clearing there stood a little cabin, badly in need of paint and repairs, and it was from the chimney of this small abode that the smoke was pouring in a thin spiral—the smoke which had first warned the girls of human presence.
The little old lady swung wide her door with a gesture as grand as though she were welcoming her guests to a palace.
“Come in,” she said, adding with a sigh as they obeyed: “I wish I had some refreshments to offer you young ladies, but the fact is, I—have—nothing left in the house. I was on my way,” she added hastily, as though the girls might misconstrue her confession, “to lay in some more supplies when I met you.”
They stayed with their queer little hostess for the better part of an hour and before the time had passed, they had fallen hopelessly in love with her.
She was sweet and quaint and pathetically eager that they should enjoy themselves. The girls, growing more and more interested as they came to know her better, skillfully drew her out, leading her to talk about herself.
This she did with a frankness that was disarming.
“They call me the Old Maid of the Mountains—the good people around here,” she confessed, as though she took real pride in the title. “Sometimes they come to see me, although often they are too busy with their own affairs to bother about a little old woman. Although,” she added bravely, as though once more afraid that the girls might be led to pity her, “I am not often lonesome. I have my work, you see.”
“Work?” repeated Betty vaguely. Somehow it seemed impossible that this frail little creature was able to work.
“Yes,” returned the little old lady, interpreting her puzzled look, “I do needlework—a great deal of it. Though,” she added, with a sigh, “it is hard for me to do it lately. My eyes are not as good as they were. Take care of your eyes in your youth, my dears,” she finished, looking around at them earnestly. “And never, whatever you do, cry!”
The girls, rather amazed at this command, could find nothing to say. However, this made little difference, as the old lady, once started, seemed glad enough to have somebody to talk to.
She rambled on and on, while the girls listened eagerly. Suddenly, with a quick look at the clock, she started to her feet.
“Mercy me!” she exclaimed, in dismay. “It is getting late, my dears, and I must get to the farm and back before nightfall. I hope you’ll pardon me, but it takes me such a long, long time.” She sighed again and patiently reached for her
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