This etext was produced from the 1914 Gay and Hancock, Ltd.
edition by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk





A SUMMER IN A CANYON: A CALIFORNIA STORY

by Kate Douglas Wiggin




SCENE:  A Camping Ground in the Canyon Las Flores.

PEOPLE IN THE TENTS.

DR. PAUL WINSHIP            Mine Host
MRS. TRUTH WINSHIP          The Guardian Angel
DICKY WINSHIP               A Small Scamp of Six Years
BELL WINSHIP                The Camp Poetess
POLLY OLIVER                A Sweet but Saucy Lass
MARGERY NOBLE               A Nut-Brown Mayde
PHILIP NOBLE                The Useful Member
GEOFFREY STRONG             A Harvard Boy
JACK HOWARD                 Prince of Mischief
HOP YET                     A Heathen Chinee.
PANCHO GUTIERREZ            A Mexican man-of-all-work.



CHAPTER I:  PREPARATION AND DEPARTURE



'One to make ready, and two to prepare.'


It was nine o'clock one sunny California morning, and Geoffrey Strong
stood under the live-oak trees in Las Flores Canyon, with a pot of
black paint in one hand and a huge brush in the other.  He could have
handled these implements to better purpose and with better grace had
not his arms been firmly held by three laughing girls, who pulled not
wisely, but too well.  He was further incommoded by the presence of a
small urchin who lay on the dusty ground beneath his feet, fastening
an upward clutch on the legs of his trousers.

There were three large canvas tents directly in front of them, yet no
one of these seemed to be the object of dissension, but rather a
redwood board, some three feet in length, which was nailed on a tree
near by.

'Camp Frolic!  Please let us name it Camp Frolic!' cried Bell
Winship, with a persuasive twitch of her cousin's sleeve.

'No, no; not Camp Frolic,' pleaded Polly Oliver.  'Pray, pray let us
have Camp Ha-Ha; my heart is set upon it.'

'As you are Strong, be merciful,' quoted Margery Noble, coaxingly;
'take my advice and call it Harmony Camp.'

At this juncture, a lovely woman, whose sweet face and smile made you
love her at once, came up the hill from the brookside.  'What, what!
still quarrelling, children?' she asked, laughingly.  'Let me be
peacemaker.  I've just asked the Doctor for a name, and he suggests
Camp Chaparral.  What do you say?'

Bell released one coat-tail.  'That isn't wholly bad,' she said,
critically, while the other girls clapped their hands with approval;
for anything that Aunt Truth suggested was sure to be quite right.

'Wait a minute, good people,' cried Jack Howard, flinging his
fishing-tackle under a tree and sauntering toward the scene of
action.  'Suppose we have a referee, a wise and noble judge.  Call
Hop Yet, and let him decide this all-important subject.'

His name being sung and shouted in various keys by the assembled
company, Hop Yet appeared at the door of the brush kitchen, a broad
grin on his countenance, a plucked fowl in his hand.

Geoffrey took the floor.  'Now, Hop Yet, you know I got name, you got
name, everybody got name.  We want name this camp:  you sabe?  Miss
Bell, she say Camp Frolic.  Frolic all same heap good time' (here he
executed a sort of war-dance which was intended to express wild joy).
'Miss Pauline, she say Camp Ha-Ha, big laugh:  sabe?  Ha! ha! ha! ha!
ha! ha!' (chorus joined in by all to fully illustrate the subject).
'Miss Madge, she say Camp Harmony.  Harmony all same heap quiet time,
plenty eat, plenty drink, plenty sleep, no fight, no too muchee talk.
Mrs. Winship, she say Camp Chaparral:  you sabe?  Chaparral, Hop Yet.
Now what you say?'

Hop Yet seemed to regard the question with mingled embarrassment and
amusement, but being a sharp and talkative Chinaman gave his answer
promptly:  'Me say Camp Chap-lal heap good name; plenty chap-lal all
lound; me hang um dish-cloth, tow'l, little boy's stockin', on chap-
lal; all same clo'se-line velly good.  Miss Bell she folic, Miss
Polly she ha! ha! allee same Camp Chap-lal.'

And so Camp Chaparral it was; the redwood board flaunted the
assertion before the eyes of the public (which was a rather limited
one, to be sure) in less than half an hour, and the artist, after
painting the words in rustic letters a foot long, cut branches of the
stiff, ungracious bushes and nailed them to the tree in confirmation
and illustration of the fact.  He then carefully deposited the paint-
pot in a secret place, where it might be out of sight and touch of a
certain searching eye and mischievous hand well known and feared of
him; but before the setting sun had dropped below the line of purple
mountain tops, a small boy, who will be known in these annals as
Dicky Winship, might have been seen sitting on the empty paint-pot,
while from a dingy pool upon the ground he was attempting to paint a
copy of the aforesaid inscription upon the side of a too patient
goat, who saw no harm in the operation.  He was alone, and very, very
happy.

And now I must tell you the way in which all this began.  You may not
realise it, dear young folks, but this method of telling a story is
very much the fashion with grown-up people, and of course I am not to
blame, since I didn't begin it.

The plan is this:  You must first write a chapter showing all your
people, men, women, children, dogs, and cats, in a certain place,
doing certain things.  Then you must go back a year or two and
explain how they all happen to be there.  Perhaps you may have to
drag your readers twenty-five years into the regions of the past, and
show them the first tooth of your oldest character; but that doesn't
matter a bit,--the further the better.  Then, when everybody has
forgotten what came to pass in the first chapter, you are ready to
take it up again, as if there had never been any parenthesis.
However, I shall not introduce you to the cradles, cribs, or trundle-
beds of my merry young campers, but merely ask you to retrace your
steps one week, and look upon them in their homes.

On one of the pleasantest streets of a certain little California town
stood, and still stands for aught I know, a pretty brown cottage,
with its verandahs covered with passion-vine and a brilliant rose-
garden in front.  It is picturesque enough to attract the attention
of any passer-by, and if you had chosen to peep through the crevices
in the thick vines and look in at the open window, you might have
thought it lovelier within than without.

It was a bright day, and the gracious June sunshine flooded the room
with yellow light.  Three young girls, perhaps fourteen or fifteen
years old, were seated in different parts of the large room, plying
industrious crochet needles and tatting shuttles.  Three pairs of
bright eyes were dancing with fun and gladness; and another pair, the
softest and clearest of all, looked out from a broad white bed in the
corner,--tired eyes, and oh, so patient, for the health-giving
breezes wafted in from the blue ocean and carried over mountain tops
and vine-covered slopes had so far failed to bring back Elsie
Howard's strength and vigour.

The graceful, brown-haired girl with the bright, laughter-loving
face, was Bell Winship.  She of the dancing blue eyes, pink cheeks,
and reckless little sun-bonnet was Pauline, otherwise Polly Oliver.
Did you ever know a Polly without some one of these things?  Well, my
Polly had them all, and, besides, a saucy freckled nose, a crown of
fluffy, reddish-yellow hair, and a shower of coaxing little pitfalls
called dimples round her pretty mouth.  She made you think of a
sunbeam, a morning songbird, a dancing butterfly, or an impetuous
little crocus just out after the first spring shower.  Dislike her?
You couldn't.  Approve of her?  You wouldn't always.  Love her?  Of
course; you couldn't help yourself,--I defy you.

To be sure, if you prefer a quiet life, and do not want to be led
into exploits of all kinds, invariably beginning with risk, attended
with danger, and culminating in despair, you had better not engage in
an intimate friendship with Miss Pauline Oliver, but fix your
affections on the quiet, thoughtful, but not less lovable girl who
sits by the bedside stroking Elsie Howard's thin white hand.
Nevertheless, I am obliged to state that Margery Noble herself,
earnest, demure, and given to reflection, was Polly's willing slave
and victim.  However, I've forgotten to tell you that Polly was as
open and frank as the daylight, at once torrid and constant in her
affections, brave, self-forgetting as well as self-willed; and that
though she did have a tongue just the least bit saucy, she used it
valiantly in the defence of others.  'She'll come out all right,'
said a dear old-fashioned grandfather of hers whom she had left way
back in a Vermont farmhouse.  'She's got to be purged o' considerable
dross, but she'll come out pure gold, I tell you.'

Pretty, wise, tender Margery Noble, with her sleek brown braids, her
innocent, questioning eyes, her soft voice, willing hands, and shy,
quiet manners!  'She will either end as the matron of an orphan
asylum or as head-nurse in a hospital.'  So Bell Winship often used
to say; but then she was chiefly celebrated for talking nonsense, and
nobody ever paid much attention to her.  But if you should crave a
breath of fresh air, or want to believe that the spring has come,
just call Bell Winship in, as she walks with her breezy step down the
street.  Her very hair seems instinct with life, with its flying
tendrils of bronze brightness and the riotous little curls on her
brow and temples.  Then, too, she has a particularly jaunty way of
putting on her jacket, or wearing a flower or a ribbon; and as for
her ringing peal of laughter, it is like a chime of silver bells.

Elsie Howard, the invalid friend of the girls, was as dear to them as
they were to each other.  She kept the secrets of the 'firm'; mourned
over their griefs and smiled over their joys; was proud of their
talents and tenderly blind to their faults.  The little wicker
rocking-chair by the bedside was often made a sort of confessional,
at which she presided, the tenderest and most sympathetic little
priestess in the universe; and every afternoon the piazza, with its
lattice of green vines, served as a mimic throne-room, where she was
wont to hold high court, surrounded by her devoted subjects.  Here
Geoffrey Strong used often to read to the assembled company David
Copperfield, Alice in Wonderland, or snatches from the magazines,
while Jack Howard lazily stretched himself under the orange-trees and
braided lariats, a favourite occupation with California boys.  About
four o'clock Philip Noble would ride up from his father's fruit
ranch, some three miles out on the San Marcos road, and, hitching his
little sorrel mare Chispa at the gate, stay an hour before going to
the post-office.

This particular afternoon, however, was not one of Elsie's bright
ones, and there was no sign of court or invalid queen on the piazza.
The voices of the girls floated out from Elsie's bedroom, while the
boys, too, seemed to be somewhere in the vicinity, for there was a
constant stirring about as of lively preparation, together with noise
of hammering and sawing.

'If you were only going, Elsie, our cup of happiness would be full,'
sighed Bell.

'Not only would it be full, Bell, but it would be running over, and
we should positively stand in the slop,' said Polly.  'No, you
needn't frown at me, miss; that expression is borrowed from no less a
person than Sydney Smith.'

'Don't think any more about me,' smiled Elsie.  'Perhaps I can come
down in the course of the summer.  I know it will be the happiest
time in the world, but I don't envy you a bit; in fact, I'm very glad
you're going, because you'll have such a lovely budget of adventures
to tell me when you come back.'

'When we come back, indeed!' exclaimed Bell.  'Why, we shall write
long round-robin letters every few days, and send them by the team.
Papa says Pancho will have to go over to the stage station at least
once a week for letters and any provisions we may need.'

'Oh, won't that be delightful,--almost as good as being there myself!
And, Margery dear, you must make them tell me every least little
thing that happens.  You know they are such fly-aways that they'll
only write me when they learn to swim, or shoot a wildcat, or get
lost in the woods.  I want to know all the stupid bits:  what you
have for dinner, how and where you sleep, how your camp looks, what
you do from morning till night, and how Dicky behaves.'

'I can tell you that beforehand,' said Bell, dolefully.  'Jack will
shoot him by mistake on Thursday; he will be kicked by the horses
Friday, and bitten by tarantulas and rattlesnakes Saturday; he will
eat poison oak on Sunday, get lost in the canyon Monday, be eaten by
a bear Tuesday, and drowned in the pool Wednesday.  These incidents
will complete his first week; and if they produce no effect on his
naturally strong constitution, he will treat us to another week,
containing just as many mishaps, but no duplicates.'

By the time this dismal prophecy was ended the other girls were in a
breathless fit of laughter, though all acknowledged it was likely to
be fulfilled.

'I went over the camping-ground last summer,' said Margery.  'You
know it is quite near papa's sheep ranch, and it is certainly the
most beautiful place in California.  The tents will be pitched at the
mouth of the canyon, where there is a view of the ocean, and just at
the back will be a lovely grove of wild oaks and sycamore-trees.'

'Oh, won't it be delicious!' sighed Elsie.  'I feel as if I could
sniff the air this minute.  But there!  I won't pretend that I'm
dying for fresh air, with the breath of the sea coming in at my south
window, and a whiff of jasmine and honeysuckle from the piazza.  That
would be nonsense.  Are your trunks packed?'

'Trunks!' exclaimed Polly.  'Would you believe it, our clothes are
packed in gunny-sacks!  We start in our camping-dresses, with ulsters
for the steamer and dusters for the long drive.  Then we each have--
let me see what we have:  a short, tough riding-skirt with a jersey,
a bathing-dress, and some gingham morning-gowns to wear about the
camp at breakfast-time.'

'And flannel gowns for the night, and two pairs of boots, and a
riding-cap and one hat apiece,' added Margery.

'But oh, Elsie, my dear, you should see Dicky in his camping-suits,'
laughed Bell.  'They are a triumph of invention on mamma's part.
Just imagine! one is of some enamelled cloth that was left over from
the new carriage cushions; it is very shiny and elegant; and the
other, truly, is of soft tanned leather, and just as pretty as it can
be.  Then he has hob-nailed, copper-toed boots, and a hat that ties
under his chin.  Poor little man, he has lost his curls, too, and
looks rather like a convict.'

Mrs. Howard came in the door while Bell was speaking, and laughed
heartily at the description of Dicky's curious outfit.  'What time do
you start?' she asked, as she laid a bunch of mignonette on Elsie's
table.

'At eleven to-morrow morning,' Bell answered.  'Everything is packed.
We are to start in the steamer, and when we come to our old landing,
about forty miles down the coast, we are to get off and take a three-
seated thorough-brace wagon, and drive over to Las Flores Canyon.
Pancho has hired a funny little pack mule; he says we shall need one
in going up the mountain, and that the boys can take him when they go
out shooting,--to carry the deer home, you know.'

'If I can bring Elsie down, as I hope, we must come by land,' said
Mrs. Howard.  'I thought we could take two days for the journey,
sleeping at the Burtons' ranch on the way.  The doctor says that if
she can get strength enough to bear the ride, the open-air life will
do her good, even if she does nothing but lie in the hammock.'

'And be waited upon by six willing slaves,' added Polly.

'And be fed on canned corned beef and tomato stew,' laughed Bell.

'Not a bit of it,' said Margery.  'Hop Yet is a splendid cook, if he
has anything to cook, and we'll feed her on broiled titbits of baby
venison, goat's milk, wild bees' honey, and cunning little mourning
doves, roasted on a spit.'

'Good gracious,' cried Bell, 'what angels' food! only I would as soon
devour a pet canary as a mourning dove.  But to think that I've been
trying to diet for a week in order to get intimate with suffering and
privation!  Polly came to stay with me one night, and we slept on the
floor, with only a blanket under us, and no pillow; it was perfectly
horrid.  Polly dreamed that her grandfather ate up her grandmother,
and I that Dicky stabbed the Jersey calf with a pickle-fork.'

'Horrors!' ejaculated Margery; 'that's a pleasant prospect for your
future bedfellows.  I hope the gophers won't make you nervous,
gnawing and scratching in the straw; I got used to them last summer.
But we really must go, darling,' and she stooped to kiss Elsie good-
bye.

'Well, I suppose you ought,' she answered.  'But remember you are to
start from this gate; Aunt Truth has promised me the fun of seeing
you out of sight.'

The girls went out at a side door, and joined the boys, who were
busily at work cleaning their guns on the broad western porch.

'How are you coming on?' questioned Polly.

'Oh, finely,' answered Jack, who always constituted himself chief
spokesman, unless driven from the rostrum by some one possessed of a
nimbler tongue.  'I only hope your feminine togs are in half as good
order.'

'We take no baggage to speak of,' said Bell, loftily.  'Papa has cut
us down to the very last notch, and says the law allows very few
pounds on this trip.'

'The less the better,' quoth Geoff, cheerily; 'then you'll have to
polish up your mental jewels.'

'Which you consider imitation, I suppose,' sniffed Polly.

'Perish the thought!' cried Jack.  'But, speaking of mental jewels,
you should see the arrangements Geoff has made for polishing his.  He
has actually stuck in six large volumes, any one of which would be a
remedy for sleeplessness.  What are you going to study, Miss Pol-y-
on-o-mous Oliver?'

'Now, Jack, let us decide at once whether you intend to be respectful
or not.  I don't propose to expose myself to your nonsense for two
months unless you make me good promises.'

'Why, that wasn't disrespectful.  It is my newest word, and it simply
means having many titles.  I'm sure you have more than most people.'

'Very well, then!  I'll overlook the irreverence this time, and
announce that I shall not take anything whatever to read, but simply
reflect upon what I know already.'

'That may last for the first week,' said Bell, slyly, 'but what will
you do afterward?'

'I'll reflect upon what you don't know,' retorted Polly.  'That will
easily occupy me two months.'

Fortunately, at the very moment this stinging remark was made, Phil
Noble dashed up to the front gate, flung his bridle over the
hitching-post, and lifted his hat from a very warm brow.

'Hail, chief of the commissary department!' cried Geoffrey, with mock
salute.  'Have you despatched the team?'

'Yes; everything is all right,' said Phil, breathlessly, delivering
himself of his information in spasmodic bursts of words.  'Such a lot
of work it was! here's the list.  Pancho will dump them on the ground
and let us settle them when we get there.  Such a load!  You should
have seen it!  Hardly room for him to sit up in front with the
Chinaman.  Just hear this,' and he drew a large document from what
Polly called 'a back-stairs pocket.'

'Forty cans corned beef, four guns, three Dutch cheeses, pickles,
fishing-tackle, flour, bacon, three bushels onions, crate of dishes,
Jack's banjo, potatoes, Short History of the English People, cooking
utensils, three hair pillows, box of ginger-snaps, four hammocks,
coffee, cartridges, sugar, Macaulay's Essays, Pond's extract, sixteen
hams, Bell's guitar, pop-corn, molasses, salt, St. Jacob's Oil,
Conquest of Mexico, sack of almonds, flea-powder, and smoked herring.
Whew!  I packed them all myself.'

'In precisely that order?' questioned Polly.

'In precisely that order, Miss Oliver,' returned Phil, urbanely.
'Any one who feels that said packing might be improved upon has only
to mount the fleet Arabian yonder' (the animal alluded to seized this
moment to stand on three legs, hang his head, and look dejected),
'and, giving him the rein, speed o'er the trackless plain which leads
to San Miguel, o'ertake the team, and re-pack the contents according
to her own satisfaction.'

'No butter, nor eggs, nor fresh vegetables?' asked Margery.  'We
shall starve!'

'Not at all,' quoth Jack.  'Polly will gracefully dispose a horse-
blanket about her shoulders, to shield her from the chill dews of the
early morn, mount the pack mule exactly at cock-crow everyday, and
ride to a neighbouring ranch where there are tons of the aforesaid
articles awaiting our consumption.'

'Can you see me doing it, girls?  Does it seem entirely natural?'
asked Polly, with great gravity.

'Now hear my report as chairman of the committee of arrangements,'
said Geoffrey Strong, seating himself with dignity on a barrel of
nails.  'The tents, ropes, tool-boxes, bed-sacks, blankets,
furniture, etc., all went down on Monday's steamer, and I have a
telegram from Larry's Landing saying that they arrived in good order,
and that a Mexican gentleman who owns a mammoth wood-cart will take
them up to-morrow when we go ourselves.  The procession will move at
one P.M., wind and weather permitting, in the following order:-

'1.  Chief Noble on his gallant broncho.

'2.  Commander Strong on his ditto, ditto.

'3.  Main conveyance or triumphal chariot, driven by Aide-de-Camp
John Howard, and carrying Dr. and Mrs. Winship, our most worshipful
and benignant host and hostess; Master Dick Winship, the heir-
apparent; three other young persons not worth mentioning; and four
cans of best leaf lard, which I omitted to put with the other
provisions.

'4.  Wood-cart containing baggage, driven by Senor Don Manuel Felipe
Hilario Noriega from Dead Wood Gulch.

'5.  One small tan terrier.'

'Oh, Geoff, Geoff, pray do stop! it's too much!' cried the girls in a
fit of laughter.

'Hurrah!' shouted Jack, tossing his hat into a tall eucalyptus-tree
in his excitement, 'Tent life for ever!'

'Good-bye, ye pomps and vanities!' chanted Bell, kissing her hand in
imaginary farewell.  'Verily the noisy city shall know us no more,
for we depart for the green forests.'

'And the city will not be as noisy WHEN you depart,' murmured Jack,
with an impudence that luckily passed unnoticed.

'If Elsie could only come too!' sighed Polly.


Wednesday morning dawned as bright and beautiful as all mornings are
wont to dawn in Southern California.  A light mist hung over the old
adobe mission church, through which, with its snow-white towers and
cold, clear-cut lines, it rose like a frozen fairy castle.  Bell
opened her sleepy eyes with the very earliest birds, and running to
the little oval window, framed with white-rose vines, looked out at
the new day just creeping up into the world.

'Oh dear and beautiful home of mine, how charming, how charming you
are!  I wonder if you are not really Paradise!' she said, dreamily;
and the marvel is that the rising sun did not stop a moment in sheer
surprise at the sight of this radiant morning vision; for the oval
window opening to the east was a pretty frame, with its outline
marked by the dewy rose-vine covered with hundreds of pure, half-
opened buds and swaying tendrils, and she stood there in it, a fair
image of the morning in her innocent white gown.  Her luminous eyes
still mirrored the shadowy visions of dreamland, mingled with dancing
lights of hope and joyful anticipation; while on her fresh cheeks,
which had not yet lost the roundness of childhood, there glowed, as
in the eastern skies, the faint pink blush of the morning.

The town is yet asleep, and in truth it is never apt to be fairly
wide awake.  The air is soft and balmy; the lovely Pacific, a
quivering, sparkling sheet of blue and grey and green flecked with
white foam, stretches far out until it is lost in the rosy sky; and
the mountains, all purple and pink and faint crimson and grey, stand
like sentinels along the shore.  The scent of the roses, violets, and
mignonette mingled with the cloying fragrance of the datura is heavy
in the still air.  The bending, willowy pepper-trees show myriad
bunches of yellow blossoms, crimson seed-berries, and fresh green
leaves, whose surface, not rain-washed for months, is as full of
colour as ever.  The palm-trees rise without a branch, tall, slender,
and graceful, from the warmly generous earth, and spread at last, as
if tired of their straightness, into beautiful crowns of fans, which
sway toward each other with every breath of air.  Innumerable
butterflies and humming-birds, in the hot, dazzling sunshine of
noonday, will be hovering over the beds of sweet purple heliotrope
and finding their way into the hearts of the passion-flowers, but as
yet not the faintest whirr of wings can be heard.  Looking eastward
or westward, you see either brown foot-hills, or, a little later on,
emerald slopes whose vines hang heavy with the half-ripened grapes.

And hark!  A silvery note strikes on the dewy stillness.  It is the
mission bell ringing for morning mass; and if you look yonder you may
see the Franciscan friars going to prayers, with their loose grey
gowns, their girdle of rope, their sandaled feet, and their jingling
rosaries; and perhaps a Spanish senorita, with her trailing dress,
and black shawl loosely thrown over her head, from out the folds of
which her two dark eyes burn like gleaming fires.  A solitary Mexican
gallops by, with gayly decorated saddle and heavily laden saddle-bags
hanging from it; perhaps he is taking home provisions to his wife and
dark-eyed babies who live up in a little dimple of the mountain side,
almost hidden from sight by the olive-trees.  And then a patient,
hardy little mustang lopes along the street, bearing on his back
three laughing boys, one behind the other, on a morning ride into
town from the mesa.

The mist had floated away from the old mission now, the sun has
climbed a little higher, and Bell has come away from the window in a
gentle mood.

'Oh, Polly, I don't see how anybody can be wicked in such a
beautiful, beautiful world.'

'Humph!' said Polly, dipping her curly head deep into the water-bowl,
and coming up looking like a little drowned kitten.  'When you want
to be hateful, you don't stop to think whether you're looking at a
cactus or a rosebush, do you?'

'Very true,' sighed Bell, quite silenced by this practical
illustration.  'Now I'll try the effect of the landscape on my temper
by dressing Dicky, while he dances about the room and plays with his
tan terrier.'

But it happened that Dicky was on his very best behaviour, and stood
as still as a signpost while being dressed.  It is true he ate a
couple of matches and tumbled down-stairs twice before breakfast, so
that after that hurried meal Bell tied him to one of the verandah
posts, that he might not commit any act vicious enough to keep them
at home.  As he had a huge pocket full of apricots he was in perfect
good-humour, not taking his confinement at all to heart, inasmuch as
it commanded a full view of the scene of action.  His amiability was
further increased, moreover, by the possession of a bright new
policeman's whistle, which was carefully tied to his button-hole by a
neat little silk cord, and which his fond parents intended that he
should blow if he chanced to fall into danger during his rambles
about the camp.  We might as well state here, however, that this
precaution proved fruitless, for he blew it at all times and seasons;
and everybody became so hardened to its melodious shriek that they
paid no attention to it whatever,--history, or fable, thus again
repeating itself.

Mr. and Mrs. Noble had driven Margery and Phil into town from the
fruit ranch, and were waiting to see the party off.

Mrs. Oliver was to live in the Winship house during the absence of
the family, and was aiding them to do those numberless little things
that are always found undone at the last moment.  She had given her
impetuous daughter a dozen fond embraces, smothering in each a gentle
warning, and stood now with Mrs. Winship at the gate, watching the
three girls, who had gone on to bid Elsie good-bye.

'I hope Pauline won't give you any trouble,' she said.  'She is so
apt to be too impulsive and thoughtless.'

'I shall enjoy her,' said sweet Aunt Truth, with that bright, cordial
smile of hers that was like a blessing.  'She has a very loving
heart, and is easily led.  How pretty the girls look, and how
different they are!  Polly is like a thistledown or a firefly,
Margery like one of our home Mayflowers, and I can't help thinking my
Bell like a sunbeam.'

The girls did look very pretty; for their mothers had fashioned their
camping-dresses with much care and taste, taking great pains to make
them picturesque and appropriate to their summer life 'under the
greenwood tree.'

Over a plain full skirt of heavy crimson serge Bell wore a hunting
jacket and drapery of dark leaf-green, like a bit of forest against a
sunset.  Her hair, which fell in a waving mass of burnished
brightness to her waist, was caught by a silver arrow, and crowned by
a wide soft hat of crimson felt encircled with a bird's breast.

Margery wore a soft grey flannel, the colour of a dove's throat,
adorned with rows upon rows of silver braid and sparkling silver
buttons; while her big grey hat had nothing but a silver cord and
tassel tied round it in Spanish fashion.

Polly was all in sailor blue, with a distractingly natty little
double-breasted coat and great white rolling collar.  Her hat swung
in her hand, as usual, showing her boyish head of sunny auburn curls,
and she carried on a neat chatelaine a silver cup and little clasp-
knife, as was the custom in the party.

'It's very difficult,' Polly often exclaimed, 'to get a dress that
will tone down your hair and a hat that will tone up your nose, when
the first is red and the last a snub!  My nose is the root of all
evil; it makes people think I'm saucy before I say a word; and as for
my hair, they think I must be peppery, no matter if I were really as
meek as Moses.  Now there's Margery, the dear, darling mouse!  People
look at her two sleek braids, every hair doing just what it ought to
do and lying straight and smooth, and ask, "Who is that sweet girl?"
There's something wrong somewhere.  I ought not to suffer because of
one small, simple, turned-up nose and a head of hair which reveals
the glowing tints of autumn, as Jack gracefully says.'

'Here they come!' shouted Jack from the group on the Howards' piazza.
'Christopher Columbus, what gorgeousness!  The Flamingo, the Dove,
and the Blue-jay!  Good-morning, young ladies; may we be allowed to
travel in the same steamer with your highnesses?'

'You needn't be troubled,' laughed Bell.  'We shall not disclose
these glories until we reach the camp.  But you are dressed as usual.
What's the matter?'

'Why, the fact is,' answered Geoffrey, 'our courage failed us at the
last moment.  We donned our uniforms, and looked like brigands,
highway robbers, cowboys, firemen,--anything but modest young men;
and as it was too warm for ulsters, we took refuge in civilised
raiment for to-day.  When we arrive, you shall behold our dashing
sombreros fixed up with peacock feathers, and our refulgent shirts,
which are of the most original style and decoration.'

'Aboriginal, in fact,' said Jack.  'We have broad belts of alligator
skin, pouches, pistols, bowie-knives, and tan-coloured shoes; but we
dislike to flaunt them before the eyes of a city public.'

'Here they are!' cried Geoffrey, from the gate.  'Uncle, and aunt,
and Dicky, and--good gracious!  Is he really going to take that
wretched tan terrier?'

'Won't go without him,' said Bell, briefly.  'There are cases where
it is better to submit than to fight.'

So the last good-byes were said, and Elsie bore up bravely; better,
indeed, than the others, who shed many a furtive tear at leaving her.
'Make haste and get well, darling,' whispered the girls, lovingly.

'Pray, pray, dear Mrs. Howard, bring her down to us as soon as
possible.  We'll take such good care of her,' teased Bell, with one
last squeeze, and strong signs of a shower in both eyes.

'Come, girls and boys,' said kind Dr. Paul, 'the steamer has blown
her first whistle, and we must be off.'

Oh, how clear and beautiful a day it was, and how charmingly gracious
Dame Ocean looked in her white caps and blue ruffles!  Even the
combination steamboat smell of dinner, oil, and close air was
obliterated by the keen sea-breeze.

The good ship Orizaba ploughed her way through the sparkling, sun-lit
waves, traversing quickly the distance which lay between the young
people and their destination.  They watched the long white furrow
that stretched in her wake, the cloud of black smoke which floated
like a dark shadow above the laughing crests of the waves, and the
flocks of sea-gulls sailing overhead, with wild shrill screams ever
and anon swooping down for some bit of food flung from the ship, and
then floating for miles on the waves.

How they sung 'Life on the Ocean Wave,' 'Bounding Billow,' and
'Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep!'  How Jack chanted, -


   'I wish I were a fish,
      With a great long tail;
   A tiny little tittlebat,
      A wiggle or a whale,
In the middle of the great blue sea.  Oh, my!'


'Oh, how I long to be there!' exclaimed Philip, 'to throw aside all
the formal customs of a wicked world I abhor, and live a free life
under the blue sky!'

'Why, Philip Noble!  I never saw you inside of a house in my life,'
cried Polly.

'Oh, yes; you're mistaken.  I've been obliged to eat most of my meals
in the house, and sleep there; but I don't approve of it, and it's a
trial to be borne with meekness only when there's no remedy for it.'

'Besides,' said Jack, 'even when we are out-of-doors we are shelling
the reluctant almond, poisoning the voracious gopher, pruning grape-
vines, and "sich."  Now I am only going to shoot to eat, and eat to
shoot!'

'Hope you've improved since last year, or you'll have a low diet,'
murmured Phil, in an undertone.

'The man of genius must expect to be the butt of ridicule,' sighed
Jack, meekly.

'But you'll not repine, although your heartstrings break, will you?'
said Polly, sympathisingly; 'especially in the presence of several
witnesses who have seen you handle a gun.'

'How glad I am that I'm too near-sighted to shoot,' said Geoffrey,
taking off the eye-glasses that made him look so wise and dignified.
'I shall lounge under the trees, read Macaulay, and order the meals.'

'I shall need an assistant about the camp,' said Aunt Truth,
smilingly; 'but I hardly think he'll have much time to lounge; when
everything else fails, there's always Dicky, you know.'

Geoffrey looked discouraged.

'And, furthermore, I declare by the nose of the great Tam o' Shanter
that I will cut down every tree in the vicinity ere you shall lounge
under it,' said Jack.

'Softly, my boy.  Hill's blue-gum forest is not so very far away.
You'll have your hands full,' laughed Dr. Paul.

Here Margery and Bell joined the group after a quick walk up and down
the deck.

'Papa,' said Bell, excitedly, 'we certainly are nearing the place.
Do you see that bend in the shore, and don't you remember that the
landing isn't far below?'

'Bell's bump of locality is immense.  There are nineteen bends in the
shore exactly like that one before we reach the landing.  How many
knots an hour do you suppose this ship travels, my fair cousin?'
asked Geoffrey.

'I could tell better,' replied Bell calmly, 'if I could ever remember
how many knots made a mile, or how many miles made a knot; but I
always forget.'

'Oh, see!  There's a porpoise!' cried Jack.  'Polly, why is a
porpoise like a water-lily?'

But before he could say 'Guess,' Phil, Geoff, and the girls had drawn
themselves into a line, and, with a whispered 'One, two, three,' to
secure a good start, replied in concert, 'We-give-it-up!'

'What a deafening shout!' cried Aunt Truth, coming out of the cabin.
'What's the matter, pray?'

'Nothing, aunty,' laughed Polly.  'But we have formed a society for
suppressing Jack's conundrums, and this is our first public meeting.
How do you like the watchword?'

Aunt Truth smiled.  'It was very audible,' she said.  'Yours is
evidently not a secret society.'

'I wish I could find out who originated this plan,' quoth Jack,
murderously.  'But I suppose it's one of you girls, and I can't
revenge myself.  Oh, when will this barrier between the sexes be
removed!'

'I trust not in your lifetime,' shuddered Polly, 'or we might as well
begin to "stand round our dying beds" at once.'



CHAPTER II:  THE JOURNEY



'Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs,
To the silent wilderness.'


Whatever the distance was in reality, the steamer had consumed more
time than usual, and it was quite two o'clock, instead of half-past
twelve, as they had expected, before they were landed on the old and
almost forgotten pier, and saw the smoke of the Orizaba as she
steamed away.

After counting over their bags and packages to see if anything had
been forgotten, they looked about them.

There was a dirty little settlement, a mile or two to the south,
consisting of a collection of tumble-down adobe houses which looked
like a blotch on the brown hillside; a few cattle were browsing near
by, and the locality seemed to be well supplied with lizards, which
darted over the dusty ground in all directions.  But the startling
point of the landscape was that it showed no sign of human life, and
Pancho's orders had been to have Senor Don Manuel Felipe Hilario
Noriega and his wood-cart on hand promptly at half-past twelve.

'Can Pancho have forgotten?'

'Can he have lost his way and never arrived here at all?'

'Can Senor Don Manuel Felipe Hilario Noriega have grown tired of
waiting and gone off?'

'Has Senor Don Manuel Felipe Hilario Noriega been drinking too much
aguardiente and so forgotten to come?'

'Has Pancho been murdered by highway robbers, and served up into stew
for their evening meal?'

'With Hop Yet for dessert!  Oh, horrible!'  These were some of the
questions and exclamations that greeted the ears of the lizards, and
caused them to fly over the ground in a more excited fashion than
ever.

'One thing is certain.  If Pancho has been stupid enough to lose his
way coming fifty miles down the coast, I'll discharge him,' said Dr.
Winship, with decision.

'When you find him,' added Aunt Truth, prudently.

'Of course.  But really, mamma, this looks discouraging; I am afraid
we can't get into camp this evening.  Shall we go up to the nearest
ranch house for the night, and see what can be done to-morrow?'

'Never!' exclaimed the young people, with one deafening shout.

'Never,' echoed Philip separately.  'I have vowed that a bed shall
not know me for three months, and I'll keep my vow.'

'What do you say to this, Uncle Doc?' said Geoffrey.  'Suppose you go
up to the storehouse and office,--it's about a mile,--and see if the
goods are there all right, and whether the men saw Pancho on his way
up to the canyon.  Meanwhile, Phil and I will ride over here
somewhere to get a team, or look up Senor Don Manuel Felipe Hilario
Noriega.  Jack can stay with Aunt Truth and the girls, to watch
developments.'

'But, papa, can't we pitch the camp to-night, somehow?' asked Bell,
piteously.

'I don't see how.  We are behindhand already; and if we get started
within an hour we can't reach the ground I selected before dark and
we can't choose any nearer one, because if Pancho is anywhere in
creation he is on the identical spot I sent him to.'

'But, Dr. Paul, I'll tell you what we could do,' suggested Jack.  'If
we get any kind of a start, we can't fail to reach camp by seven or
eight o'clock at latest.  Now it's bright moonlight, and if we find
Pancho, he'll have the baggage unloaded, and Hop Yet will have a fire
lighted.  What's to prevent our swinging the hammocks for the ladies?
And we'll just roll up in our blankets by the fire, for to-night.
Then we'll get to housekeeping in the morning.'

This plan received a most enthusiastic reception.

'Very well,' replied the Doctor.  'If you are all agreed, I suppose
we may as well begin roughing it now as at any time.'

You may have noticed sometimes, after having fortified yourself
against a terrible misfortune which seemed in store for you, that it
didn't come, after all.  Well, it was so in this case; for just as
Dr. Winship and the boys started out over the hillside at a brisk
pace, an immense cloud of dust, some distance up the road, attracted
their attention, and they came to a sudden standstill.

The girls held their breath in anxious expectation, and at length
gave an irrepressible shout of joy and relief when there issued from
the dense grey cloud the familiar four-horse team, with Daisy, Tule
Molly, Villikins, and Dinah, looking as fresh as if they had not been
driven a mile, tough little mustangs that they were.

A long conversation in Spanish ensued, which, being translated by Dr.
Winship, furnished all necessary information concerning the delay.

S. D. M. F. H. N. stated that Pancho was neither faithless nor
stupid, but was waiting for them on the camping-ground, and that as
the goods were already packed in his wood-cart he would follow them
immediately.  So the whole party started without more delay; Dr. and
Mrs. Winship, Master Paul, Jack Howard, and the three girls riding in
the wagon, while Geoffrey and Philip galloped ahead on horseback.

It was a long, dusty, tiresome ride; and Dicky, who had been as good
all day as any saint ever carved in marble and set in a niche, grew
rather warm, cross, and hungry, although he had been consuming
ginger-snaps and apricots since early morning.  After asking
plaintively for the fiftieth time how long it would be before dinner,
he finally succumbed to his weariness, and dropping his yellow head,
that was like a cowslip ball, in his mother's lap, he fell asleep.

But the young people, whose eyes were not blinded by hunger and
sleep, found more than enough to interest them on this dusty
California road, winding as it did through grand old growths of
trees, acres and acres of waving grain, and endless stretches of
gorgeous yellow mustard, the stalks of which were five or six feet
high, almost hiding from view the boys who dashed into the golden
forest from time to time.

At the foot of the hill they passed an old adobe hut, with a crowd of
pretty, swarthy, frowzy Mexican children playing in the sunshine,
while their mother, black-haired and ample of figure, occupied
herself in hanging great quantities of jerked beef on a sort of
clothes-line running between the eucalyptus-trees.

The father, a wild-looking individual in a red shirt and enormous
hat, came from behind the hut, unhitched the stout little broncho
tied to the fence, gave the poor animal a desperately tight 'cinch,'
threw himself into the saddle without touching his foot to the
lumbering wooden stirrups, and, digging his spurs well into the
horse's sides, was out of sight in an instant, leaving only a huge
cloud of dust to cover his disappearance.

'How those fellows do ride!' exclaimed Dr. Winship, savagely.  'I
wish they were all obliged to walk until they knew how to treat a
horse.'

'Then they'd walk straight into the millennium,' said Jack, sagely,
'for their cruelty seems to be an instinct.'

'But how beautifully they ride, too!' said Polly.  'Mamma and I were
sitting on the hotel piazza the other day, watching two young
Spaniards who were performing feats of horsemanship.  They dropped
four-bit pieces on the dusty road, and riding up to them at full
speed clutched them from the ground in some mysterious way that was
perfectly wonderful.  Then Nick Gutierrez mounted a bucking horse,
and actually rolled and lighted a cigarette while the animal bucked
with all his might.'

'See that cunning, cunning muchachita, mamma!' cried Bell; for, as
they stopped at the top of the hill to let the horses breathe, one of
the little Mexican children ran after them, holding out a handful of
glowing yellow poppies.

She was distractingly pretty, with a beauty that is short-lived with
the people of her race.  The afternoon sun shone down fiercely on her
waving coal-black locks, and brought a rich colour to her nut-brown
cheek; she had one little flimsy, ragged garment, neither long,
broad, nor thick, which hung about her picturesquely; and, with her
soft, dark, sleepy eyes, the rows of little white teeth behind her
laughing red mouth, and the vivid yellow blossoms in her tiny
outstretched hand, she was a very charming vision.

'Como te llamas, muchachita?'  (What is your name, little one?) asked
Bell, airing her Spanish, which was rather good.

'Teresita,' she answered, with a pretty accent, as she scratched a
set of five grimy little toes to and fro in the dusty ground.

'Throw her a bit, papa,' whispered Bell; and, as he did so, Teresita
caught the piece of silver very deftly, and ran excitedly back to the
centre of the chattering group in front of the house.

'How intense everything is in California!  Do you know what I mean,
mamma?' said Bell.  'The fruit is so immense, the canyons so deep,
the trees so big, the hills so high, the rain so wet, and the drought
so dry.'

'The fleas so many, the fleas so spry,' chanted Jack, who had
perceived that Bell was talking in rhyme without knowing it.
'California is just the place for you, Bell; it gives you a chance
for innumerable adjectives heaped one on the other.'

'I don't always heap up adjectives,' replied Bell, with dignity.
'When I wish to describe you, for instance, I simply say "that
hateful boy," and let it go at that.'

Jack retired to private life for a season.

'I'd like to paint a picture of Teresita,' said Margery, who had a
pretty talent for sketching, 'and call it The Summer Child, or some
such thing.  I should think the famous old colour artists might have
loved to paint this gorgeous flame-tinted poppy.'

'Not poppy,--eschscholtzia,' corrected Jack, coming rapidly to the
surface again, after Bell's rebuke, and delivering himself of the
tongue-confusing word with a terrible grimace.

'I'm not writing a botany,' retorted Margery; 'and I can never
remember that word, much less spell it.  I don't see how it grows
under such an abominable Russian name.  It's worse than
ichthyosaurus.  Do you remember that funny nonsense verse? -


"I is for ichthyosaurus,
Who lived when the world was all porous;
   But he fainted with shame
   When he first heard his name,
And departed a long while before us."'


'The Spaniards are more poetic,' said Aunt Truth, 'for they call it
la copa de oro, the golden cup.  Oh, see them yonder!  It is like the
Field of the Cloth of Gold.'

The sight would have driven a royal florist mad with joy:  a hillside
that was a swaying mass of radiant bloom, a joyous carnival of vivid
colour, in which the thousand golden goblets, turned upward to the
sun, were dancing, and glowing, and shaming out of countenance the
purple and blue and pink masses which surrounded them on every side.

'You know Professor Pinnie told us that every well-informed young
girl should know at least the flora of her own State,' said Jack,
after the excitement had subsided.

'Well, one thing is certain:  Professor Pinnie never knew the STATE
of his own flora, or at least he kept his wife sorting and arranging
his specimens all the time; and I think he's a regular old frump,'
said Polly, irreverently, but meeting Aunt Truth's reproving glance,
which brought a blush and a whispered 'Excuse me,' she went on,
'Well, what I mean is, he doesn't know any more than other people,
after all; for he cares for nothing but bushes and herbs and seeds
and shrubs and roots and stamens and pistils; and he can't tell
whether a flower is lovely or not, he is so crazy to find out where
it belongs and tie a tag round it.'

'I must agree with Polly,' laughed Jack.  'Why, I went to ride with
him one day in the Cathedral Oaks, and he made me get off my horse
every five minutes to dig up roots and tie them to the pommel of his
old saddle, so that we came into town looking like moving herbariums.
The stable-man lifted him on to his horse when he started, I suppose,
and he would have been there yet if he hadn't been helped off.  Bah!'
For Jack had a supreme contempt for any man who was less than a
centaur.

By this time they had turned off the main thoroughfare, and were
travelling over a bit of old stage road which was anything but easy
riding.  There they met some men who were driving an enormous band of
sheep to a distant ranch for pasture, which gave saucy Polly the
chance to ask Dr. Winship, innocently, why white sheep ate so much
more than black ones.

He fell into the trap at once, and answered unsuspectingly, in a
surprised tone, 'Why, do they?' giving her the longed-for opportunity
to respond, 'Yes, of course, because there are so many more of 'em;
don't you see?'

'You are behind the times, Dr. Paul,' said Jack.  'That's an ancient
joke.  Just look at those sheep, sir.  How many are there?  Eight
hundred, say?'

'Even more, I should think,--a thousand, certainly; and rather thin
they look, too.'

'I should imagine they might,' said Bell, sympathetically.  'When I
first came to California I never could see how the poor creatures
found anything to eat on these bare, brown hillsides, until the
farmers showed me the prickly little burr clover balls that cover the
ground.  But see, mamma! there are some tiny lambs, poor, tired,
weak-legged little things; I wonder if they will live through the
journey.'

'Which reminds me,' said Jack, giving Villikins a touch of the whip,
'that nothing is so calculated to disturb your faith in and love for
lambs as life on a sheep ranch.  Innocent!  Good gracious!  I never
saw such--such--'

'Gasping, staggering, stuttering, stammering tom-fools,' interposed
Bell.  'That's what Carlyle called ONE Lamb,--dear Mr. "Roast Pig"
Charles; and a mean old thing he was, too, for doing it.'

'Well, it is just strong enough to apply to the actual lamb; not the
lamb of romance, but the lamb of reality.  You can't get him
anywhere; he doesn't know enough.  He won't drive, he can't follow;
he's too stupid.  Why, I went out for a couple of 'em once, that were
lost in the canyon.  I found them,--that was comparatively easy; but
when I tried to get them home, I couldn't.  At last, after infinite
trouble, I managed to drive them up on to the trail, which was so
narrow there was but one thing for a rational creature to do, and
that was to go ahead.  Then, if you'll believe me, those idiots kept
bleating and getting under the horse's fore-feet; finally, one of
them, the champion simpleton, tumbled over into the canyon, and I
tied the legs of the other one together, and carried him home on the
front of my saddle.'

'They are innocent, any way,' insisted Margery.  'I won't believe
they're not.  I can't bear these people who interfere with all your
cherished ideas, and say that Columbus didn't discover America, and
Shakespeare wasn't Shakespeare, and William Tell didn't shoot the
apple.'

'Nevertheless, I claim that the lamb is not half so much an emblem of
innocence as he is of utter and profound stupidity.  There is that
charming old lyric about Mary's little lamb; I can explain that.
After he came to school (which was an error of judgment at the very
beginning), he made the rumpus, you know -


"And then the teacher turned him out,
   But still he lingered nee-ar,
And waited patiently about
   Till Mary did appee-ar."


Of course he did.  He didn't know enough to go home alone.


"And then he ran to her and laid
   His head upon her arr-um,
As if to say, 'I'm not afraid;
   You'll keep me from all harr-um.'"


As if a lamb could be capable of that amount of reasoning!  And then


"'What makes the lamb love Mary so?
   The eager children cry;
'Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know,'
   The teacher did reply."


And might have added that as Mary fed the lamb three times a day and
twice on Sundays, he probably not only knew on which side his daily
bread was buttered, but also who buttered it.'

'Dreadful boy!' laughed Bell.  'Polly, pray lower the umbrella; we
are going to meet some respectable people, and we actually are too
dirty to be seen.  I have really been eating dust.'

'They must be equally dusty,' said Polly, sagely.  'Why, it is the
Burtons, from Tacitas ranch!'

The Burton ranch wagon was drawn up, as its driver recognised Dr.
Winship, and he proceeded to cheer the spirits of the party by
telling them that he had passed Pancho two hours before, and that he
was busily clearing rubbish from the camping-ground.  This was six
o'clock, and by a little after eight the weary, happy party were
seated on saddle-blankets and carriage-cushions round a cheery camp-
fire, eating a frugal meal, which tasted sweeter than nectar and
ambrosia to their keen appetites.

The boys expressed their intention of spending the night in unpacking
their baggage and getting to rights generally, but Dr. Winship placed
a prompt and decisive veto on this proposition, and they submitted
cheerfully to his better judgment.

Getting to bed was an exciting occupation for everybody.  Dicky was
first tucked up in a warm nest of rugs and blankets, under a tree,
and sank into a profound slumber at once, with the happy
unconsciousness of childhood.  His father completed the preparations
for his comfort by opening a huge umbrella and arranging it firmly
over his head, so that no falling leaf might frighten him and no
sudden gust of air blow upon his face.

Bell stood before her hammock, and meditated.  'Well,' she said,
'going to bed is a simple matter after all, when you have shorn it of
all useless formalities.  Let me see:  I generally walk to and fro in
the room, eating a bunch of grapes or an orange, look out of the
window five or ten minutes, brush my hair, read my chapter in the
Bible, take my book and study Spanish five minutes, on the principle
of that abnormal woman who learned ninety-six languages while she was
waiting for the kettle to boil in the morning--'

'Must have been a slow boiler,' interrupted Polly, wickedly.  'Seems
to me it would have been economy to sell it and buy a new one.'

'Oh, Polly! you are so wilfully stupid!  The kettle isn't the point--
but the languages.  Besides, she didn't learn all the ninety-six
while the kettle was boiling once, you know.

'Oh, didn't she?  That alters the case.  Thank you,' said Polly,
sarcastically.

'Now observe me,' said Bell.  'I have made the getting into a hammock
a study.  I first open it very wide at the top with both hands; then,
holding it in that position, I gracefully revolve my body from left
to right as upon an imaginary swivel; meantime I raise my right foot
considerably from mother earth, with a view to passing it over the
hammock's edge.  Every move is calculated, you perceive, and produces
its own share of the perfect result; the method is the same that
Rachel used in rehearsing her wonderful tragic poses.  I am now
seated in the hammock, you observe, with both hands extending the net
from side to side and the right foot well in position; I now raise
the left foot with a swift but admirably steady movement, and I am--
Help!  Help!!  Murder!!!'

'In short, you are not in, but out,' cried Polly, in a burst of
laughter; for Bell had leaned too far to the right, and on bringing
the other foot in, with its 'swift but admirably steady' motion, she
gave a sudden lurch, pulled the hammock entirely over herself and
fell out head first on the other side, leaving her feet tangled in
its meshes.  'Shall we help her out, Meg?  She doesn't deserve it,
after that pompous oration and attempt to show off her superior
abilities.  Nevertheless, she always accepts mercy more gracefully
than justice.  Heave ahoy, my hearties!'

Bell was extricated, and looked sufficiently ashamed.

'We are much obliged for the lesson,' said Margery, 'but the method
is open to criticism; so I think we'll manage in our ordinary savage
way.  We may not be graceful or scientific, but we get in, which is
the main point.'

The hammocks did not prove the easiest of nests, as the girls had
imagined.  In fact, to be perfectly candid about the matter, the
wicked flea of California, which man pursueth but seldom catcheth, is
apt, on many a summer night, to interfere shamelessly with slumber.
On this particular night he was fairly rampant, perhaps because sweet
humanity on which to feed was very scarce in that canyon.

'Good-night, girls!' called Jack, when matters seemed to be finally
settled for sleep.  'Bell, you must keep one eye open, for the
coyotes will be stealing down the mountain in a jiffy, and yours is
the first hammock in the path.'

'Of course,' moaned Bell,--'that's why the girls gave me this one;
they knew very well that one victim always slakes the animals' thirst
for blood.  Well, let them come on.  I shiver with terror, but my
only hope is that I may be eaten in my sleep, if at all.'


'There was a young party named Bell,
Who slept out of doors for a spell;
   When asked how she fared,
   She said she was scared,
But otherwise doing quite well.


'How's that?' asked Jack.  'I shall be able to drive Bell off her own
field, with a little practice.'

'Go to sleep!' roared Dr. Paul.  'In your present condition of mind
and body you are not fit for poetry!'

'That's just the point, sir,' retorted Jack, slyly, 'for, you
remember, poets are not FIT, but nascitur,--don't you know?' and he
retired under his blanket for protection.

But quiet seemed to be impossible:  there were all sorts of strange
sounds; and the moon, too, was so splendid that they almost felt as
if they were lying beneath the radiance of a calcium light; while in
the dark places, midst the branches of thick foliage, the owls hooted
gloomily.  If you had happened to be an owl in that vicinity, you
might have heard not only the feverish tossing to and fro of the
girls in the hammocks, but many dismal sighs and groans from Dr.
Winship and the boys; for the bare ground is, after all, more
rheumatic than romantic, and they too tumbled from side to side,
seeking comfort.

But at midnight quiet slumber had descended upon them, and they
presented a funny spectacle enough to one open-eyed watcher.  A long
slender sycamore log was extended before the fire, and constituted
their pillow; on this their heads reposed, each decorated with a
tightly fitting silk handkerchief; then came a compact, papoose-like
roll of grey blanket, terminated by a pair of erect feet, whose
generous proportions soared to different heights.  There was a little
snoring, too; perhaps the log was hollow.

At midnight you might have seen a quaintly despondent little figure,
whose curly head issued from a hooded cloak, staggering hopelessly
from a hammock, and seating herself on a mossy stump.  From the
limpness of her attitude and the pathetic expression of her eyes, I
fear Polly was reviewing former happy nights spent on spring-beds;
and at this particular moment the realities of camping-out hardly
equalled her anticipations.  Whatever may have been her feelings,
however, they were promptly stifled when a certain insolent head
reared itself from its blanket-roll, and a hoarse voice cackled,
'Pretty Polly!  Polly want a canyon?'  At this insult Miss Oliver
wrapped her drapery about her and strode to her hammock with the air
of a tragedy queen.



CHAPTER III:  LIFE IN THE CANYON--THE HEIR APPARENT LOSES HIMSELF



'Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom,
Where the gold orange glows in the green thicket's gloom;
Where the wind, ever soft, from the blue heaven blows,
And groves are of myrtle, and olive, and rose?'


On the next morning, as we have seen, they named their summer home
Camp Chaparral, and for a week or more they were the very busiest
colony of people under the sun; for it takes a deal of hard work and
ingenuity to make a comfortable and beautiful dwelling-place in the
forest.

The best way of showing you how they accomplished this is to describe
the camp after it was nearly finished.

The two largest bedroom tents were made of bright awning cloth, one
of red and white, the other of blue and white, both gaily decorated
with braid.  They were pitched under the same giant oak, and yet were
nearly forty feet apart; that of the girls having a canvas floor.
They were not quite willing to sleep on the ground, so they had
brought empty bed-sacks with them, and Pancho's first duty after his
arrival had been to drive to a neighbouring ranch for a great load of
straw.

In a glorious tree near by was a 'sky parlour,' arranged by a few
boards nailed high up in the leafy branches, and reached from below
by a primitive ladder.  This was the favourite sitting-room of the
girls by day, and served for Pancho's bedroom at night.  It was
beautiful enough to be fit shelter for all the woodland nymphs, with
its festoons of mistletoe and wild grape-vines; but Pancho was rather
an unappreciative tenant, even going so far as to snore in the sacred
place!

Just beyond was a card-room,--imagine it--in which a square board,
nailed on a low stump, served for a table, where Dr. Paul and the
boys played many a game of crib, backgammon, and checkers.  Here,
too, all Elsie's letters were written and Bell's nonsense verses, and
here was the identical spot where Jack Howard, that mischievous
knight of the brush, perpetrated those modern travesties on the
'William Henry pictures,' for Elsie's delectation.

The dressing-room was reached by a path cut through bushes to a
charming little pool.  Here were unmistakable evidences of feminine
art:  looking-glasses hanging to trees, snowy wash-cloths, each
bearing its owner's initials, adorning the shrubs, while numerous
towels waved in the breeze.  Between two trees a thin board was
nailed, which appeared to be used, as nearly as the woodpeckers could
make out, as a toothbrush rack.  In this, Philip, the skilful
carpenter, had bored the necessary number of holes, and each one
contained a toothbrush tied with a gorgeous ribbon.

In this secluded spot Bell was wont to marshal every morning the
entire force of 'the toothbrush brigade'; and, conducting the drill
with much ingenuity, she would take her victims through a long series
of military manoeuvres arranged for the toothbrush.  Oh, the
gaspings, the chokings and stranglings, which occurred when she
mounted a rock by the edge of the pool, and after calling in tones of
thunder,


'Brush, brothers, brush with care!
Brush in the presence of the commandaire!'


ordered her unwilling privates to polish their innocent molars to the
tune of 'Hail, Columbia,' or 'Auld Lang Syne'!  And if they became
mutinous, it was Geoffrey who reduced them to submission, and ordered
them to brush for three mornings to the tune of 'Bluebells of
Scotland' as a sign of loyalty to their commander.

As for the furnishing of the camp, there were impromptu stools and
tables made of packing-boxes and trunks, all covered with bright
Turkey-red cotton; there were no less than three rustic lounges and
two arm-chairs made from manzanita branches, and a Queen Anne
bedstead was being slowly constructed, day by day, by the ambitious
boys for their beloved Elsie.

One corner of each tent was curtained off for a bath-room, another
for a clothes-press, and there were a dozen devices for comfort, as
Dr. Winship was opposed to any more inconvenience than was strictly
necessary.  Dr. and Mrs. Winship and little Dicky occupied one tent,
the boys another, and the girls a third.

When Bell, Polly, and Margery emerged from their tent on the second
morning, they were disagreeably surprised to see a large placard over
the front entrance, bearing the insolent inscription, 'Tent Chatter.'
They said nothing; but on the night after, a committee of two stole
out and glued a companion placard, 'Tent Clatter,' over the door of
their masculine neighbours.  And to tell the truth, one was as well
deserved as the other; for if there was generally a subdued hum of
conversation in the one, there never failed to be a perfect din and
uproar in the other.

Under a great sycamore-tree stood the dining-table, which consisted
of two long, wide boards placed together upon a couple of barrels;
and not far away was the brush kitchen, which should have been a work
of art, for it represented the combined genius of American, Mexican,
and Chinese carpenters, Dr. Winship, Pancho, and Hop Yet having
laboured in its erection.  It really answered the purpose admirably,
and looked quite like a conventional California kitchen; that is, it
was ten feet square, and contained a table, a stove, and a Chinaman.

The young people, by the way, had fought bitterly against the stove,
protesting with all their might against taking it.  Polly and Jack
declared that they would starve sooner than eat anything that hadn't
been cooked over a camp-fire.  Bell and Philip said that they should
stand in front of it all the time, for fear somebody would ride
through the canyon and catch them camping out with a stove.  Imagine
such a situation; it made them blush.  Margery said she wished people
weren't quite so practical, and wouldn't ruin nature by introducing
such ugly and unnecessary things.  She intended to point the moral by
drawing a picture of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden,--Eve bending
over a cook-stove and Adam peeling apples with a machine.  Geoffrey
scoffed at Margery's sentimentalism, put on his most trying air, and
declared that if he had his pork and onions served up 'hot and
reg'lar,' he didn't care how she had her victuals cooked.

They were all somewhat appeased, however, when they found that Dr.
Winship was as anxious as they for an evening camp-fire, and merely
insisted upon the stove because it simplified the cookery.
Furthermore, being an eminently just man, he yielded so far as to
give them permission to prepare their own meals on a private camp-
fire whenever they desired; and this effectually stopped the
argument, for no one was willing to pay so heavy a price for effect.

The hammocks, made of gaily-coloured cords, were slung in various
directions a short distance from the square tent, which, being the
family sitting-room, was the centre of attraction.  It was arranged
with a gay canopy, twenty feet square.  Three sides were made by
hanging full curtains of awning cloth from redwood rods by means of
huge brass rings.  These curtains were looped back during the day and
dropped after dark, making a cosy and warm interior from which to
watch the camp-fire on cool evenings.

As for the Canyon de Las Flores itself, this little valley of the
flowers, it was beautiful enough in every part to inspire an artist's
pencil or a poet's pen; so quiet and romantic it was, too, it might
almost have been under a spell,--the home of some sleepy, enchanted
princess waiting the magic kiss of a princely lover.  It reached from
the ocean to the mountains, and held a thousand different pictures on
which to feast the eye; for Dame Nature deals out beauty with a
lavish hand in this land of perpetual summer, song, and sunshine.
There were many noble oak-trees, some hung profusely with mistletoe,
and others with the long, Spanish greybeard moss, that droops from
the branches in silvery lines, like water spray.  Sometimes, in the
moonlight, it winds about the oak like a shroud, and then again like
a filmy bridal veil, or drippings of mist from a frozen tree.

Here and there were open tracts of ground between the clumps of
trees, like that in which the tents were pitched,--sunny places,
where the earth was warm and dry, and the lizards blinked sleepily
under the stones.

Farther up the canyon were superb bay-trees, with their glossy leaves
and aromatic odour, and the madrono, which, with its blood-red skin,
is one of the most beautiful of California trees, having an open
growth, like a maple, bright green lustrous leaves, and a brilliant
red bark, which peels off at regular seasons, giving place to a new
one of delicate pea-green.

There were no birches with pure white skin, or graceful elms, or
fluffy pussy willows, but so many beautiful foreign things that it
would seem ungrateful to mourn those left behind in the dear New
England woods; and as for flowers, there are no yellow and purple
violets, fragile anemones, or blushing Mayflowers, but in March the
hillsides are covered with red, in April flushed with pink and blue,
in May brilliant with yellow blossoms; and in the canyons, where the
earth is moist, there are flowers all the year.

And then the girls would never forgive me if I should forget the
superb yucca, or Spanish bayonet, which is as beautiful as a tropical
queen.  Its tall, slender stalk has no twigs or branches, but its
leaves hang down from the top like bayonet-blades; and oh, there
rises from the centre of them such a stately princess of a flower,
like a tree in itself, laden with cream-white, velvety, fragrant
blossoms.

The boys often climbed the hillsides and brought home these splendid
treasures, which were placed in pails of water at the tent doors, to
shed their luxuriant beauty and sweetness in the air for days
together.  They brought home quantities of Spanish moss, and wild
clematis, and manzanita berries too, with which to decorate the
beloved camp; and even Dicky trotted back with his arms full of
gorgeous blossoms and grasses, which he arranged with great taste and
skill in mugs, bottles, and cans on the dining-table.

Can't you see what a charming place it was?  And I have not begun to
tell you the half yet; for there was always a soft wind stirring the
leaves in dreamy music, and above and through this whispered sound
you heard the brook splashing over its pebbly bed,--splashing and
splashing and laughing all it possibly could, knowing it would
speedily be dried up by the thirsty August sun.  Every few yards part
of the stream settled down contentedly into a placid little pool,
while the most inquisitive and restless little drops flowed noisily
down to see what was going on below.  The banks were fringed with
graceful alders and poison-oak bushes, vivid in crimson and yellow
leaves, while delicate maiden-hair ferns grew in miniature forests
between the crevices of the rocks; yet, with the practicality of
Chinese human nature, Hop Yet used all this beauty for a dish-pan and
refrigerator!

Now, confess that, after having seen exactly how it looks, you would
like to rub a magic lamp, like Aladdin, and wish yourself there with
our merry young sextette.  For California is a lovely land and a
strange one, even at this late day, when her character has been
nearly ruined by dreadful stories, or made ridiculous by foolish
ones.

When you were all babies in long clothes, some people used to believe
that there were nuggets of gold to be picked up in the streets, and
that in the flowery valleys, flowing with milk and honey, there grew
groves of beet-trees, and forests of cabbages, and shady bowers of
squash-vines; and they thought that through these fertile valleys
strode men of curious mien, wild bandits and highway robbers, with
red flannel shirts and many pockets filled with playing-cards and
revolvers and bowie-knives; and that when you met these frightful
persons and courteously asked the time of day, they were apt to turn
and stab you to the heart by way of response.

Now, some of these things were true, and some were not, and some will
never happen again; for the towns and cities no longer conduct
themselves like headstrong young tomboys out on a lark, but have
grown into ancient and decorous settlements some twenty-five or
thirty years old.

Perhaps California isn't really so interesting since she began to
learn manners; but she is a land of wonders still, with her sublime
mountains and valleys; her precious metals; her vineyards and
orchards of lemons and oranges, figs, limes, and nuts; her mammoth
vegetables, each big enough for a newspaper story; her celebrated
trees, on the stumps of which dancing-parties are given; her
vultures; her grizzly bears; and her people, drawn from every nook
and corner of the map--pink, yellow, blue, red, and green countries.
And though the story of California is not written, in all its
romantic details, in the school-books of to-day, it is a part of the
poetry of our late American history, full of strange and thrilling
scenes, glowing with interest and dramatic fire.

I know a little girl who crossed the plains in that great ungeneraled
army of fifteen or twenty thousand people that made the long and
weary journey to the land of gold in 1849.  She tells her children
now of the strange, long days and months in the ox-team, passing
through the heat and dust of alkali deserts, fording rivers, and
toiling over steep mountains.  She tells them how at night she often
used to lie awake, curled up in her grey blanket, and hear the men
talking together of the gold treasures they were to dig from the
ground--treasures, it seemed to her childish mind, more precious than
those of which she read in The Arabian Nights.  And from a little
hole in the canvas cover of the old emigrant wagon she used to see
the tired fathers and brothers, worn and footsore from their hard
day's tramp, some sleeping restlessly, and others guarding the cattle
or watching for Indians, who were always expected, and often came;
and the last thing at night, when her eyes were heavy with sleep, she
peered dreamily out into the darkness to see the hundreds of gleaming
camp-fires, which dotted the plain as far as the eye could reach.


You will have noticed that this first week of camp-life was a quiet
one, spent mostly by the young people in getting their open-air home
comfortably arranged, making conveniences of all kinds, becoming
acquainted with the canyon so far as they could, and riding once or
twice to neighbouring ranches for hay or provisions.

Dr. Winship believed in a good beginning; and, as this was not a
week's holiday, but a summer campaign, he wanted his young people to
get fully used to the situation before undertaking any of the
exciting excursions in prospect.  So, before the week was over, they
began to enjoy sound, dreamless sleep on their hard straw beds, to
eat the plain fare with decided relish, to grow a little hardy and
brown, and quite strong and tough enough for a long tramp or
horseback ride.

After a religious devotion to cold cream for a few nights, Polly had
signified her terrible intention of 'letting her nose go.'  'I disown
it!' she cried, peeping in her tiny mirror, and lighting up her too
rosy tints with a tallow candle.  'Hideous objick, I defy thee!  Spot
and speckle, yea, burn to a crisp, and shed thy skin afterwards!  I
care not.  Indeed, I shall be well rid of thee, thou--h'm--thou--
well, leopard, for instance.'

One beautiful day followed another, each the exact counterpart of the
one that had preceded it; for California boys and girls never have to
say 'wind and weather permitting' from March or April until November.
They always know what the weather is going to do; and whether this is
an advantage or not is a difficult matter to settle conclusively.

New England boys affirm that they wouldn't live in a country where it
couldn't rain any day it felt like it, and California lads retort
that they are glad their dispositions are not ruined by the freaks of
New England weather.  At all events, it is a paradise for would-be
campers, and any one who should assert the contrary would meet with
energetic opposition from the loyal dwellers in Camp Chaparral.

Bell returned one day from a walk which she had taken by herself,
while the other girls were off on some errand with the Doctor.  After
luncheon she drew them mysteriously into the square tent, and lowered
the curtains.

'What is it?' Polly whispered, with an anxious expression of
countenance.  'Have you lost your gold thimble again, or your temper,
or have you discovered a silver mine?'

'I have found,' she answered mysteriously, 'the most beautifully
secret place you ever beheld.  It will be just the spot for us to
write and study in when we want to be alone; or it will even do for a
theatre; and it is scarcely more than half a mile up the canyon.'

'How did you find it?' asked Margery.

'As I was walking along by the brookside, I saw a snake making its
way through the bushes, and--'

'Goodness!' shrieked Polly, 'I shall not write there, thank you.'

'Goose!  Just wait a minute.  I looked at it, and followed at a
distance; it was a harmless little thing; and I thought, for the fun
of it, I would just push blindly on and see what I should find,
because we are for ever walking in the beaten path, and I long for
something new.'

'A bad instinct,' remarked Madge, 'and one which will get you into
trouble, so you should crush it in its infancy.'

'Well, I took up my dress and ploughed through the chaparral, until I
came, in about three minutes of scratching and fighting, to an open
circular place about as large as this tent.  It was exactly round,
which is the curious part of it; and in the centre was one stump,
covered with moss and surrounded by great white toadstools.  How any
one happened to go in there and cut down a single tree I can't
understand, nor yet how they managed to bring out the tree through
the tangled brush.  It is so strange that it seems as if there must
be a mystery about it.'

'Certainly,' said Margery promptly.  'A tragedy of the darkest kind!
Some cruel wretch has cut down, in the pride and pomp of it beauty,
one sycamore-tree; its innocent life-blood has stained the ground,
and given birth to the white toadstools which mark the spot and
testify to the purity of the victim.'

'Well,' continued Bell, impressively, 'I knew I could never find it
again; and I wanted so much you should see it that I took the ball of
twine we always carry, unrolled it, and dropped the thread all the
way along to the brookside, like Phrygia, or Melpomene, or Anemone,
or whatever her name was.'

'Or Artesia, or Polynesia, or Euthanasia,' interrupted Polly.  'I
think the lady you mean is Ariadne.'

'Exactly.  Now we'll take papa to see it, and then we'll fit it up as
a retreat.  Won't it be charming?  We'll call it the Lone Stump.'

'Oh, I like that; it makes me shiver!' cried Polly.  'I'm going to
write an ode to it at once.  Ahem!  It shall begin--let me see -


'O lonely tree,
What cruel "he"
Did lay thee low?
Tell us the facts;
Did cruel axe
Abuse thee so?'


'Sublime!  Second verse,' said Bell slowly, with pauses between the
lines:-


'Or did a gopher,
The wicked loafer,
Gnaw at thy base,
And, doing so,
Contrive to go,
And leave no trace?'


'Oh dear!' sighed Margery; 'if you will do it, wait a minute.


'O toadstools white,
Pray give us light
Upon the question.
Did gopher gnaw,
And live in awe
Of indigestion?'


'Good!' continued Bell:-


'Or did a man
Malicious plan
The good tree's ruin,
And leave it so
Convenient low,
A seat for Bruin?


For travelling grizzlies, you know.  We may go there and see a hungry
creature making a stump-speech, while an admiring audience of
grasshoppers and tarantulas seat themselves in a circle on the
toadstools.'

'Charming prospect!' said Madge.  'I don't think I care to visit the
Lone Stump or pass my mornings there.'

'Nonsense, dear child; it is just like every other part of the
canyon, only a little more lonely.  It is not half a mile from camp,
and hardly a dozen steps from the place where the boys go so often to
shoot quail.'

'Very well,' said the girls.  'We must go there to-morrow morning;
and perhaps we'd better not tell the boys,--they are so peculiar.
Jack will certainly interfere with us in some way, if he hears about
it.'

'Now let us take our books and run down by the pool for an hour or
two,' said Bell.  'Papa and the boys are all off shooting, and mamma
is lying down.  We can have a cool, quiet time; the sunshine is so
hot here by the tents.'

Accordingly, they departed, as they often did, for one of the
prolonged chats in which school-girls are wont to indulge, and which
so often, too, are but idle, senseless chatter.

These young people, however, had been fortunate in having the wisest
and most loving guardianship, so that all their happy young lives had
been spent to good purpose.  They had not shirked study, and so their
minds were stocked with useful information; they had read carefully
and digested thoroughly whatever they had read, so that they
possessed a good deal of general knowledge.  The girls were bright,
sensible, industrious little women, who tried to be good, too, in the
old-fashioned sense of the word; and full of fun, nonsense, and
chatter as they were among themselves, they never forgot to be modest
and unassuming.

The boys were pretty well in earnest about life, too, with good
ambitions and generous aspirations.  They had all been studying with
Dr. Winship for nearly two years; and that means a great deal, for he
was a real teacher, entering into the lives of his pupils,
sympathising with them in every way, and leading them, through the
study of nature, of human beings, and of God, to see the beauty and
meaning of life.

Geoffrey Strong, of course, was older than the rest, having completed
his junior year at college; but Dr. Winship, who was his guardian,
thought it wiser for him to rest a year and come to him in
California, as his ambition and energy had already led him into
greater exertions than his age or strength warranted.  He was now
studying medicine with the good Doctor, but would go back to the
'land of perpetual pie' in the fall and complete his college course.

A splendid fellow he was,--so earnest, thoughtful, and wise; so
gravely tender in all his ways to Aunt Truth, who was the only mother
he had ever known; so devoted to Dr. Winship, who loved him as his
own elder son.

What will Geoffrey Strong be as a man?  The twig is bent, and it is
safe to predict how the tree will incline.  His word will be as good
as his bond; he will be a good physician, for his eye is quick to see
suffering, and his hand ready to relieve it; little children with
feverish cheeks and tired eyes will love to clasp his cool, strong
sand; he will be gentle as a woman, yet thoroughly manly, as he is
now, for he has made the most of his golden youth, and every lad who
does that will have a golden manhood and a glorious old age.

As for Philip Noble, he was a dear, good, trustworthy lad too;
kindly, generous, practical, and industrious; a trifle slow and
reserved, perhaps, but full of common sense,--the kind of sense
which, after all, is most uncommon.

Bell once said:  'This is the difference between Philip and
Geoffrey,--one does, and the other is.  Geoff is the real Simon-pure
ideal which we praise Philip for trying to be,'--a very good
description for a little maiden whose bright eyes had only looked
into life for sixteen summers.

And now we come to Jack Howard, who never kept still long enough for
any one to write a description of him.  To explain how he differed
from Philip or Geoffrey would be like bringing the Equator and the
Tropic of Cancer together for purposes of comparison.

If there were a horseback ride, Jack rode the wildest colt, was
oftenest thrown and least often hurt; if a fishing-party, Jack it was
who caught all the fish, though he made more noise than any one else,
and followed no rules laid down in The Complete Angler.

He was very often in trouble; but his misdemeanours were those of
pure mischief, and were generally atoned for when it was possible.
He excelled in all out-of-door sports.  And indeed, if his prudence
had at all kept pace with his ability, he might have done remarkable
things in almost any direction; but he constantly overshot the mark,
and people looked to him for the dazzling brilliancy and uncertainty
of a meteor, but never for the steady glow of a fixed star.

Just now, Jack was a good deal sobered, and appeared at his very
best.  The teaching of Dr. Paul and the companionship of Geoffrey had
done much for him, while the illness of his sister Elsie, who was the
darling of his heart, acted constantly as a sort of curb upon him;
for he loved her with all the ardour and passion which he gave to
everything else.  You might be fearful of Jack's high spirits and
riotous mirth, of his reckless actions and heedless jokes, but you
could scarcely keep from admiring the boy; for he was brave and
handsome and winsome enough to charm the very birds off the bush, as
Aunt Truth acknowledged, after giving him a lecture for some
misdemeanour.

The three girls made their way a short distance up the canyon to a
place which they called Prospect Pool, because it was so entirely
shut in from observation.

'Dear old Geoff!' said Bell, throwing her shawl over a rock and
opening her volume of Carlyle.  'He has gone all through this for me,
and written nice little remarks on the margin,--explanations and
things, and interrogations where he thinks I won't know what is meant
and had better find out,--bless his heart!  What have you brought,
Margery?  By the way, you must move your seat away from that clump of
poison-oak bushes; we can't afford to have any accidents which will
interfere with our fun.  We have all sorts of new remedies, but I
prefer that the boys should experiment with them.'

'It's the softest seat here, too,' grumbled Margery.  'We must get
the boys to cut these bushes down.  Why, you haven't any book, you
lazy Polly.  Are you going to sleep, or shall you chatter and prevent
our reading?'

'Neither,' she answered.  'Here is a doughnut which I propose to send
down the red pathway of fate; and here a pencil and paper with which
I am going to begin our round-robin letter to Elsie.'

'That's good!  She has only had notes from Jack and one letter from
us, which, if I remember right, had nothing in it.'

'Thanks!  I wrote it,' sniffed Bell.

'Well, I meant it had no news--no account of things, you know.'

'No, I wouldn't descend to writing news, and I leave accounts to the
butcher.'

'Stop quarrelling, girls!  This is my plan:  I will begin in my usual
rockety style, sometimes maliciously called the Pollyoliver method;
Margery will take up the thread sedately; Bell will plunge in with a
burst of enthusiasm and seventeen adjectives, followed by a verse of
poor poetry; Geoff will do the sportive or instructive, just as he
happens to feel; and Phil will wind up the letter by some practical
details which will serve as a key to all the rest.  Won't it be a box
of literary bonbons for her to read in bed, poor darling!  Let me
see!  I represent the cayenne lozenges, sharp but impressive; Margery
will do for jujube paste, which I adore,--mild, pleasant, yielding,
delicious.'

'Sticky and insipid!' murmured Madge, plaintively.

'Not at all, my dear.  Bell stands for the peppermints; Jack for
chocolates, "the ladies' delight"; Geoffrey for a wine-drop,
altogether good, but sweetest in its heart; Phil--let me see!  Phil
is like--what is he like?'

'No more like candy than a cold boiled potato,' said his sister.

'He is candid,' suggested Bell.  'Let us call him rock-candy, pure,
healthful, and far from soft.'

'Or marshmallow,' said Margery, 'good, but tough.'

'Or caramel,' laughed Polly; 'it always sticks to a point.'

'Thanks, gentle creatures,' said a voice from the bushes on the other
side of the pool, and Phil stalked out from his covert, like a
wounded deer.

'How long have you been in there, villain?' cried Bell.

'Ever since lunch; but I only waked from a sound sleep some twenty
minutes ago.  I've heard a most instructive conversation--never been
more amused in my life; don't know whether I prefer being a cold
boiled potato or a ladies'-delight!'

'You haven't any choice,' snapped Polly, a trifle embarrassed at
having been overheard.

'I'm glad it was my own sister who called me a c. b. p. (the most
loathsome thing in existence, by the way), because sisters never
appreciate their brothers.'

'I didn't call you a c. b. p.,' remonstrated Margery.  'I said you
were no more like candy than a c. b. p.  There is a difference.'

'Is there?  My poor brain fails to grasp it.  But never mind; I'll
forgive you.'

'Listeners never hear good of themselves,' sighed Polly.

'Are you writing a copy-book, Miss Oliver?  I didn't want to listen;
it was very painful to my feelings, but I was too sleepy to move.'

'And now our afternoon is gone, and we have not read a word,' sighed
little Margery.  'I never met two such chatterboxes as you and
Polly.'

'And to hear us talk is a liberal education,' retorted Polly.

'Exactly,' said Philip, dryly, 'Come, I'll take the books and shawls.
It's nearly five o'clock, and we shall hear Hop Yet blowing his lusty
dinner-horn presently.'

'Why didn't you go off shooting with the others?' asked Margery.

'Stayed at home so they'd get a chance to shoot.'

'Why, do you mean you always scare the game away?' inquired Polly,
artlessly.

'No; I mean that I always do all the shooting, and the others get
discouraged.'

'Clasp hands over the bloody chasm,' said Bell, 'and let us smoke the
pipe of peace at dinner.'

Philip and Bell came through the trees, and, as they neared the camp,
saw Aunt Truth sitting at the door of Tent Chatter, looking the very
picture of comfort, as she drew her darning-needle in and out of an
unseemly rent in one of Dicky's stockings.  Margery and Polly came up
just behind, and dropped into her lap some beautiful branches of wild
azalea.

'Did you have a pleasant walk, dears?' she asked.

'Yes, indeed, dear auntie.  Now, just hold your head perfectly still,
while we decorate you for dinner.  We will make Uncle Doc's eyes
fairly pop with admiration.  Have you been lonely without us?'

'Oh, not a bit.  You see there has been a good deal of noise about
here, and I felt as if I were not alone.  Hop Yet has been pounding
soap-root in the kitchen, and I hear the sound of Pancho's axe in the
distance,--the Doctor asked him to chop wood for the camp-fire.  Was
Dicky any trouble?  Where is he?'

'Why, darling mother, are you crazy?' asked Bell.  'If you think a
moment, he was in the hammock and you were lying down in the tent
when we started.'

'Why, I certainly thought I heard him ask to go with you,' said Mrs.
Winship, in rather an alarmed tone.

'So he did; but I told him it was too far.'

'I didn't hear that; in fact, I was half asleep; I was not feeling
well.  Ask Hop Yet; he has been in the kitchen all the afternoon.'

Hop Yet replied, with discouraging tranquillity, 'Oh, I no know.  I
no sabe Dicky; he allee time lun loun camp; I no look; too muchee
work.  I chop hash--Dicky come in kitch'--make heap work--no good.  I
tell him go long--he go; bime-by you catchum; you see.'  Whereupon he
gracefully skinned an onion, and burst into a Chinese song, with
complete indifference as to whether Dicky lived or died.

'Perhaps he is with Pancho; I'll run and see!' cried Polly, dashing
swiftly in the direction of the sky-parlour.  But after a few minutes
she ran back, with a serious face.  'He's not there; Pancho has not
seen him since lunch.'

'Well, I've just happened to think,' said pale Aunt Truth, 'that papa
came into the tent for some cartridges, after you left, and of course
he took Dick with him.  I don't suppose it is any use to worry.  He
always does come out right; and I have told him so many times never
on any account to go away from the camp alone that he surely would
not do it.  Papa and the boys will be home soon, now.  It is nearly
six o'clock, and I told them that I would blow the horn at six, as
usual.  If they are too far away to hear it, they will know the time
by the sun.'

'Well,' said Bell, anxiously, 'I hope it is all right.  Papa is so
strict that he won't be late himself.  Did all the boys go with him,
mamma?'

'Yes, all but Philip.'

'Oh, then Dicky must be with them,' said Margery, consolingly.
'Geoffrey always takes him wherever he can.'

So the girls went into the tent to begin their dinner toilet, which
consisted in carefully brushing burrs and dust from their pretty
dresses, and donning fresh collars and stockings, with low ties of
russet leather, which Polly declared belonged only to the stage
conception of a camping costume; then, with smoothly brushed hair and
bright flower-knots at collar and belt, they looked charming enough
to grace any drawing-room in the land.

The horn was blown again at six o'clock, Aunt Truth standing at the
entrance of the path which led up the canyon, shading her anxious
eyes from the light of the setting sun. -

'Here they come!' she cried, joyously, as the welcome party appeared
in sight, guns over shoulder, full game-bags, and Jack and Geoff with
a few rabbits and quail hanging over their arms.

The girls rushed out of the tent.  Bell took in the whole group with
one swift glance, and then turned to her mother, who, like most
mothers, believed the worst at once, and grew paler as she asked:

'Papa, where is little Dick?'

'Dick!  Why, my dear, he has not been out with us.  What do you
mean?'

'Are you sure you didn't take him?' faltered Aunt Truth.

'Of course I am.  Good heavens!  Doesn't any one know where the child
is?' looking at the frightened group.

'You know, uncle,' said Geoffrey, 'we started out at three o'clock.
I noticed Dicky playing with his blocks in our tent, and said good-
bye to him.  Did you see him when you came back for the cartridges?'

'Certainly I did; he called me to look at his dog making believe go
to sleep in the hammock.'

'We girls went down to the pool soon after that,' said Bell,
tearfully.  'He asked to go with us, and I told him it was too far,
and that he'd better stay with mamma, who would be all alone.  He
said "Yes" so sweetly I couldn't mistrust him.  Oh, was it my fault,
papa?  Please don't say it was!' and she burst into a passion of
sobs.

'No, no, my child, of course it was not.  Don't cry; we shall find
him.  Go and look about the camp, Geoff, while we consider for a
minute what to do?'

'If there is any fault, it is mine, for going to sleep,' said poor
Aunt Truth; 'but I never dreamed he would dare to wander off alone,
my poor little disobedient darling!  What shall we do?'

'Have you spoken to Pancho and Hop Yet?' asked Phil.

'Yes; they have seen nothing.'

Hop Yet just at this moment issued from his kitchen with an immense
platter of mutton-stew and dumplings, which he deposited on the
table.  On being questioned again, he answered as before, with the
greatest serenity, intimating that Dicky would come home 'heap bime-
by' when he got 'plenty hungly.'  He seemed to think a lost boy or
two in a family rather a trifle than otherwise, and wound up his
unfeeling remarks with the practical one, 'Dinner all leady; you no
eat mutton, he get cold!  Misser Wins', I no find pickle; you
catchum!'

'I don't believe he would care if we all died right before his eyes,'
muttered Polly, angrily.  'I should just like to see a Chinaman's
heart once, and find out whether it was made of resin, or cuttle-
fish, or what.'

'Well,' said Phil, as Dr. Winship came through the trees from the
card-room, 'we must start out this instant, and of course we can find
him somehow, somewhere; he hasn't been gone over two hours, and he
couldn't walk far, that's certain.  Now, Uncle Doc, shall we all go
different ways, and leave the girls here to see if he doesn't turn
up?'

'Oh, papa,' cried Bell, do not leave us at home!  We can hunt as well
as any one; we know every foot of the canyon.  Let me go with Geoff,
and we'll follow the brook trail.'

'Very well.  Now, mamma, Pancho and I will go down to the main road,
and you wait patiently here.  Make all the noise you can, children;
and the one who finds him must come back to the camp and blow the
horn.  Hop Yet, we go now; if Dicky comes back, you blow the horn
yourself, will you?'

'All light, boss.  You eat um dinner now; then go bime-by; mutton
heap cold; you--'

'Dinner!' shouted Jack.  'Confound your impudence!  If you say dinner
again, I'll cut the queue off your stupid head.'

'Good!' murmured Polly, giving a savage punch to her blue Tam o'
Shanter cap.

'Jack, Jack!' remonstrated Aunt Truth.

'I know, dear auntie; but the callous old heathen makes me so mad I
can't contain myself.  Come, Margery, let's be off.  Get your shawl;
and hurrah for the one who comes back to blow the horn first!  I'll
wager you ten to one I'll have Dick in auntie's lap inside the
hour!'--at which Aunt Truth's eyes brightened, and she began to take
heart again.  But as he tore past the brush kitchen and out into the
woods, dragging Madge after him at a breathless pace, he shut his
lips together rather grimly, saying, 'I'd give five hundred dollars
(s'posin' I had a cent) to see that youngster safe again.'

'Tell me one thing, Jack,' said Margery, her teeth chattering with
nervousness; 'are there any animals in this canyon that would attack
him?'

'Oh, of course it is possible that a California lion or a wild-cat
might come down to the brook to drink--they have been killed
hereabouts--but I hardly believe it is likely; and neither do I
believe they would be apt to hurt him, any way, for he would never
attack them, you know.  What I am afraid of is that he has tumbled
over the rocks somewhere in climbing, or tangled himself up in the
chaparral.  He couldn't have made off with a pistol, could he?  He is
up to all such tricks.'

Presently the canyon began to echo with strange sounds, which I have
no doubt sent the owls, birds, and rabbits into fits of terror; for
the boys had whistles and pistols, while Polly had taken a tin pan
and a hammer.  She had gone with Phil out behind the thicket of
manzanita bushes, and they both stood motionless, undecided where to
go.

'Oh, Phil, I can't help it; I must cry, I am so frightened.  Let me
sit down a second.  Yes, I know it's an ant-hill, and I shouldn't
care if it were a hornets' nest--I deserve to be stung.  What do you
think I said to Margery this morning?  That Dicky was a perfect
little marplot, and spoiled all our fun, and I wished he were in the
bottom of the Red Sea; and then I called him a k-k-k-ill-joy!' and
Polly buried her head in her blue Tam, and cried a good, honest, old-
fashioned cry.

'There, chirk up, poor little soul, and don't you fret over a
careless speech, that meant nothing at all.  I've wished him in the
Red Sea more than once, but I'm blessed if I ever do it again.  Come,
let's go over yonder, where we caught the young owl; Dicky may have
wanted to try that little game again.'

So they went on, calling, listening, then struggling on again, more
anxious every moment, but not so thoroughly dazed as Bell, who had
rocked her baby-brother in his cradle, and to whom he was the
embodiment of every earthly grace, if not of every heavenly virtue.

'I might have known this would happen,' she said, miserably.  'He is
so careless that, if we ever find him again, we must keep him tied to
something.'

'Take care of your steps, dear,' said Geoff, 'and munch this cracker,
or you won't have strength enough to go on with me.  I wish it were
not getting so dark; the moment the sun gets behind these mountain-
tops the light seems to vanish in an instant.--Dick-y!'

'Think of the poor darling out in this darkness--hungry, frightened,
and alone,' sighed Bell.  'It's past his bed-time now.  Oh, why did
we ever come to stay in this horrible place!'

'You must not blame the place, dear; we thought it the happiest in
the world this morning.  Here we are by the upper pool, and the path
stops.  Which way had we better go?'

'I've been here before to-day,' said Bell; 'we might follow the trail
I made.  But where is my string?  Light a match, Geoff, please.'

'What string?  What do you mean?'

'Why, I found a beautiful spot this morning, and, fearing I shouldn't
remember the way again, I took out my ball of twine and dropped a
white line all the way back, like Ariadne; but I don't see it.  Where
can it have disappeared--unless Jack or Phil took it to tease me?'

'Oh no; I've been with them all day.  Perhaps a snake has swallowed
it.  Come.'

But a bright idea had popped into Bell's head.  'I want to go that
way, Geoff, dear; it's as good as any other, and there are flowers
just the other side, in an open, sunny place; perhaps he found them.'

'All right; let's go ahead.'

'The trouble is, I don't know which way to go.  Here is the rock; I
remember it was a spotted one, with tall ferns growing beside it.
Now I went--let me see--this way,' and they both plunged into the
thick brush.

'Bell, Bell, this is utter nonsense!' cried Geoff.  'No child could
crawl through this tangle.'

'Dicky could crawl through anything in this universe, if it was the
wrong thing; he isn't afraid of beast, bird, or fish, and he
positively enjoys getting scratched,' said Bell.

Meanwhile, what had become of this small hero, and what was he doing?
He was last seen in the hammock, playing with the long-suffering
terrier, Lubin, who was making believe go to sleep.  It proved to be
entirely a make-believe; for, at the first loosening of Dicky's
strangling hold upon his throat, he tumbled out of the hammock and
darted into the woods.  Dicky followed, but Lubin was fleet of foot,
and it was a desperate and exciting race for full ten minutes.

At length, as Lubin heard his little master's gleeful laugh, he
realised that his anger was a thing of the past; consequently, he
wheeled about and ran into Dicky's outstretched arms, licking his
face and hands exuberantly in the joy of complete forgiveness.

By this time the voice of conscience in Dicky's soul--and it was a
very, very still, small one on all occasions--was entirely silenced.
He strayed into a sunny spot, and picked flowers enough to trim his
little sailor hat, probably divining that this was what lost children
in Sunday-school books always did, and it would be dishonourable not
to keep up the superstition.  Then he built a fine, strong dam of
stones across the brook, wading to and fro without the bother of
taking off his shoes and stockings, and filled his hat with rocks and
sunk it to the bottom for a wharf, keeping his hat-band to tie an
unhappy frog to a bit of bark, and setting him afloat as the captain
of a slave-ship.  When, at length, the struggling creature freed
himself from his bonds and leaped into the pool, Dicky played that he
was a drowning child, and threw Lubin into the water to rescue him.

In these merry antics the hours flew by unnoticed; he had never been
happier in his life, and it flashed through his mind that if he were
left entirely to himself he should always be good.

'Here I've been a whole day offul good by my lone self; haven't said
one notty word or did one notty fing, nor gotted scolded a singul
wunst, did I, Lubin?  I guess we better live here; bettent we, Lubin?
And ven we wunt git stuck inter bed fur wettin' our feets little
teenty mites of wet ev'ry singul night all the livelong days, will
we, Lubin?'

But this was a long period of reflection for Master Dicky, and he
capered on, farther and farther, the water sozzling frightfully in
his little copper-toed boots.  At length he sat down on a stone to
rest himself, and, glancing aimlessly about, his eyes fell on a white
string, which he grasped with alacrity, pulling its end from beneath
the stone on which he sat.

'Luby Winship, the anjulls gaved me this string fur ter make an offul
splendid tight harness for you, little Luby; and you can drag big
heavy stones.  Won't that be nice?'

Lubin looked doubtful, and wagged his tail dissentingly, as much as
to say that his ideas of angel ministrations were a trifle different.

But there was no end to the string!  How very, very curious!  Dicky
wound and wound and crept and crept along, until he was thoroughly
tired but thoroughly determined to see it through; and Lubin,
meanwhile, had seized the first convenient moment, after the mention
of the harness, to retire to the camp.

At length, oh joy! the tired and torn little man, following carefully
the leading-string, issued from the scratching bushes into a clean,
beautiful, round place, with a great restful-looking stump in the
centre, and round its base a small forest of snowy toadstools.  What
could be a lovelier surprise!  Dicky clapped his hands in glee as he
looked at them, and thought of a little verse of poetry which Bell
had taught him:


'Some fairy umbrellas came up to-day
Under the elm-tree, just over the way,
And as we have had a shower of rain,
The reason they came is made very plain:
To-night is the woodland fairies' ball,
And drops from the elm-tree might on them fall,
So little umbrellas wait for them here,
And under their shelter they'll dance without fear.
Take care where you step, nor crush them, I pray,
For fear you will frighten the fairies away.'


'Oh!' thought Dicky, in a trance of delight, 'now I shall go to the
fairies' ball, and see 'em dance under the cunning little teenty
umberells; and wunt they be mad at home when nobuddy can't see 'em
but just only me!  And then if that potry is a big whopper, like that
there uvver one--'laddin-lamp story of Bell's--I'll just pick evry
white toadstool for my papa's Sunday dinner, and she sha'n't never
see a singul fairy dance.'

But he waited very patiently for a long, long time that seemed like
years, for Lubin had disappeared; and all at once it grew so dark in
this thickly-wooded place that Dicky's courage oozed out in a single
moment, without any previous warnings as to its intention.  The
toadstools looked like the ghosts of little past-and-gone fairy
umbrellas in the darkness, and not a single fairy couple came to
waltz under their snowy canopies, or exchange a furtive kiss beneath
their friendly shadows.

Dicky thought the situation exceedingly gloomy, and, without knowing
it, followed the example of many older people, who, on being deserted
by man, experienced their first desire to find favour with God.  He
was not in the least degree a saintly child, but he felt
instinctively that this was the proper time for prayer; and not
knowing anything appropriate to the occasion, he repeated over and
over again the time-worn plaint of childhood:-


'Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.  Amen.'


Like older mortals of feeble faith, he looked for an immediate and
practical answer, in the shape, perhaps, of his mother, with his
little night-gown and bowl of bread and milk.

'My sakes alive!' he grumbled between his sobs, 'they're the meanest
fings I ever saw.  How long do they s'pose I'm goin' to wait for 'em
in this dark?  When the bears have et me up in teenty snips, then
they'll be saterfied, I guess, and wisht they'd tookened gooder care
of me--a little speck of a boy, lefted out in this dark, bear-y
place, all by his lone self.  O--oo--oo--oh!' and he wound up with a
murderous yell, which had never failed before to bring the whole
family to his side.

His former prayer seeming to be in vain, he found a soft place,
brushed it as clean as possible, and with difficulty bending his
little stiff, scratched body into a kneeling position, he prayed his
nightly postscript to 'Now I lay me':  'God bless papa, 'n' mamma,
'n' Bell, 'n' Jack, 'n' Madge, 'n' Polly, 'n' Phil, 'n' Geoff, 'n'
Elsie.'  Then, realizing that he was in a perilous position, and it
behoved him to be as pious as possible, he added:  'And please bless
Pancho, 'n' Hop Yet, 'n' Lubin, 'n' the goat--not the wild goat up on
the hill, but my goat, what got sick to his stummick when I painted
him with black letters.'

What a dreadful calamity, to be sure, if the wrong goat had been
blessed by mistake!  His whole duty performed, he picked the
toadstools for his papa's Sunday dinner, and, leaning his head
against the lone stump, cried himself to sleep.

But relief was near, though he little suspected it as he lay in the
sound, dreamless sleep which comes only to the truly good.  There was
a crashing sound in the still darkness, and Bell plunged through the
thick underbrush with a cry of delight.

'He is here!  Dear, dear Geoff, he is all here!  I knew it, I knew
it!  Hurrah!--no, I mean--thank God!' she said softly as she stooped
down to kiss her mischievous little brother.

'But what a looking creature!' exclaimed Geoff, as he stooped over
the recovered treasure.  'See, Bell, his curls are glistening with
pitch, his dress is torn into ribbons, and his hands--ugh, how
dirty!'

'Poor little darling, he is thoroughly used up,' whispered Bell,
wiping tears of joy from her brown eyes.  'Now, I'll run home like
lightning to blow the horn; and you carry Dicky, for he is too sleepy
and stiff to walk; and, Geoff'--(here she laid an embarrassed hand on
his shoulder)--'I'm afraid he'll be awfully cross, but you'll not
mind it, will you?  He's so worn-out.'

'Not I,' laughed Geoff, as he dropped a brotherly kiss on Bell's pale
cheek.  'But I've no idea of letting you go alone; you're tired to
death, and you'll miss the path.  I wish I could carry you both.'

'Tired--afraid!' cried Bell, with a ringing laugh, while Dicky woke
with a stare, and nestled on Geoffrey's shoulder as if nothing had
happened.  'Why, now that this weight is lifted off my heart, I could
see a path in an untravelled forest!  Good-bye, you dear, darling,
cruel boy!  I must run, for every moment is precious to mamma.'  And
with one strangling hug, which made Dicky's ribs crack, she dashed
off.

Oh how joyously, how sweetly and tunefully, the furious blast of the
old cracked dinner-horn fell on the anxious ears in that canyon.  It
seemed clearer and more musical than a chime of silver bells.

In a trice the wandering couples had gathered jubilantly round the
camp-fire, all embracing Bell, who was the heroine of the hour--
entirely by chance, and not though superior vision or courage, as she
confessed.

It was hardly fifteen minutes when Geoff strode into the ring with
his sorry-looking burden, which he laid immediately in Aunt Truth's
lap.

'Oh my darling!' she cried, embracing him fondly.  'To think you are
really not dead, after all!'

'No, he is about as alive as any chap I ever saw.'  And while the
happy parents caressed their restored darling, Geoff gathered the
girls and boys around the dinner-table, and repeated some of Dicky's
remarks on the homeward trip.

It seems that he considered himself the injured party, and with great
ingenuity laid all the blame of the mishap on his elders.

'Nobuddy takes care of me, anyhow,' he grumbled.  'If my papa wasn't
a mean fing I'd orter to have a black nurse with a white cap and
apurn, like Billy Thomas, 'n' then I couldn't git losted so offul
easy.  An' you all never cared a cent about it either, or you'd a
founded me quicker 'n this--'n' I've been hungry fur nineteen hours,
'n' I guess I've been gone till December, by the feelin', but you was
too lazy to found me 'f I freezed to def--'n' there ain't but one
singul boy of me round the whole camp, 'n' 't would serveded you
right if I had got losted for ever; then I bet you wouldn't had much
fun Fourth of July 'thout my two bits 'n' my fire-crackers!'

It was an hour or two before peace and quiet were restored to the
camp.  The long-delayed dinner had to be eaten; and to Hop Yet's calm
delight, it was a very bad one.  Dicky's small wounds were dressed
with sweet oil, and after being fed and bathed he was tucked lovingly
into bed, with a hundred kisses or more from the whole party.

A little rest and attention had entirely restored his good-humour;
and when Dr. Paul went into the tent to see that all was safe for the
night, he found him sitting up in bed with a gleeful countenance,
prattling like a little angel.

'We had an offul funny time 'bout my gittin' losted, didn't we,
mamma?' chuckled he, with his gurgling little laugh.  'Next time I'm
goin' to get losted in annover bran'-new place where no-bud-dy can
find me!  I fink it was the nicest time 'cept Fourth of July, don't
you, mamma?'  And he patted his mother's cheek and imprinted an oily
kiss thereon.

'Truth,' said the Doctor, with mild severity, 'I know you don't
believe in applying the slipper, but I do think we should arrange
some plan for giving that child an idea of the solemnity of life.  So
far as I can judge, he looks at it as one prolonged picnic.'

'My sentiments exactly!' cried Bell, energetically.  'I can't stand
many more of these trying scenes; I am worn to a "shadder."'

Dicky tucked his head under his mother's arm, with a sigh of relief
that there was one person, at least, whose sentiments were always
favourable and always to be relied upon.

'I love you the best of anybuddy, mamma,' whispered he, and fell
asleep.



CHAPTER IV:  RHYME AND REASON



A BUDGET OF LETTERS FROM THE CAMP MAIL-BAG

'The letter of a friend is a likeness passing true.'


Our friend Polly was seated in a secluded spot whence all but her had
fled; her grave demeanour, her discarded sun-bonnet, her corrugated
brow, all bespoke more than common fixedness of purpose, the cause of
which will be discovered in what follows.

I.  FROM THE COUNTESS PAULINA OLIVERA TO HER FRIEND AND CONFIDANTE,
THE LADY ELSIE HOWARD. {1}

Scene:  A sequestered nook in the Valley of the Flowers.

CAMP CHAPARRAL, July 6, 188-.

The countess is discovered at her ommerlu {1a} writing-table.  A
light zephyr {1b} plays with her golden locks {1c} and caresses her
Grecian {1d} nose--a nose that carries on its surface a few trifling
freckles, which serve but to call attention to its exquisite purity
of outline and the height of its ambition.  Her eyes reflect the
changing shadows of moonlight, and her mouth is one fit for sweet
sounds; {1e} yet this only gives you a faint idea of the beauteous
creature whose fortunes we shall follow in our next number. {1f}

I have given that style a fair trial, my dear darling, but I cannot
stand it another minute, not being familiar with the language of what
our cook used to call the 'fuddal aristocracy' (feudal, you know).

I, your faithful Polly, am seated in the card-room, writing with a
dreadful pen which Phil gave me yesterday.  Its internal organs are
filled with ink, which it disgorges when PRESSED to do so, but just
now it is 'too full for utterance,' as you will see by the blots.

We have decided not to make this a real round-robin letter, like the
last, because we want to write what we like, and not have it read by
the person who comes next.

I have been badgered to death over my part of the communication sent
to you last week, for the young persons connected with this camp have
a faculty of making mountains out of mole-hills, as you know, and I
have to suffer for every careless little speech.  However, as we
didn't wish to bore you with six duplicate letters, we invented a
plan for keeping off each other's ground, and appointed Geoff a
committee of one to settle our line of march.  It is to be a
collective letter, made up of individual notes; and these are Geoff's
sealed orders, which must be obeyed, on pain of dismissal from the
camp:

No. 1 (Polly) is to amuse!
No. 2 (Phil)  ... inform!
No. 3 (Geoff) ... edify!!
No. 4 (Madge) ... gossip.
No. 5 (Bell)  ... versify.
No. 6 (Jack)  ... illustrate

So, my dear, if you get any 'information' or happen to be 'edified'
by what I write, don't mention it for worlds!  (I just screamed my
fears about this matter to Jack, and he says 'I needn't fret.'  I
shall certainly slap that boy before the summer is over.)

I could just tell you a lovely story about Dicky's getting lost in
the woods the day before yesterday, and our terrible fright about
him, and how we all joined in the boy-hunt, until Geoff and Bell
found him at the Lone Stump; but I suppose the chronicle belongs to
Phil's province, so I desist.  But what can I say?  Suppose I tell
you that Uncle Doc and the boys have been shooting innocent, TAME
sheep, skinning and cutting them up on the way home, and making us
believe for two days that we were eating venison; and we never should
have discovered the imposition had not Dicky dragged home four sheep-
skins from the upper pool, and told us that he saw the boys 'PEELING
THEM OFF A VENISON.'  Perhaps Phil may call this information, and
Margery will vow that it is gossip and belongs to her; any way, they
consider it a splendid joke, and chuckle themselves to sleep over it
every night; but I think the whole affair is perfectly maddening, and
it makes me boil with rage to be taken in so easily.  Such a to-do as
they make over the matter you never saw; you would think it was the
first successful joke since the Deluge.  (That wasn't a DRY joke, was
it?  Ha, ha!)

This is the way they twang on their harp of a thousand strings.  At
breakfast, this morning, when Jack passed me the corn-bread, I said
innocently, 'Why, what have we here?'  'It is manna that fell in the
night,' answered Jack, with an exasperating snicker.  'You didn't
know mutton, but I thought, being a Sunday-school teacher, you would
know something about manna.'  (N.B.--He alludes to that time I took
the infant class for Miss Jones, and they all ran out to see a
military funeral procession.)  'I wish you knew something about
manners,' snapped I; and then Aunt Truth had to warn us both, as
usual.  Oh dear! it's a weary world.  I'd just like to get Jack at a
disadvantage once!

[Next paragraph crossed out]
We climbed Pico Negro yesterday.  Bell, Geoff, Phil, and I had quite
an experience in losing the trail.  I will tell you about it.  Just
as -

(Goodness me! what have I written?  Oh, Elsie, pray excuse those
HORIZONTAL EVIDENCES of my forgetfulness and disobedience.  I have
bumped my head against the table three times, as penance, and will
now try to turn my thoughts into right channels.  This letter is a
black-and-white evidence that _I_ have not a frivolous order of mind,
and have always been misunderstood from my birth up to this date.)

We have had beautiful weather since--but no, of course Phil will tell
you about the weather, for that is scarcely an amusing topic.  I do
want to be as prudent as possible, for Uncle Doc is going to read all
the letters (not, of course, aloud) and see whether we have fulfilled
our specific obligations.

(I just asked Bell whether 'specific' had a 'c' or an's in the
middle, and she answered '"c," of course,' with such an air, you
should have heard her!  I had to remind her of the time she spelled
'Tophet' with an 'f' in the middle; then she subsided.)

(I just read this last paragraph to Madge, to see if she called it
gossip, as I was going to take it out if it belonged to her topic,
but she said No, she didn't call it gossip at all--that she should
call it slander!)

You don't know how we all long to see you, dear darling that you are.
We live in the hope of having you with us very soon, and meanwhile
the beautiful bedstead is almost finished, and a perfect success.  (I
wish to withdraw the last three quarters of that sentence, for
obvious reasons!!)

Dear, dear!  Geoffrey calls 'Time up,' and I've scarcely said
anything I should.  Never, never again will I submit to this method
of correspondence; it is absolutely petrifying to one's genius.  When
I am once forced to walk in a path, nothing but the whole out-of-
doors will satisfy me.

I'm very much afraid I haven't amused you, dear, -


But when I lie in the green kirkyard,
With the mould upon my breast,
Say not that 'She did well or ill,'
Only, 'She did her best.'


Now, do you think that will interfere with Bell, when it's only a
quotation?  Any way, it's so appropriate that Uncle Doc will never
have the heart to strike it out.  The trouble is that Geoff thinks
all the poetry in the universe is locked up in Bell's head, and if
she once allows it to escape, Felicia Hemans and the rest will be too
discouraged ever to try again!  (I can't remember whether F. H. is
alive or not, and am afraid to ask, but you will know that I don't
mean to be disrespectful.)

Laura, Anne, and Scott Burton were here for the play, and Laura is
coming down again to spend the week.  I can't abide her, and there
will probably be trouble in the camp.

The flame of my genius blazes high just now, but Geoff has spoken,
and it must be snuffed.  So good-bye!

Sizz-z-z!! and I'm OUT!

POLLIOLIVER.


II.  FROM PHILIP TO ELSIE.


CAMP CHAPARRAL, July 8, 188-.

My dear Elsie,--I believe I am to inform you concerning the daily
doings of our party, not on any account, however, permitting myself
to degenerate into 'gossip' or 'frivolous amusement.'

They evidently consider me a quiet, stupid fellow, who will fulfil
such a task with no special feeling of repression, and I dare say
they are quite right.

They call me the 'solid man' of the camp, which may not be very high
praise, to be sure, as Geoffrey carries his head in the clouds, and
Jack is--well, Jack is Jack!  So, as the light of a tallow dip is
valuable in the absence of sun and moon, I am raised to a fictitious
reputation.

We fellows have had very little play so far, for the furnishing of
the camp has proved an immense undertaking, although we have plenty
of the right sort of wood and excellent tools.

We think the work will pay, however, as Dr. Paul has about decided to
stay until October, or until the first rain.  He writes two or three
hours a day, and thinks that he gets on with his book better here
than at home.  As for the rest of us, when we get fairly to rights we
shall have regular study hours and lose no time in preparing for the
examinations.

I suppose you know that you have a full bedroom set in process of
construction.  I say 'suppose you know,' because it is a profound
secret, and the girls could never have kept it to themselves as long
as this.

The lounging-chair is my allotted portion, and although it is a
complicated bit of work, I accepted it gladly, feeling sure that you
would use it oftener than any of the other pieces of furniture.  I
shall make it so deliciously easy that you will make me 'Knight of
the Chair,' and perhaps permit me to play a sort of devoted John
Brown to your Victoria.  You will need one dull and prosy squire to
arrange your pillows, so that you can laugh at Jack's jokes without
weariness, and doze quietly while Geoff and Uncle Doc are talking
medicine.

Of course the most exciting event of the week was the mysterious
disappearance and subsequent restoration of the Heir-Apparent; but I
feel sure somebody else will describe the event, because it is
uppermost in all our minds.

Bell, for instance, would dress it up in fine style.  She is no
historian, but in poetry and fiction none of us can touch her;
though, by the way, Polly's abilities in that direction are a good
deal underrated.  It's as good as a play to get her after Jack when
he is in one of his teasing moods.  They are like flint and steel,
and if Aunt Truth didn't separate them the sparks would fly.  With a
girl like Polly, you have either to lie awake nights, thinking how
you'll get the better of her, or else put on a demeanour of
gentleness and patience, which serves as a sort of lightning-rod
round which the fire of her fun will play all day and never strike.
Polly is a good deal of a girl.  She seems at first to have a pretty
sharp tongue, but I tell you she has a heart in which there is
swimming-room for everybody.  This may not be 'information' to you,
whom we look upon as our clairvoyant, but it would be news to most
people.

Uncle Doc, Bell, Geoff, Polly, Meg, and I started for the top of Pico
Negro the other morning.  Bell rode Villikins, and Polly took a mule,
because she thought the animal would be especially sure-footed.  He
was; in fact, he was so sure-footed that he didn't care to move at
all, and we had to take turns in beating him up to the top.  We boys
walked for exercise, which we got to our hearts' content.

It is only five or six miles from the old Mountain Mill (a picture of
which Jack will send you), and the ascent is pretty stiff climbing,
though nothing terrific.  We lost the trail once, and floundered
about in the chaparral for half an hour, till Bell began to make a
poem on the occasion, when we became desperate, and dashed through a
thicket of brush, tearing ourselves to bits, but stumbling on the
trail at last.  The view from the top is simply superb.  The valleys
below are all yellow with grain-fields and green with vineyards, with
here and there the roofs of a straggling little settlement.  The
depression in the side of the mountain (you will observe it in the
picture) Polly says has evidently been 'bitten out' by a prehistoric
animal, and it turns out to be the loveliest little canyon
imaginable.

We have had one novel experience--that of seeing a tarantula fight;
and not between two, but five, tarantulas.  We were about twenty
miles from camp, loping along a stretch of hot, dusty road.  Jack got
off to cinch his saddle, and so we all stopped a moment to let our
horses breathe.  As I was looking about, at nothing in particular, I
noticed a black ball in the deep dust at the side of the road.  It
suddenly rolled over on itself and I called to the boys to watch the
fun.  We got off, hitched our horses, and approached cautiously, for
I had seen a battle of the same kind before.  There they were--five
huge, hairy, dirty, black creatures, as large as the palm of Dicky's
hand, all locked in deadly combat.  They writhed and struggled and
embraced, their long, curling legs fastening on each other with a
sound that was actually like the cracking of bones.  It takes a
little courage to stand and watch such a proceeding, for you feel as
if the hideous fellows might turn and jump for you; but they were
doubtless absorbed in their own battle, and we wanted to see the
affair to the end, so we took the risk, if there was any.  At last
they showed signs of weariness, but we prodded them up with our
riding-whips, preferring that they should kill each other, rather
than do the thing ourselves.  Finally, four of them lay in the dust,
doubled up and harmless, slain, I suppose, by their own poison.  One,
the conquering hero, remained, and we dexterously scooped him into a
tomato-can that Jack had tied to his saddle for a drinking-cup,
covered him up with a handkerchief, and drew lots as to who should
carry him home to Dr. Paul.

Knowing that the little beasts were gregarious, we hunted about for a
nest, which we might send to you after ousting its disagreeable
occupant.  After much searching, we found a group of them--quite a
tarantula village, in fact.  Their wonderful little houses are closed
on the outside by a circular, many-webbed mesh, two or three inches
across, and this web betrays the spider's den to the person who knows
the tricks of the trade.  Directly underneath it you come upon the
tiny circular trap-door, which you will notice in the nest we send
with these letters.  You will see how wonderfully it is made, with
its silken weaving inside, and its bits of bark and leaves outside;
and I know you will admire the hinge, which the tarantula must have
invented, and which is as pretty a bit of workmanship as the most
accomplished mechanic could turn out.  We tore away the web and the
door from one of the nests, and then poured water down the hole.  The
spider was at home, came out as fact as his clumsy legs would carry
him, and clutched the end of the stick Jack held out to him.  Then we
tumbled him into the tomato-can just as he appeared to be making for
us.  The two didn't agree at all.  One of them despatched the other
on the way home--the same hero who had killed the other four; but, on
hearing his bloody record, Aunt Truth refused to have him about the
camp; so we gave him an alcohol bath, and you shall see his lordship
when you come.  As Dr. Paul says, they have been known to clear
fourteen feet at a jump, perhaps you will feel happier to know that
he is in alcohol, though their bite is not necessarily fatal if it is
rightly cared for.

The girls have been patronising the landscape by naming every peak,
valley, grove, and stream in the vicinity; and as there is nobody to
object, the names may hold.

We carry about with us a collection of strong, flat stakes, which
have various names painted on them in neat black letters.  Jack likes
that kind of work, and spends most of his time at it; for now that
Dr. Paul has bought a hundred acres up here, we are all greatly
interested in its improvement.

Geoff has named the mountain Pico Negro, as I told you, and the
little canyon on its side is called the Giant's Yawn.  Then we have -

Mirror Pool,
The Lone Stump,
Field of the Cloth-of-Gold,
Cosy Nook,
The Imp's Wash-Bowl,
Dunce-Cap Hill,
The Saint's Rest, and
Il Penseroso Fall (in honour of Dicky, who was nearly drowned there).

If anybody fails to call these localities by their proper names he
has to pay a fine of five cents, which goes towards beautifying the
place.  Dr. Paul has had to pay two fines for Bell, three for Aunt
Truth, and seven for Dicky; so he considers it an ill-judged
arrangement.

Our encampment is supposed to be in the Forest of Arden, and Jack has
begun nailing verses of poetry on the trees, like a second Orlando,
save that they are not love-poems at all, but appropriate quotations
from Wordsworth or Bryant.  And this brings me to our thrilling
rendition of the play 'As You Like It,' last evening; but it is
deserving of more than the passing notice which I can give it here.

One thing, however, I must tell you, as the girls will not write it
of themselves--that, although Bell carried off first honours and
fairly captivated the actors as well as the audience, all three of
them looked bewitching and acted with the greatest spirit, much
better than we fellows did.

Of course we didn't give the entire play, and we had to 'double up'
on some of the characters in the most ridiculous fashion; but the
Burtons helped out wonderfully, Scott playing Oliver, and Laura doing
Audrey.  They were so delighted with the camp that Aunt Truth has
invited them to come again on Saturday and stay a week.

At the risk of being called conceited I will also state that we boys
consider that the stage management was a triumph of inventive art; we
worked like beavers for two days, and the results were marvellous,
'if I do say so as shouldn't.'

Just consider we were 'six miles from a lemon,' as Sydney Smith would
say, and yet we transformed all out of doors, first into an elegant
interior, and then into a conventional stage forest.

A great deal of work is available for other performances, and so we
do not regret it a bit; we propose doing 'As You Like It' again when
you are down here, and meanwhile we give diversified entertainments
which Jack calls variety shows, but which in reality are very chaste
and elegant occasions.

The other night we had a minstrel show, wearing masks of black
cambric, with red mouths painted on them; you should have seen us,
all in a dusky semicircle, seated on boards supported by nail-kegs:
it was a scene better imagined than described.  This is certainly the
ideal way to live in summer-time, and we should be perfectly happy
and content if you could only shake off your troublesome cough and
come to share our pleasure.  We feel incomplete without you; and no
matter how large our party may grow as the summer progresses, there
will always be a vacant niche that none can fill save the dear little
Saint who is always enshrined therein by all her loyal worshippers,
and by none more reverently than her friend,

PHILIP S. NOBLE.


III.  THE KNIGHT OF THE SPECTACLES TAKES THE QUILL.


This paper is writ unto her most Royal Highness, our beloved Gold
Elsie, Queen of our thoughts and Empress of all hearts.

You must know, most noble Lady, that one who is your next of kin and
high in the royal favour has laid upon us a most difficult and
embarrassing task.

In our capacity as Director of the Court Games, we humbly suggested
the subjects for the weekly bulletin which your Highness commanded to
be written; but, alas, with indifferent success; for the Courtiers
growled and the Ladies-in-waiting howled at the topics given them for
consideration.

On soliciting our own subjects from the Privy Councillor and Knight
of the Brush, Lord John Howard, he revengefully ordered me to 'edify'
your Majesty with wise utterances; as if such poor, rude words as
mine could please the ear that should only listen to the singing of
birds, the babbling of brooks, or the silvery tongue of genius!

When may your devoted subjects hope to see their gracious Sovereign
again in their midst?

The court is fast drifting into dangerous informalities of conduct.
The Princess Bell-Pepper partakes of the odoriferous onion at each
noon-day meal, so that a royal salute would be impossible; the hands
of the Countess Paulina look as if you might have chosen one of your
attendants from 'Afric's sunny fountains, or India's coral strand';
and as for the Court Chaplain, Rev. Jack-in-the-Pulpit, he has
woefully forsaken the manners of the 'cloth,' and insists upon
retaining his ancient title of Knight of the Brush; the Duchess of
Sweet Marjoram alone continues circumspect in walk and mien, for
blood will tell, and she is more Noble than the others.

In our capacity of Court Physician we have thrice relieved your
youthful page, Sir Dicky Winship, of indigestion, caused by too
generous indulgence in the flowing bowl--of milk and cherries; we
have also prescribed for his grace the Duke of Noble, whose ducal ear
was poisoned by the insidious oak leaf.

Your private box awaits you in the Princess' Theatre, and your
Majesty's special interpreters of the drama will celebrate your
arrival as gorgeously as it deserves.

The health of our dearly beloved Sovereign engages the constant
thought of all her loyal and adoring subjects; they hope ere long to
cull a wreath of laurel with their own hands and place it on a brow
which needs naught but its golden crown of hair to affirm its queenly
dignity.  And as for crown jewels, has not our Empress of Hearts a
full store?--two dazzling sapphires, her eyes; a string of pearls,
her teeth; her lips two rubies; and when she opens them, diamonds of
wisdom issue therefrom!

Come! and let the sight of thy royal charms gladden the eyes of thy
waiting people!  Issued under the hand of

SIR GEOFFREY STRONG, Bart.,
Court Physician and Knight of the Spectacles.


IV.  MARGERY'S CONTRIBUTION.


COSY NOOK, July 11, 188- .

My own dear Elsie,--Your weekly chronicle is almost ready for
Monday's stage, and I am allowed to come in at the close with as many
pages of 'gossip' as I choose; which means that I may run on to my
heart's content and tell you all the little things that happen in the
chinks between the great ones, for Uncle Doc has refused to read this
part of the letter.

First for some commissions:  Aunt Truth asks if your mother will
kindly select goods and engage Mrs. Perkins to make us each a couple
of Scotch gingham dresses.  She has our measures, and we wish them
simple, full-skirted gowns, like the last; everybody thinks them so
pretty and becoming.  Bell's two must be buff and pink, Polly's grey
and green, and mine blue and brown.  We find that we haven't clothes
enough for a three months' stay; and the out-of-door life is so hard
upon our 'forest suits' that we have asked Mrs. Perkins to send us
new ones as soon as possible.

We have had a very busy and exciting week since Polly began this
letter, for there have been various interruptions and an unusual
number of visitors.

First, there was our mountain climb to the top of Pico Negro; Phil
says he has written you about that, but I hardly believe he mentioned
that he and the other boys worried us sadly by hanging on to the
tails of our horses as they climbed up the steepest places.  To be
sure they were so awfully tired that I couldn't help pitying them;
but Uncle Doc had tried to persuade them not to walk, so that it was
their own fault after all.  You cannot imagine what a dreadful
feeling it gives one to be climbing a slippery, rocky path, and know
that a great heavy boy is pulling your horse backwards by the tail.
Polly insisted that she heard her mule's tail break loose from its
moorings, and on measuring it when she got back to camp she found it
three inches longer than usual.

The mule acted like original sin all day, and Polly was so completely
worn-out that she went to bed at five o'clock; Jack was a good deal
the worse for wear too, so that they got on beautifully all day.  It
is queer that they irritate each other so, for I am sure that there
is no lack of real friendship between them; but Jack is a confirmed
tease, and he seems to keep all his mischief bottled up for especial
use with Polly.  I have tried to keep him out of trouble, as you
asked me; and although it gives me plenty to do, I am succeeding
tolerably well, except in his dealings with Polly.  I lecture him
continually, but 'every time he opens his mouth he puts his foot in
it.'

Polly was under a cloud the first of the week.  Villikins was sick,
and Dr. Winship sent her to Aunt Truth for a bottle of sweet oil.
Aunt Truth was not in sight, so Polly went to the box of stores and
emptied a whole quart bottle of salad oil into a pail, and Villikins
had to take it, WHEEL OR WHOA (Jack's joke!).  Auntie went to make
the salad dressing at dinner-time, and discovered her loss and
Polly's mistake.  It was the last bottle; and as we can't get any
more for a week, the situation was serious, and she was very much
tried.  Poor Polly had a good cry over her carelessness, and came to
the dinner-table in a very sensitive frame of mind.  Then what should
Jack do but tell Dicky to take Villikins a head of lettuce for his
supper, and ask Polly why she didn't change his name from Villikins
to Salad-in!  Polly burst into tears, and left the table, while Dr.
Paul gave Jack a scolding, which I really think he deserved, though
it was a good joke.  The next morning, the young gentleman put on a
pair of old white cotton gloves and his best hat, gathered her a
bouquet of wild flowers, and made her a handsome apology before the
whole party; so she forgave him, and they are friends--until the next
quarrel.

On the night before the play, Laura and Scott Burton arrived on
horseback, and the next morning the rest of the family appeared on
the scene.  We had sent over to see if Laura would play Audrey on so
short notice, and bring over some odds and ends for costumes.  We
actually had an audience of sixteen persons, and we had no idea of
playing before anybody but Aunt Truth and Dicky.

There were three of the Burtons, Pancho, Hop Yet, the people from the
dairy farm, and a university professor from Berkeley, with eight
students.  They were on a walking tour, and were just camping for the
night when Scott and Jack met them, and invited them over to the
performance.  Geoffrey and Phil were acquainted with three of them,
and Uncle Paul knew the professor.

Laura, Anne, and Scott went home the next morning, but came back in
two days for their week's visit.  The boys like Scott very much; he
falls right into the camp ways, and doesn't disturb the even current
of our life; and Anne, who is a sweet little girl of twelve, has
quite taken Dicky under her wing, much to our relief.

With Laura's advent, however, a change came over the spirit of our
dreams, and, to tell the truth, we are not over and above pleased
with it.  By the way, she spent last summer at the hotel, and you
must have seen her, did you not?  Anyway, Mrs. Burton and Aunt Truth
were old school friends, and Bell has known Laura for two years, but
they will never follow in their mothers' footsteps.  Laura is so
different from her mother that I should never think they were
relations; and she has managed to change all our arrangements in some
mysterious way which we can't understand.  I get on very well with
her; she positively showers favours upon me, and I more than half
suspect it is because she thinks I don't amount to much.  As for the
others, she rubs Polly the wrong way, and I believe she is a little
bit jealous of Bell.

You see, she is several months older than the rest of us, and has
spent two winters in San Francisco, where she went out a great deal
to parties and theatres, so that her ideas are entirely different
from ours.

She wants every single bit of attention--one boy to help her over the
brooks, one to cut walking-sticks for her, another to peel her
oranges, and another to read Spanish with her, and so on.  Now, you
know very well that she will never get all this so long as Bell
Winship is in camp, for the boys think that Bell drags up the sun
when she's ready for him in the morning, and pushes him down at night
when she happens to feel sleepy.

We, who have known Bell always, cannot realise that any one can help
loving her, but there is something in Laura which makes it impossible
for her to see the right side of people.  She told me this morning
that she thought Bell had grown so vain and airy and self-conscious
that it was painful to see her.  I could not help being hurt; for you
know what Bell is--brimful of nonsense and sparkle and bright
speeches, but just as open as the day and as warm as the sunshine.
If she could have been spoiled, we should have turned her head long
ago; but she hasn't a bit of silly vanity, and I never met any one
before who didn't see the pretty charm of her brightness and
goodness--did you?

And yet, somehow, Laura sticks needles into her every time she
speaks.  She feels them, too, but it only makes her quiet, for she is
too proud and sensitive to resent it.  I can see that she is
different in her ways, as if she felt she was being criticised.
Polly is quite the reverse.  If anybody hurts her feelings she makes
creation scream, and I admire her courage.

Aunt Truth doesn't know anything about all this, for Laura is a
different girl when she is with her or Dr. Paul; not that she is
deceitful, but that she is honestly anxious for their good opinion.
You remember Aunt Truth's hobby that we should never defend ourselves
by attacking any one else, and none of us would ever complain, if we
were hung, drawn, and quartered.

Laura was miffed at having to play Audrey, but we didn't know that
she could come until the last moment, and we were going to leave that
part out.

'I don't believe you appreciate my generosity in taking this
thankless part,' she said to Bell, when we were rehearsing.  'Nobody
would ever catch you playing second fiddle, my dear.  All leading
parts reserved for Miss Winship, by order of the authors, I suppose.'

'Indeed, Laura,' Bell said, 'if we had known you were coming we would
have offered you the best part, but I only took Rosalind because I
knew the lines, and the girls insisted.'

'You've trained the girls well--hasn't she, Geoffrey?' asked Laura,
with a queer kind of laugh.

But I will leave the unpleasant subject.  I should not have spoken of
it at all except that she has made me so uncomfortable to-day that it
is fresh in my mind.  Bell and Polly and I have talked the matter all
over, and are going to try and make her like us, whether she wants to
or not.  We have agreed to be just as polite and generous as we
possibly can, and see if she won't 'come round,' for she is perfectly
delighted with the camp, and wants to stay a month.

Polly says she is going to sing 'Home Sweet Home' to her every night,
and drop double doses of the homoeopathic cure for home-sickness into
her tea, with a view of creating the disease.

Good-bye, and a hundred kisses from your loving

MARGERY DAW.


V.  THE CAMP POETESS ADDS HER STORE OF MENTAL RICHES TO THE GENERAL
FUND.


My darling,--I have a thousand things to tell you, but I cannot
possibly say them in rhyme, merely because the committee insists upon
it.  I send you herewith all the poetry which has been written in
camp since last Monday, and it has been a very prosy week.

I have given them to papa, and he says that the best of my own, which
are all bad enough, is the following hammock-song.

I thought it out while I was swinging Margery, and here it is! -


To--fro,
Dreamily, slow,
Under the trees;
Swing--swing,
Drowsily sing
The birds and the bees;
Sleep--rest,
Slumber is best,
Wakefulness sad;
Rest--sleep,
Forget how to weep,
Dream and be glad!


Papa says it is all nonsense to say that slumber is best and
wakefulness sad; and that it is possible to tell the truth in poetry.
Perhaps it is, but why don't they do it oftener, then?  And how was
he to know that Polly and Jack had just gone through a terrible
battle of words in which I was peacemaker, and that Dicky had been as
naughty as--Nero--all day?  These two circumstances made me look at
the world through blue glasses, and that is always the time one longs
to write poetry.

I send you also Geoff's verses, written to mamma, and slipped into
the box when we were playing Machine Poetry:-


I know a woman fair and calm,
   Whose shining tender eyes
Make, when I meet their earnest gaze,
   Sweet thoughts within me rise.

And if all silver were her hair,
   Or faded were her face,
She would not look to me less fair,
   Nor lack a single grace.

And if I were a little child,
   With childhood's timid trust,
I think my heart would fly to her,
   And love--because it must!

And if I were an earnest man,
   With empty heart and life,
I think--(but I might change my mind) -
   She'd be my chosen wife!


Isn't that pretty?  Oh, Elsie!  I hope I shall grow old as
beautifully as mamma does, so that people can write poetry to me if
they feel like it!  Here is Jack's, for Polly's birthday; he says he
got the idea from a real poem which is just as silly as his:-


A pollywog from a wayside brook
   Is a goodly gift for thee;
But a milk-white steed, or a venison sheep,
   Will do very well for me.

For you a quivering asphodel
   (Two ducks and a good fat hen),
For me a withering hollyhock
   (For seven and three are ten!).

Rose-red locks and a pug for thee
   (The falling dew is chill),
A dove, a rope, and a rose for me
   (Oh, passionate, pale-blue pill!).

For you a greenery, yallery gown
   (Hath one tomb room for four?),
Dig me a narrow gravelet here
   (Oh, red is the stain of gore!!).


I told Jack I thought it extremely unhitched, but he says that's the
chief beauty of the imitation.

I give you also some verses intended for Polly's birthday, which we
shall celebrate, when the day arrives, by a grand dinner.

You remember how we tease her about her love for tea, which she
cannot conceal, but which she is ashamed of all the same.

Well!  I have printed the poem on a card, and on the other side
Margery has drawn the picture of a cross old maid, surrounded by
seven cats, all frying to get a drink out of her tea-cup.  Then Geoff
is going to get a live cat from the milk ranch near here, and box it
up for me to give to her when she receives her presents at the
dinner-table.  Won't it be fun?


OWED TO POLLY
BECAUSE OF HER BIRTHDAY.


She camps among the untrodden ways
   Forninst the 'Mountain Mill';
A maid whom there are few to praise
   And few to wish her ill.

She lives unknown, and few could know
   What Pauline is to me;
As dear a joy as are to her
   Her frequent cups of tea.

A birthday this dear creature had,
   Full many a year ago;
She says she is but just fifteen,
   Of course she ought to know.

But still this gift I bring to her,
   Appropriate to her age,
Regardless of her stifled scorn,
   Or well conceal-ed rage!

She smiles upon these tender lines,
   As you all plainly see,
But when she meets me all alone,
   How different it will be!


Now comes Geoff's, to be given with a pretty little inkstand:-


There was a young maiden whose thought
Was so airy it couldn't be caught;
   So what do you think?
   We gave her some ink,
And captured her light-winged thought.


Here is Jack's last on Polly:-


There's a pert little poppet called Polly,
Who frequently falls into folly!
   She's a terrible tongue
   For a 'creetur' so young,
But if she were dumb she'd be jolly!


I helped Polly with a reply, and we delivered it five minutes later:-


I'd rather be deaf, Master Jack,
For if only one sense I must lack,
   To be rid of your voice
   I should always rejoice,
Nor mourn if it never came back!


And now good-night and good-bye until I am allowed to write you my
own particular kind of letter.

The girls and boys are singing round the camp-fire, and I must go out
and join them in one song before we go to bed.

Yours with love, now and always,
BELL.

P. S--Our 'Happy Hexagon' has become a sort of 'Obstreperous
Octagon.'  Laura and Scott Burton are staying with us.  Scott is a
good deal of a bookworm, and uses very long words; his favourite name
for me at present is Calliope; I thought it was a sort of steam-
whistle, but Margery thinks it was some one who was connected with
poetry.  We don't dare ask the boys; will you find out?


VI.

CAMP CHAPARRAL, July 13, 188-.
STUDIO RAPHAEL.

Dear Little Sis,--The enclosed sketches speak for themselves, or at
least I hope they do.  Keep them in your private portfolio, and when
I am famous you can produce them to show the public at what an early
age my genius began to sprout.

At first I thought I'd make them real 'William Henry' pictures, but
concluded to give you a variety.

Can't stop to write another line; and if you missed your regular
letter this week you must not growl, for the sketches took an awful
lot of time, and I'm just rushed to death here anyway.

Love to mother and father.
Your loving brother.  JACK

P.S.--Polly says you need not expect to recognise that deer by his
portrait, should you ever meet him, as no one could expect to get a
STRIKING likeness at a distance of a half-mile.  But, honestly, we
have been closer than that to several deer.



CHAPTER V:  THE FOREST OF ARDEN--GOOD NEWS



'From the East to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind;
Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind;
All the pictures, fairest lined,
Are but black to Rosalind;
Let no face be kept in mind,
But the fair of Rosalind.'


The grand performance of 'As You Like It' must have a more extended
notice than it has yet received, inasmuch as its double was never
seen on any stage.

The reason of this somewhat ambitious selection lay in the fact that
our young people had studied it in Dr. Winship's Shakespeare class
the preceding winter, but they were actually dumb with astonishment
when Bell proposed it for the opening performance in the new theatre.

'I tell you,' she argued, 'there are not many pieces which would be
effective when played out of doors by dim candle-light, but this will
be just as romantic and lovely as can be.  You see it can be played
just "as you like it."'

Philip and Aunt Truth wanted a matinee performance, but the girls
resisted this plan very strongly, feeling that the garish light of
day would be bad for the makeshift costumes, and would be likely to
rob them of what little courage they possessed.

'We give the decoration of the theatre entirely into your hands,
boys,' Polly had said on the day before the performance.  'You have
some of the hardest work done already, and can just devote yourselves
to the ornamental part; but don't expect any more ideas from us, for
you will certainly be disappointed.'

'I should think not, indeed!' cried Bell, energetically.  'Here we
have the wall decorations for the first scene, and all the costumes
besides; and the trouble is, that three or four of them will have to
be made to-morrow, after Laura comes with the trappings of war.  I
hope she will get here for dinner to-night; then we can decide on our
finery, and have a rough rehearsal.'

'Well, girls!' shouted Jack, from the theatre, 'come and have one
consultation, and then we'll let you off.  Phil wants to change the
location altogether.'

'Oh, nonsense!' cried Madge, as the three girls ran towards the scene
of action.  'It's the only suitable place within a mile of the camp.'

'I think it will be simply perfect, when you have done a little more
cutting,' said Bell.  'Just see our advantages:  First, we have that
rising knoll opposite the stage, which is exactly the thing for
audience seats; then we have a semicircular background of trees and a
flat place for the stage, which is perfectly invaluable; last of all,
just gaze upon that madrono-tree in the centre, and the oak on the
left; why, they are worth a thousand dollars for scenery.'

'Especially in the first scene--ducal interior, or whatever it is,'
said Phil, disconsolately.

'Jingo! that is a little embarrassing,' groaned Jack.

'Not at all,' said Polly, briskly.  'There is plenty of room to set
the interior in front of those trees.  It can be all fixed
beforehand, and just whisked away for good at the end of the first
act.'

'That's true,' said Geoff, thoughtfully.  'But we can't have any
Adam's cottage.  We talked it over last night, and decided it
"couldn't be did."'

'Did you indeed!' exclaimed Bell, sarcastically.  'Then allow me to
remark that you three boys represent a very obtuse triangle.'

'Thanks, most acid Rosalind!' murmured Geoff, meekly.  'Could you
deign, as spokesman of the very acute triangle, to suggest
something?'

'Certainly.  There is the rear of the brush kitchen in plain sight,
to convey the idea of a rustic hut.  To be sure, it's a good distance
to the left, but let the audience screw round in their seats when
they hear the voices, and Adam, Oliver, and Orlando can walk out
carelessly, and go through their scene right there.'

'Admirable!' quoth Geoff.  'We bow to your superior judgment.'

'What an inspiration that was to bring those Chinese lanterns for the
Fourth of July; they have just saved us from utter ruin,' said
Margery, who was quietly making leaf-trimming.

'Yes, the effect is going to be perfectly gorgeous!' exclaimed Polly,
clasping her hands in anticipation.  'How many have we?  Ten?  Oh,
that's splendid; and how many candles?'

'As many as we care to use,' Phil answered, from the top of the
ladder where he was at work.  'And look at my arrangement for holding
them to these trees.  Aren't they immense?'

'By the way,' said Bell, 'don't forget the mossy banks under those
trees, for stage seats; and make me some kind of a thing on the left
side, to swoon on when I sniff Orlando's gory handkerchief.'

'A couple of rocks,' suggested Jack.

'Not exactly,' replied the critical Rosalind, with great dignity.  'I
am black and blue already from practising my faint, and I expect to
shriek with pain when I fall to-morrow night.'

'St. Jacob's Oil relieves stiffened joints, smooths the wrinkles from
the brow of care, soothes lacerated feelings, and 'ushes the 'owl of
hinfancy,' remarked Geoffrey serenely, as he prepared to build the
required mossy banks.

'My dear cousin (there are times when I am glad it is only second
cousin), have you a secret contract to advertise a vulgar patent
medicine? or why this eloquence?' laughed Bell.

'And, Jack,' suggested Polly, 'you don't seem to be doing anything;
fix a stump for me to sit on while Orlando and Rosalind are making
love.'

'All right, countess.  I'd like to see you stumped once in my life.
Shall we have the canvases brought for stage carpets?'

'We say no,' cried Rosalind, firmly.  'We shall be a thousand times
more awkward stumbling over stiff billows of carpet.  Let's sweep the
ground as clean and smooth as possible, and let it go for all the
scenes.'

'Yes, we shall then be well GROUNDED in our parts,' remarked Phil,
hiding his head behind a bunch of candles.

'Take care, young man,' laughed Polly, 'or you may be "run to earth"
instead.'

'Or be requested by the audience to get up and dust,' cried the
irrepressible Jack, whose wit was very apt to be of a slangy
character.  'Now let us settle the interior, or I shall go mad.'

'Bell and I have it all settled,' said Geoffrey, promptly.  'The
background is to be made of three sheets hung over a line, and the
two sides will be formed of canvas carpets; the walls will have
Japanese fans, parasols, and--'

'Jupiter!' exclaimed Jack, who, as knight of the brush, felt
compelled to be artistic.  'Imagine a ducal palace, in the year so
many hundred and something, decorated with Japanese bric-a-brac!  I
blush for you.'

'Now, Jack, we might as well drop the whole play as begin to think of
the 'nakkeronisms,' or whatever the word is.  I have got to wear an
old white wrapper to the wrestling-match, but I don't complain,' said
Polly.

Just here Bell ran back from the kitchen, exclaiming:

'I have secured Pancho for Charles the Wrestler.  Oh, he was
fearfully obstinate! but when I told him he would only be on the
stage two minutes, and would not have to speak a word, but just let
Geoff throw him, he consented.  Isn't that good?  Did you decide
about the decorations?'

'It will have to be just as we suggested,' answered Margery.  'Fans,
parasols, flowers, and leaves, with the madrono-wood furniture
scattered about, sheep-skins, etc.'

'A few venison rugs, I presume you mean,' said Geoffrey, slyly.
'Say, Polly, omit the cold cream for once, will you?  You don't want
to outshine everybody.'

'Thank you,' she replied.  'I will endeavour to take care of my own
complexion, if you will allow me.  As for yours, you look more like
Othello than Orlando.'

'Come, come, girls,' said industrious Margery, 'let us go to the tent
and sew.  It is nothing but nonsense here, and we are not
accomplishing anything.'

So they wisely left the boys to themselves for the entire day, and
transformed their tent into a mammoth dressmaking establishment, with
clever Aunt Truth as chief designer.


The intervening hours had slipped quickly away, and now the fatal
moment had arrived, and everything was ready for the play.

The would-be actresses were a trifle excited when the Professor and
his eight students were brought up and introduced by Jack and Scott
Burton; and, as if that were not enough, who should drive up at the
last moment but the family from the neighbouring milk ranch, and beg
to be allowed the pleasure of witnessing the performance.  Mr.
Sandford was the gentleman who had sold Dr. Winship his land, and so
they were cordially invited to remain.

All the cushions and shawls belonging to the camp were arranged
carefully on the knoll, for audience seats; it was a brilliant
moonlight night, and the stage assumed a very festive appearance with
its four pounds of candles and twelve Chinese lanterns.

Meanwhile the actors were dressing in their respective tents.  Bell's
first dress was a long pink muslin wrapper of Mrs. Burton's, which
had been belted in and artistically pasted over with bouquets from
the cretonne trunk covers, in imitation of flowered satin; under this
she wore a short blue lawn skirt of her own, catching up the pink
muslin on the left side with a bouquet of wild roses, and producing
what she called a 'positively Neilson effect.'

Her bright hair was tossed up into a fluffy knot on the top of her
head; and with a flat coronet of wild roses and another great bunch
at her belt, one might have gone far and not have found a prettier
Rosalind.

'I declare, you are just too lovely--isn't she, Laura?' asked
Margery.

'Yes, she looks quite well,' answered Laura, abstractedly, being much
occupied in making herself absurdly beautiful as Audrey.  'Of course
the dress fits horridly, but perhaps it won't show in the dim light.'

'Oh, is it very bad?' sighed Bell, plaintively; 'I can't see it in
this glass.  Well, the next one fits better, and I have to wear that
the longest.  Shall I do your hair, Laura?'

'No--thanks; Margery has such a capital knack at hair-dressing, and
she doesn't come on yet.'

During this conversation Polly was struggling with Aunt Truth's
trained white wrapper.  It was rather difficult to make it look like
a court dress; but she looked as fresh and radiant as a rose in it,
for the candle-light obliterated every freckle, and one could see
nothing but a pair of dancing eyes, the pinkest of cheeks, and a head
running over with curls of ruddy gold.

'Now, Bell, criticise me!' she cried, taking a position in the middle
of the tent, and turning round like a wax figure.  'I have torn out
my hair by the roots to give it a "done up" look, and have I
succeeded? and shall I wear any flowers with this lace surplice? and
what on earth shall I do with my hands? they're so black they will
cast a gloom over the stage.  Perhaps I can wrap my handkerchief
carelessly round one, and I'll keep the other round your waist,
considerable, tucked under your Watteau pleat.  Will I do?'

'Do?  I should think so!' and Bell eyed her with manifest approval.
'Your hair is very nice, and your neck looks lovely with that lace
handkerchief.  As for flowers, why don't you wear a great mass of
yellow and white daisies?  You'll be as gorgeous as--'

'As a sunset by Turner,' said Laura, with a glance at Polly's auburn
locks.  'Seems to me this is a mutual admiration society, isn't it?'
and she sank languidly into a chair to have her hair dressed.

'Yes, it is,' cried Polly, boldly; 'and it's going to "continner."
Meg, you're a darling in that blue print and pretty hat.  I'll fill
my fern-basket with flowers, and you can take it, as to have
something in your hand to play with.  You look nicer than any Phoebe
I ever saw, that's a fact.  And now, hurrah! we're all ready, and
there's the boys' bell, so let us assemble out in the kitchen.  Oh
dear!  I believe I'm frightened, in spite of every promise to the
contrary.'

When the young people saw each other for the first time in their
stage costumes there was a good deal of merriment and some honest
admiration.  Geoff looked very odd without his eyeglasses and with
the yellow wig that was the one property belonging to this star
dramatic organisation.

The girls had not succeeded in producing a great effect with the
masculine costumes, because of insufficient material.  But the boys
had determined not to wear their ordinary clothes, no matter what
happened; so Jack had donned one of Hop Yet's blue blouses for his
Sylvius dress, and had ready a plaid shawl to throw gracefully over
one shoulder whenever he changed to the Banished Duke.

His Sylvius attire was open to criticism, but no one could fail to
admire his appearance as the Duke, on account of a magnificent ducal
head-gear, from which soared a bunch of tall peacock feathers.

'Oh, Jack, what a head-dress for a Duke!' laughed Margery; 'no wonder
they banished you.  Did you offend the court hatter?'

Phil said that at all events nobody could mistake him for anything
but a fool, in his 'Touchstone' costume, and so he was jest-er going
to be contented.

Scott Burton was arranging Pancho's toilette for the wrestling-match,
and meanwhile trying to raise his drooping spirits; and Rosalind was
vainly endeavouring to make Adam's beard of grey moss stay on.

While these antics were going on behind the scenes, the audience was
seated on the knoll, making merry over the written programmes, which
had been a surprise of Geoff's, and read as follows:-


THE PRINCESS' THEATRE.
July 10th, 188-.

APPEARANCE THE GREATEST DRAMATIC COMPANY ON EARTH (FACT).
THE COOLEST THEATRE IN THE WORLD.

A Royal Galaxy and Boyaxy of Artists in the play of
AS YOU LIKE IT,
By William Shakespeare, or Lord Bacon.

CAST.

'Alas! unmindful of their doom, the little victims play;
No sense have they of ills to come, or cares beyond to-day.'

ROSALIND             The Lady Bell-Pepper.
                     (Her greatest creation.)
CELIA                The Countess Paulina.
PHOEBE               The Duchess of Sweet Marjoram.
AUDREY               A talented Incognita of the Court.
ORLANDO              Hennery Irving Salvini Strong.
                     (Late from the Blank Theatre, Oil City.)
ADAM                 Dr. Paul Winship.
                     (By kind permission of his manager,
                     Mrs. T. W.)
BANISHED DUKE }
SYLVIUS       }      Lord John Howard } Lightning
TOUCHSTONE }                          } Change Artists.
JACQUE     }         Duke of Noble    }
               (N.B.--The Duke of Noble has played
                       the 'fool' five million times.)
OLIVER               Mr. Scott Burton.
                     (Specially engaged.)
CHARLES THE WRESTLER Pancho Muldoon Sullivan.
                     (His first appearance.)

The Comb Orchestra will play the Music of the Future.

The Usher will pass pop-corn between the Acts.  Beds may be ordered
at 10.30.


The scene between Adam and Orlando went off with good effect; and
when Celia and Rosalind came through the trees in an affectionate
attitude, and Celia's blithe voice broke the stillness with, 'I pray
thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry,' there was a hearty burst of
applause which almost frightened them into silence.

At the end of the first act everybody was delighted; the stage-
manager, carpenter, scene-shifter, costumier, and all the stars were
called successively before the curtain.

Hop Yet declared it was 'all the same good as China theatre'; and
every one agreed to that criticism without a dissenting voice.

To be sure, there was an utter absence of stage-management, and all
the 'traditions' were remarkable for their absence; but I fancy that
the spirits of Siddons and Kemble, Macready and Garrick, looked down
with kind approval upon these earnest young actors as they recited
the matchless old words, moving to and fro in the quaint setting of
trees and moonlight, with an orchestra of cooing doves and murmuring
zephyrs.

The forest scenes were intended to be the features of the evening,
and in these the young people fairly surpassed themselves.  Any one
who had seen Neilson in her doublet and hose of silver-grey, Modjeska
in her shades of blue, and Ada Cavendish in her lovely suit of green,
might have thought Bell's patched-up dress a sorry mixture; yet these
three brilliant stars in the theatrical firmament might have envied
this little Rosalind the dewy youth and freshness that so triumphed
over all deficiencies of costume.

Margery's camping-dress of grey, shortened to the knee, served for
its basis.  Round the skirt and belt and sleeves were broad bands of
laurel-leaf trimming.  She wore a pair of Margery's long grey
stockings and Laura's dainty bronze Newport ties.  A soft grey chudda
shawl of Aunt Truth's was folded into a mantle to swing from the
shoulder, its fringes being caught up out of sight, and a laurel-leaf
trimming added.  On her bright wavy hair was perched a cunning flat
cap of leaves, and, as she entered with Polly, leaning on her
manzanita staff, and sighing, 'Oh Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!'
one could not wish a lovelier stage picture.

And so the play went on, with varying fortunes.  Margery was
frightened to death, and persisted in taking Touchstone's speeches
right out of his mouth, much to his discomfiture.  Adam's beard
refused to stay on; so did the moustache of the Banished Duke, and
the clothes of Sylvius.  But nothing could damp the dramatic fire of
the players, nor destroy the enthusiasm of the sympathetic audience.

Dicky sat in the dress-circle, wrapped in blankets, and laughed
himself nearly into convulsions over Touchstone's jokes, and the
stage business of the Banished Duke; for it is unnecessary to state
that Jack was not strictly Shakespearean in his treatment of the
part.

As for Polly, she enjoyed being Celia with all her might, and
declared her intention of going immediately on the 'regular' stage;
but Jack somewhat destroyed her hopes by affirming that her nose and
hair wouldn't be just the thing on the metropolitan boards, although
they might pass muster in a backwoods theatre.


'Hello!  What's this?' exclaimed Philip, one morning.  'A visitor?
Yes--no!  Why, it's Senor Don Manuel Felipe Hilario Noriega coming up
the canyon!  He's got a loaded team, too!  I wonder if Uncle Doc is
expecting anything.'

The swarthy gentleman with the long name emerged from one cloud of
dust and disappeared in another, until he neared the gate where
Philip and Polly were standing.

Philip opened the gate, and received a bow of thanks which would have
made Manuel's reputation at a Spanish court.

'Going up to camp?'

'Si, senor.'

'Those things for us?'

'Si, senor.'

'What are they?'

'Si, senor.'

'Exactly!  Well, are there any letters?'

'Si, senor.'  Whereupon he drew one from his gorgeously-decorated
leather belt.

Philip reached for it, and Polly leaned over his shoulder, devoured
with curiosity.

'It's for Aunt Truth,' she said; 'and--yes, I am sure it is Mrs.
Howard's writing; and if it is--'

Hereupon, as Manuel spoke no English, and neither Philip nor Polly
could make inquiries in Spanish, Polly darted to the cart in her
usual meteoric style, put one foot on the hub of a wheel and climbed
to the top like a squirrel, snatched off a corner of the canvas
cover, and cried triumphantly, 'I knew it!  Elsie is coming!  Here's
a tent, and some mattresses and pillows.  Hurry!  Help me down,
quick!  Oh, slow-coach!  Keep out of the way and I'll jump!  Give me
the letter.  I can run faster than you can.'  And before the vestige
of an idea had penetrated Philip's head, nothing could be seen of
Polly but a pair of twinkling heels and the gleam of a curly head
that caught every ray of the sun and turned it into ruddier gold.

It was a dusty, rocky path, and up-hill at that; but Polly, who was
nothing if not ardent, never slackened her pace, but dashed along
until she came in sight of the camp, where she expended her last
breath in one shrill shriek for Aunt Truth.

It was responded to promptly.  Indeed, it was the sort of shriek that
always commands instantaneous attention; and Aunt Truth came out of
her tent prepared to receive tragic news.  Bell followed; and the
entire family would have done the same had they been in camp.

Polly thrust the letter into Mrs. Winship's hand, and sank down
exhausted, exclaiming, breathlessly, 'There's a mattress--and a tent-
-coming up the canyon.  It's Elsie's, I know.  Philip is down at the
gate--with the cart--but I came ahead.  Phew! but it's warm!'

'What!' cried Bell, joyfully.  'Elsie at the gate!  It can't be
true!'  And she darted like an arrow through the trees.

'Come back! come back!' screamed Polly.

'Elsie is not at the gate.  Don S. D. M. F. H. N. is there with a
team loaded down with things.  Isn't it from Mrs. Howard, Aunt
Truth?'

'Yes, it is.  Written this morning from Tacitas Rancho.  Why, how is
this?  Let me see!'


TACITAS RANCHO, Monday morning.

Dear Truth,--You will be surprised to receive a letter from me,
written from Tacitas.  But here we are, Elsie and I; and, what is
better, we are on our way to you.

('I knew it!' exclaimed the girls.)

Elsie has been growing steadily better for three weeks.  The fever
seems to have disappeared entirely, and the troublesome cough is so
much lessened that she sleeps all night without waking.  The doctor
says that the camp-life will be the very best thing for her now, and
will probably complete her recovery.

('Oh, joy, joy!' cried the girls.)

I need not say how gladly we followed this special prescription of
our kind doctor's, nor add that we started at once.

('Oh, Aunt Truth, there is nobody within a mile of the camp; can't I,
PLEASE can't I turn one little hand-spring, just one little lady-like
one?' pleaded Polly, dancing on one foot and chewing her sun-bonnet
string.

'No, dear, you can't!  Keep quiet and let me read.')

Elsie would not let me tell you our plans any sooner, lest the old
story of a sudden ill turn would keep us at home; and I think very
likely that she longed to give the dear boys and girls a surprise.

We arrived at the Burtons' yesterday.  Elsie bore the journey
exceedingly well, but I would not take any risks, and so we shall not
drive over until day after to-morrow morning.

('You needn't have hurried quite so fast, Polly dear.')

I venture to send the tent and its belongings ahead to-day, so that
Jack may get everything to rights before we arrive.

The mattress is just the size the girls ordered; and of course I've
told Elsie nothing about the proposed furnishing of her tent.

I am bringing my little China boy with me, for I happen to think
that, with the Burtons, we shall be fourteen at table.  Gin is not
quite a success as a cook, but he can at least wash dishes, wait at
table, and help Hop Yet in various ways; while I shall be only too
glad to share all your housekeeping cares, if you have not escaped
them even in the wilderness.

I shall be so glad to see you again; and oh, Truth, I am so happy, so
happy, that, please God, I can keep my child after all!  The weary
burden of dread is lifted off my heart, and I feel young again.  Just
think of it!  My Elsie will be well and strong once more!  It seems
too good to be true.

Always your attached friend,
JANET HOWARD.


Mrs. Winship's voice quivered as she read the last few words, and
Polly and Bell threw themselves into each other's arms and cried for
sheer gladness.

'Come, come, dears!  I suppose you will make grand preparations, and
there is no time to lose.  One of you must find somebody to help
Philip unload the team.  Papa and the boys have gone fishing, and
Laura and Margery went with them, I think.'  And Mrs. Winship bustled
about, literally on hospitable thoughts in-tent.

Polly tied on her sun-bonnet with determination, turned up her
sleeves as if washing were the thing to be done, and placed her arms
akimbo.

'First and foremost,' said she, her eyes sparkling with excitement,
'first and foremost, I am going to blow the horn.'

'Certainly not,' said Aunt Truth.  'Are you crazy, Polly?  It is
scarcely ten o'clock, and everybody would think it was dinnertime,
and come home at once.'

'No, they'd think something had happened to Dicky,' said Bell, 'and
that would bring them in still sooner.'

'Of course!  I forgot.  But can't I blow it earlier than usual?
Can't I blow it at half-past eleven instead of twelve?  We can't do a
thing without the boys, and they may not come home until midnight
unless we do something desperate.  Oh, delight!  There's Don S. D. M.
F. H. N., and Phil has found Pancho to help unload.'

'Isn't it lucky that we decided on the place for Elsie's tent, and
saved it in case she should ever come?' said Bell.  'Now Philip and
Pancho can set it up whenever they choose.  And isn't it fortunate
that we three stayed at home to-day, and refused to fish? now we can
plan everything, and then all work together when they come back.'

Meanwhile Polly was tugging at an immense bundle, literally tooth and
nail, as she alternated trembling clutches of the fingers with
frantic bites at the offending knot.

Like many of her performances, the physical strength expended was out
of all proportion to the result produced, and one stroke of Philip's
knife accomplished more than all her ill-directed effort.  At length
the bundle of awning cloth stood revealed.  'Oh, isn't it beautiful?'
she cried, 'it will be the very prettiest tent in camp; can't I blow
the horn?'

'Look, mamma,' exclaimed Bell, 'it is green and grey, in those pretty
broken stripes, and the edge is cut in lovely scollops and bound with
green braid.  Won't it look pretty among the trees?'

Aunt Truth came out to join the admiring group.

'O-o-o-h!' screamed Polly.  'There comes a piece of the floor.
They've sent it all made, in three pieces.  What fun!  We'll have it
all up and ready to sleep in before we blow the horn!'

'And here's a roll of straw matting,' said Phil, depositing a huge
bundle on the ground near the girls.  'I'll cut the rope to save your
teeth!'

'Green and white plaid!' exclaimed Bell.  'Well!  Mrs. Howard did
have her wits about her!'

'Oh, do let me blow the horn!' teased the irrepressible Polly.

'Here are a looking-glass and a towel-rack and a Shaker rocking-
chair,' called Philip; 'guess they're going to stay the rest of the
summer.'

'Yes, of course they wouldn't want a looking-glass if they were only
going to stay a month or two,' laughed Bell.

'Dear Aunt Truth, if you won't let me turn a single decorous little
hand-spring, or blow the horn, or do anything nice, will you let us
use all that new white mosquito-netting?  Bell says that it has been
in the storehouse for two years, and it would be just the thing for
decorating Elsie's tent.'

'Why, of course you may have it, Polly, and anything else that you
can find.  There!  I hear Dicky's voice in the distance; perhaps the
girls are coming.'

Bell and Polly darted through the swarm of tents, and looked up the
narrow path that led to the brook.

Sure enough, Margery and Laura were strolling towards home with
little Anne and Dick dangling behind, after the manner of children.
Margery carried a small string of trout, and Dick the inevitable tin
pail in which he always kept an unfortunate frog or two.  The girls
had discovered that he was in the habit of crowding the cover tightly
over the pail and keeping his victims shut up for twenty-four hours,
after which, he said, they were nice and tame--so very tame, as it
transpired, that they generally gave up the ghost in a few hours
after their release.  Margery had with difficulty persuaded him of
his cruelty, and the cover had been pierced with a certain number of
air-holes.

'Guess the loveliest thing that could possibly happen!' called Bell
at the top of her voice.

'Elsie has come,' answered Margery in a second, nobody knew why; 'let
me hug her this minute!'

'With those fish?' laughed Polly.  'No! you'll have to wait until day
after to-morrow, and then your guess will be right.  Isn't it almost
too good to be true?'

'And she is almost well,' added Bell, joyfully, slipping her arm
through Margery's and squeezing it in sheer delight.  'Mrs. Howard
says she is really and truly better.  Oh, if Elsie Howard in bed is
the loveliest, dearest thing in the world, what will it be like to
have her out of it and with us in all our good times!'

'Has she always been ill since you knew her?' asked Laura.

'Yes; a terrible cold left her with weakness of the lungs, and the
doctors feared consumption, but thought that she might possibly
outgrow it entirely if she lived in a milder climate; so Mrs. Howard
left home and everybody she cared for, and brought Elsie to Santa
Barbara.  Papa has taken an interest in her from the first, and as
far as we girls are concerned, it was love at first sight.  You never
knew anybody like Elsie!'

'Is she pretty?'

'Pretty!' cried Polly, 'she is like an angel in a picture-book!'

'Interesting?'

'Interesting!' said Bell, in a tone that showed the word to be too
feeble for the subject; 'Elsie is more interesting than all the other
girls in the other world put together!'

'Popular?'

'Popular!' exclaimed Margery, taking her turn in the oral
examination, 'I don't know whether anybody can be popular who is
always in bed; but if it's popular to be adored by every man, woman,
child, and animal that comes anywhere near her, why then Elsie is
popular.'

'And is she a favourite with boys as well as girls?'

'Favourite!' said Bell.  'Why, they think that she is simply perfect!
Of course she has scarcely been able to sit up a week at a time for a
year, and naturally she has not seen many people; but, if you want a
boy's opinion, just ask Philip or Geoffrey.  I assure you, Laura,
after you have known Elsie a while, and have seen the impression she
makes upon everybody, you will want to go to bed and see if you can
do likewise.'

'It isn't just the going to bed,' remarked Margery, sagely.

'And it isn't the prettiness either,' added Polly; 'though if you saw
Elsie asleep, a flower in one hand, the other under her cheek, her
hair straying over the pillow (O for hair that would stray
anywhere!), you would expect every moment to see a halo above her
head.'

'I don't believe it is because she is good that everybody admires her
so,' said Laura, 'I don't think goodness in itself is always so very
interesting; if Elsie had freckles and a snub nose'--('Don't mind
me!' murmured Polly)--'you would find that people would say less
about her wonderful character.'

'There are things that puzzle me,' said Polly, thoughtfully.  'It
seems to me that if I could contrive to be ever so good, nobody ever
would look for a halo round my head.  Now, is it my turned-up nose
and red hair that make me what I am, or did what I am make my nose
and hair what they are--which?'

'We'll have to ask Aunt Truth,' said Margery; 'that is too difficult
a thing for us to answer.'

'Wasn't it nice I catched that big bull-frog, Margie?' cried Dick,
his eyes shining with anticipation.  'Now I'll have as many as seven
or 'leven frogs and lots of horned toads when Elsie comes, and she
can help me play with 'em.'

When the girls reached the tents again, the last article had been
taken from the team and Manuel had driven away.  The sound of Phil's
hammer could be heard from the carpenter-shop, and Pancho was already
laying the tent floor in a small, open, sunny place, where the low
boughs of a single sycamore hung so as to protect one of its corners,
leaving the rest to the full warmth of the sunshine that was to make
Elsie entirely well again.

'I am tired to death,' sighed Laura, throwing herself down in a
bamboo lounging-chair.  'Such a tramp as we had! and after all, the
boys insisted on going where Dr. Winship wouldn't allow us to follow,
so that we had to stay behind and fish with the children; I wish I
had stayed at home and read The Colonel's Daughter.'

'Oh, Laura!' remonstrated Margery, 'think of that lovely pool with
the forests of maiden-hair growing all about it!'

'And poison-oak,' grumbled Laura.  'I know I walked into some of it
and shall look like a perfect fright for a week.  I shall never make
a country girl--it's no use for me to try.'

'It's no use for you to try walking four miles in high-heeled shoes,
my dear,' said Polly, bluntly.

'They are not high,' retorted Laura, 'and if they are, I don't care
to look like a--a--cow-boy, even in the backwoods.'

'I'm an awful example,' sighed Polly, seating herself on a stump in
front of the tent, and elevating a very dusty little common-sense
boot.  'Sir Walter Raleigh would never have allowed me to walk on his
velvet cloak with that boot, would he, girls?  Oh, wasn't that
romantic, though? and don't I wish that I had been Queen Elizabeth!'

'You've got the HAIR,' said Laura.

'Thank you!  I had forgotten Elizabeth's hair was red; so it was.
This is my court train,' snatching a tablecloth that bung on a hush
near by, and pinning it to her waist in the twinkling of an eye,--
'this my farthingale,' dangling her sun-bonnet from her belt,--'this
my sceptre,' seizing a Japanese umbrella,--'this my crown,' inverting
a bright tin plate upon her curly head.  'She is just alighting from
her chariot, THUS; the courtiers turn pale, THUS; (why don't you do
it?) what shall be done?  The Royal Feet must not be wet.  "Go round
the puddle?  Prit, me Lud, 'Od's body!  Forsooth!  Certainly not!
Remove the puddle!" she says haughtily to her subjects.  They are
just about to do so, when out from behind a neighbouring chaparral
bush stalks a beautiful young prince with coal-black hair and rose-
red cheeks.  He wears a rich velvet cloak, glittering with
embroidery.  He sees not her crown, her hair outshines it; he sees
not her sceptre, her tiny hand conceals it; he sees naught save the
loathly mud.  He strips off his cloak and floats it on the puddle.
With a haughty but gracious bend of her head the Queen accepts the
courtesy; crosses the puddle, THUS, waves her sceptre, THUS, and
saying, "You shall hear from me by return mail, me Lud," she vanishes
within the castle.  The next morning she makes Sir Walter British
Minister to Florida.  He departs at once with a cargo of tobacco,
which he exchanges for sweet potatoes, and everybody is happy ever
after.'

The girls were convulsed with mirth at this historical romance, and,
as Mrs. Winship wiped the tears of merriment from her eyes, Polly
seized the golden opportunity and dropped on her knees beside her.

'Please, Aunt Truth, we can't get the white mosquito-netting because
Dr. Winship has the key of the storehouse in his pocket, and so--may-
-I--blow the horn?'

Mrs. Winship gave her consent in despair, and Polly went to the oak-
tree where the horn hung and blew all the strength of her lungs into
blast after blast for five minutes.

'That's all I needed,' she said, on returning; 'that was an escape-
valve, and I shall be lady-like and well-behaved the rest of the
day.'



CHAPTER VI:  QUEEN ELSIE VISITS THE COURT



'An hour and friend with friend will meet,
Lip cling to lip and hand clasp hand.'


'Now, Laura,' asked Bell, when quiet was restored, 'advise us about
Elsie's tent.  We want it to be perfectly lovely; and you have such
good taste!'

'Let me think,' said Laura.  'Oh, if she were only a brunette instead
of a blonde, we could festoon the tent with that yellow tarlatan I
brought for the play!'

'What difference does it make whether she is dark or light?' asked
Bell, obtusely.

'Why, a room ought to be as becoming as a dress--so Mrs. Pinkerton
says.  You know I saw a great deal of her at the hotel; and oh,
girls! her bedroom was the most exquisite thing you ever saw!  She
had a French toilet-table, covered with pale blue silk and white
marquise lace,--perfectly lovely,--with yards and yards of robin's-
egg blue watered ribbon in bows; and on it she kept all her toilet
articles, everything in hammered silver from Tiffany's with monograms
on the back,--three or four sizes of brushes, and combs, and mirrors,
and a full manicure set.  It used to take her two hours to dress; but
it was worth it.  Oh, such gorgeous tea-gowns as she had!  One of old
rose and lettuce was a perfect dream!  She always had her breakfast
in bed, you know.  I think it's delightful to have your breakfast
before you get up, and dress as slowly as you like.  I wish mamma
would let me do it.'

'What does she do after she gets dressed in her rows of old lettuce--
I mean her old rows of lettuce?' asked Polly.

'Do?  Why really, Polly, you are too stupid!  What do you suppose she
did?  What everybody else does, of course.'

'Oh!' said Polly, apologetically.

'How old is Mrs. Pinkerton?' asked Margery.

'Between nineteen and twenty.  There is not three years' difference
in our ages, though she has been married nearly two years.  It seems
so funny.'

'Only nineteen!' cried Bell.  'Why, I always thought that she was old
as the hills--twenty-five or thirty at the very least.  She always
seemed tired of things.'

'Well,' said Laura, in a whisper intended to be too low to reach Mrs.
Winship's tent, 'I don't know whether I ought to repeat what was told
me in confidence, but the fact is--well--she doesn't like Mr.
Pinkerton very well!'

The other girls, who had not enjoyed the advantages of city life and
travel, looked as dazed as any scandalmonger could have desired.

'Don't like him!' gasped Polly, nearly falling off the stump.  'Why,
she's married to him!'

'Where on earth were you brought up?' snapped Laura.  'What
difference does that make?  She can't help it if she doesn't happen
to like her husband, can she?  You can't make yourself like anybody,
can you?'

'Well, did she ever like him?' asked Margery; 'for she's only been
married a year or two, and it seems to me it might have lasted that
long if there was anything to begin on.'

'But,' whispered Laura, mysteriously, 'you see Mr. Pinkerton was very
rich and the Dentons very poor.  Mr. Denton had just died, leaving
them nothing at all to live on, and poor Jessie would have had to
teach school, or some dreadful thing like that.  The thought of it
almost killed her, she is so sensitive and so refined.  She never
told me so in so many words, but I am sure she married Mr. Pinkerton
to save her mother from poverty; and I pity her from the bottom of my
heart.'

'I suppose it was noble,' said Bell, in a puzzled tone, 'if she
couldn't think of any other way, but--'

'Well, did she try very hard to think of other ways?' asked Polly.
'She never looked especially noble to me.  I thought she seemed like
a die-away, frizzlygig kind of a girl.'

'I wish, Miss Oliver, that you would be kind enough to remember that
Mrs. Pinkerton is one of my most intimate friends,' said Laura,
sharply.  'And I do wish, also, that you wouldn't talk loud enough to
be heard all through the canyon.'

The colour came into Polly's cheeks, but before she could answer,
Mrs. Winship walked in, stocking-basket in hand, and seated herself
in the little wicker rocking-chair.  Polly's clarion tones had given
her a clue to the subject, and she thought the discussion needed
guidance.

'You were talking about Mrs. Pinkerton, girls,' she said, serenely.
'You say you are fond of her, Laura, dear, and it seems very
ungracious for me to criticise your friend; that is a thing which
most of us fail to bear patiently.  But I cannot let you hold her up
as an ideal to be worshipped, or ask the girls to admire as a piece
of self-denial what I fear was nothing but indolence and self-
gratification.  You are too young to talk of these things very much;
but you are not too young to make up your mind that when you agree to
live all your life long with a person, you must have some other
feeling than a determination not to teach school.  Jessie Denton's
mother, my dear Laura, would never have asked the sacrifice of her
daughter's whole life; and Jessie herself would never have made it
had she been less vain, proud, and luxurious in her tastes, and a
little braver, more self-forgetting and industrious.  These are hard
words, dear, and I am sorry to use them.  She has gained the riches
she wanted,--the carriages and servants, and tea-gowns, and hammered
silver from Tiffany's, but she looks tired and disappointed, as Bell
says; and I've no doubt she is, poor girl.'

'I don't think you do her justice, Mrs. Winship; I don't, indeed,'
said Laura.

'If you are really attached to her, Laura, don't make the mistake of
admiring her faults of character, but try to find her better
qualities, and help her to develop them.  It is a fatal thing when
girls of your age set up these false standards, and order their lives
by them.  There are worse things than school-teaching, yes, or even
floor-scrubbing or window-washing.  Lovely tea-gowns and silver-
backed brushes are all very pretty and nice to have, if they are not
gained at the sacrifice of something better.  I should have said to
my daughter, had I been Mrs. Denton, "We will work for each other, my
darling, and try to do whatever God gives us to do; but, no matter
how hard life is, your heart is the most precious thing in the world,
and you must never sell that, if we part with everything else."  Oh,
my girls, my girls, if I could only make you believe that "poor and
content is rich, and rich enough."  I cannot bear to think of your
growing year by year into the conviction that these pretty glittering
things of wealth are the true gold of life which everybody seeks.
Forgive me, Laura, if I have hurt your feelings.'

'I know you would never hurt anybody's feelings, if you could help
it, Mrs. Winship,' Laura answered, with a hint of coldness in her
voice, 'though I can't help thinking that you are a little hard on
poor Jessie; but, even then, one can surely like a person without
wishing to do the very same things she does.'

'Yes, that is true,' said Mrs. Winship, gravely.  'But one cannot
constantly justify a wrong action in another without having one's own
standard unconsciously lowered.  What we continually excuse in other
people we should be inclined by and by to excuse in ourselves.  Let
us choose our friends as wisely as possible, and love them dearly,
helping them to grow worthier of our love at the same time we are
trying to grow worthier of theirs; because "we live by admiration,
hope, and love," you know, but not by admiring and loving the wrong
things.

'But there is the horn, and I hear the boys.  Let us come to
luncheon, and tell our good news of Elsie.'


[Music follows]
With incredible energy.
The horn!  The horn!  The lus-ty, lus-ty horn!  'Tis
not a thing to laugh to scorn, A thing to laugh to scorn!


Long before the boys appeared in sight, their voices rang through the
canyon in a chorus that woke the echoes, and presently they came into
view, bearing two quarters and a saddle of freshly killed mutton,
hanging from a leafy branch swung between Jack's sturdy shoulder and
Geoff's.

'A splendid "still hunt" this morning, Aunt Truth!' exclaimed Jack.
'Game plenty and not too shy, dogs in prime condition, hunters ditto.
Behold the result!'

The girls could scarcely tell whether or no Laura was offended at
Aunt Truth's unexpected little lecture.  She did not appear quite as
unrestrained as usual, but as everybody was engaged in the
preparations for Elsie's welcome there was a general atmosphere of
hilarity and confusion, so that no awkwardness was possible.

The tool-shop resounded with blows of hammer and steel.  Dicky was
under everybody's feet, and his 'seven or ten frogs,' together with
his unrivalled collection of horned toads, were continually escaping
from their tin pails and boxes in the various tents, and everybody
was obliged to join in the search to recover and re-incarcerate them,
in order to keep the peace.

Hop Yet was making a gold and silver cake, with 'Elsie' in pink
letters on chocolate frosting.  Philip had pitched the new tent so
that in one corner there was a slender manzanita-tree which had been
cropped for some purpose or other.  He had nailed a cross-piece on
this, so that it resembled the letter T, and was now laboriously
boring holes and fitting in pegs, that Elsie might have a sort of
closet behind her bed.

As for the rustic furniture, the girls and boys declared it to be too
beautiful for words.  They stood in circles about it and admired it
without reserve, each claiming that his own special piece of work was
the gem of the collection.  The sunlight shining through the grey and
green tints of the tent was voted perfection, Philip's closet a
miracle of ingenuity, the green and white straw matting an
inspiration.

The looking-glass had been mounted on a packing-box, and converted by
Laura into a dressing-table that rivalled Mrs. Pinkerton's; for green
tarlatan and white mosquito-netting had been so skilfully combined
that the traditional mermaid might have been glad to make her toilet
there 'with a comb and a glass in her hand.'  The rest of the green
and white gauzy stuff had been looped from the corners of the tent to
the centre of the roof-piece, and delicate tendrils of wild clematis
climbed here and there as if it were growing, its roots plunged in
cunningly hidden bottles of water.  Bell had gone about with pieces
of awning cloth and green braid, and stitched an elaborate system of
pockets on the inside of the tent wherever they would not be too
prominent.  There were tiny pockets for needle-work, thimbles, and
scissors, medium-sized pockets for soap and combs and brushes, bigger
pockets for shoes and slippers and stockings, and mammoth pockets for
anything else that Elsie might ordain to put in a pocket.

By four o'clock in the afternoon Margery had used her clever fingers
to such purpose that a white silesia flag, worked with the camp name,
floated from the tip top of the front entrance to the tent.  The
ceremony of raising the flag was attended with much enthusiasm, and
its accomplishment greeted by a deafening cheer from the entire
party.

'Unless one wants Paradise,' sighed Margery, 'who wouldn't be
contented with dear Camp Chaparral?'

'Who would live in a house, any way?' exclaimed Philip.  'Sniff this
air, and look up at that sky!'

'And this is what they call "roughing it," in Santa Barbara,' quoth
Dr. Winship.  'Why, you youngsters have made that tent fit for the
occupancy of a society belle.'

'Now, let's organise for reception!' cried Geoffrey.  'Assemble, good
people!  Come over here, Aunt Truth!  I will take the chair myself,
since I don't happen to see anybody who would fill it with more
dignity.'

'I am going to mount my broncho and go out on the road to meet my
beloved family,' said Jack, sauntering up to the impromptu council-
chamber.

'How can you tell when they will arrive?' asked Mrs. Winship.

'I can make a pretty good guess.  They'll probably start from Tacitas
as early as eight or nine o'clock, if Elsie is well.  Let's see:
it's about twenty-five miles, isn't it, Uncle Doc?  Say twenty-three
to the place where they turn off the main road.  Well, I'll take a
bit of lunch, ride out ten or twelve miles, hitch my horse in the
shade, and wait.'

'Very well,' said Geoffrey.  'It is not usual for committees to
appoint themselves, but as you are a near relative of our
distinguished guests we will grant you special consideration and
order you to the front.  Ladies and gentlemen, passing over the
slight informality of the nomination, all in favour of appointing Mr.
John Howard Envoy Extraordinary please manifest it by the usual
sign.'

Six persons yelled 'Ay,' four raised the right hand, and one stood
up.

'There seems to be a slight difference of opinion as to the usual
sign.  All right.--Contrary minded!'

'No!' shouted Polly, at the top of her lungs.

'It is a unanimous vote,' said Geoffrey, crushingly, bringing down
his fist as an imaginary gavel with incredible force and dignity.
'Dr. and Mrs. Winship, will you oblige the Chair by acting as a
special Reception Committee?'

'Certainly,' responded the doctor, smilingly.  'Will the Chair kindly
outline the general policy of the committee?'

'Hm-m-m!  Yes, certainly--of course.  The Chair suggests that the
Reception Committee--well, that they stay at home and--receive the
guests,--yes, that will do very nicely.  All-in-favour-and-so-forth-
it-is-a-vote-and-so-ordered.  Secretary will please spread a copy on
the minutes.'  Gavel.

'I rise to a point of order,' said Jack, sagely.  'There is no
secretary and there are no minutes.'

'Mere form,' said the Chair; 'sit down; there will be minutes in a
minute,--got to do some more things first; that will do, SIT DOWN.
Will the Misses Burton and Messrs. Burton and Noble kindly act as
Committee on Decoration?'

'Where's the Committee on Music, and Refreshments, and Olympian
Games, and all that sort of thing?' interrupted Polly, who had not
the slightest conception of parliamentary etiquette; 'and why don't
you hurry up and put me on something?'

'If Miss Oliver refuses to bridle her tongue, and persists in
interrupting the business of the meeting, the Chair will be obliged
to remove her,' said Geoffrey, with chilling emphasis.

Polly rose again, undaunted.  'I would respectfully ask the Chair,
who put him in the chair, any way?'

'Question!' roared Philip.

'Second the motion!' shrieked Bell, that being the only parliamentary
expression she knew.

'Order!' cried Geoffrey in stentorian accents.  'I will adjourn the
meeting and clear the court-room unless there is order.'

'Do!' remarked Polly, encouragingly.  'I will rise again, like
Phoebus, from my ashes, to say that--'

Here Jack sprang to his feet.  'I would suggest to the Chair that the
last speaker amend her motion by substituting the word "Phoenix" for
"Phoebus."'

'Accept the amendment,' said Polly, serenely, amidst the general
hilarity.

'Question!' called Bell, with another mighty projection of memory
into a missionary meeting that she had once attended.

'I am not aware that there is any motion before the house,' said
Geoffrey, cuttingly.

'Second the motion!'

'Second the amendment!' shouted the girls.

'Ladies, there IS no motion.  Will you oblige the Chair by remaining
quiet until speech is requested?'

'Move that the meeting be adjourned and another one called, with a
new Chair!' remarked Margery, who felt that the honour of her sex was
at stake.

'Move that this motion be so ordered and spread upon the minutes, and
a copy of it be presented to the Chairman,' suggested Philip.

'Move that the copy be appropriately bound in CALF,' said Jack,
dodging an imaginary blow.

'Move that the other committees be elected by ballot,' concluded
Scott Burton.

'This is simply disgraceful!' exclaimed the Chair.  'Order! order!  I
appoint Miss Oliver Committee on Entertainment, with a view of
keeping her still.'

This was received with particular as well as general satisfaction.

'Miss Winship, we appoint you Committee on Music.'

'All right.  Do you wish it to be original?'

'Certainly not; we wish it to be good.'

'But we only know one chorus, and that's "My Witching Dinah Snow."'

'Never mind; either write new words to that tune or sing tra-la-la to
it.  Mr. Richard Winship, the Chair appoints you Committee on
Menagerie, and suggests that as we have proclaimed a legal holiday,
you give your animals the freedom of the city.'

'Don't know what freedom of er city means,' said Dicky, who feared
that he was being made the butt of ridicule.

'Why, we want you to allow the captives to parade in the evening,
with torch-lights and mottoes.'

'All right!' cried Dicky, kindling in an instant; ''n' Luby, 'n' the
doat, 'n' my horn' toads, all e'cept the one that just gotted away in
Laura's bed; but may be she'll find him to-night, so they'll be all
there.'

This was too much for the various committees, and Laura's wild shriek
was the signal for a hasty adjournment.  A common danger restored
peace to the assembly, and they sought the runaway in perfect
harmony.

'Well,' said Jack, when quiet was restored, 'I am going a little
distance up the Pico Negro trail; there are some magnificent Spanish
bayonets growing there, and if you'll let me have Pancho, Uncle Doc,
we can bring down four of them and lash them to each of the corners
of Elsie's tent,--they'll keep fresh several days in water, you
know.'

'Take him, certainly,' said Dr. Winship.

'Do let me go with you!' pleaded Laura, with enthusiasm.  'I should
like the walk so much.'

'It's pretty rough, Laura,' objected Margery.  'If you couldn't
endure our walk this morning, you would never get home alive from
Pico Negro.'

'Oh, that was in the heat of the day,' she answered.  'I feel equal
to any amount of walking now, if Jack doesn't mind taking me.'

'Delighted, of course, Miss Laura.  You'll be willing to carry home
one of the trees, I suppose, in return for the pleasure of my
society?'

'Snub him severely, Laura,' cried Bell; 'we never allow him to say
such things unreproved.'

'I think he is snubbed too much already,' replied Laura, with a
charming smile, 'and I shall see how a course of encouragement will
affect his behaviour.'


'That will be what I long have sought,
And mourned because I found it not,'


sang Jack, nonchalantly.

'Oh, Laura,' remonstrated Bell, 'think twice before you encourage him
in his dreadful ways.  We have studied him very carefully, and we
know that the only way to live with him is to keep him in a sort of
"pint pot" where we can hold the lid open just a little, and clap it
down suddenly whenever he tries to spring out.'

'Do not mind that young person, Miss Laura, but form your own
impressions of my charming character.  Excuse me, please, while I put
on a celluloid collar, and make some few changes in my toilet
necessary to a proper appearance in your distinguished company.'

'I prefer you as you are,' answered Laura, laughingly.  'Let us start
at once.'

'Do you hear that, young person?  She prefers me as I are!  Now see
what magic power her generosity has upon me!'  And he darted into the
tent, from which he issued in a moment with his Derby hat, a
manzanita cane, a pocket-handkerchief tied about his throat, and a
flower pinned on his flannel camping-shirt--a most ridiculous figure,
since nothing seems so out of place in the woods as any suggestion of
city costumes or customs.  Laura was in high good-humour, and looked
exceedingly brilliant and pretty, as she always did when she was the
central figure of any group or the bright particular star of any
occasion.

'Be home before dark,' said Dr. Winship.  'Pancho, keep a look-out
for the pack-mule.  Truth, one of the pack-mules has disappeared.'

'So?  Dumpling or Ditto?'

'Ditto, curiously enough.  His name should have led him not to set an
example, but to follow one.'


Elsie came.

Perhaps you thought that this was going to be an exciting story, and
that something would happen to keep her at the Tacitas ranch; but
nothing did.  Everything came to pass exactly as it was arranged, and
Jack met his mother and sister at twelve o'clock some four miles from
the camp, and escorted them to the gates.

'Welcome' had been painted on twenty different boards or bits of
white cloth and paper, and nailed here and there on the trees that
lined the rough wood-road; the strains of an orchestra, formed of a
guitar, banjo, castanets, Chinese fiddle, and tin cans, greeted them
from a distance, but were properly allowed to die away in silence
when the guest neared the tents.  Everything wore a new and smiling
face, and Elsie never came more dangerously near being squeezed to
death.

Elsie, in the prettiest of gingham dresses, and her cloud of golden
hair braided in two funny little pugs to keep it out of the dust;
Elsie, with a wide hat that shaded her face, already a little tanned
and burned, no longer colourless; Elsie, with no lines of pain in her
pretty forehead, and the hollow ring gone from her voice; Elsie, who
jumped over the wheel of the wagon, and hugged her huggers with the
strength of a young bear!  It was too good to believe, and nobody did
quite believe it for days.

At three o'clock the happiest party in the world assembled at the
rough dining-table under the sycamore-trees.

Elsie beamed upon the feast from the high-backed manzanita chair, a
faint colour in her cheeks, and starry prisms of light in a pair of
eyes that had not sparkled for many a weary month.  Hop Yet smiled a
trifle himself, wore his cap with a red button on the top to wait
upon the table, and ministered to the hungry people with more
interest and alacrity than he had shown since he had been dragged
from Santa Barbara, his Joss, and his nightly game of fantan.  And
such a dinner as he had prepared in honour of the occasion!--longer
by four courses than usual, and each person was allowed two plates in
the course of the meal.


BILL OF FARE FOR HER MAJESTY'S DINNER

Quail Soup.          Crackers.
         Chili Colorado.
(Mutton stew, in Spanish style,
      with Chili peppers, tomatoes,
          and onions.)
Cold Boiled Ham.       Fried Potatoes.
   Apples and Onions stewed together.
Ginger-snaps.          Pickles.
  Peaches, Apricots, and Nectarines.
California Nuts and Raisins.
             Coffee.


And last of all, a surprise of Bell's, flapjacks, long teased for by
the boys, and prepared and fried by her own hands while the merry
party waited at table, to get them smoking hot.

She came in flushed with heat and pride, the prettiest cook anybody
ever saw, with her hair bobbed up out of the way and doing its best
to escape, a high-necked white apron, sleeves rolled up to the elbow,
and an insinuating spot of batter in the dimple of her left cheek.

'There!' she cried, joyfully, as she deposited a heaping plate in
front of her mother, and set the tin can of maple syrup by its side.
'Begin on those, and I'll fry like lightning on two griddles to keep
up with you,' and she rushed to the brush kitchen to turn her next
instalments that had been left to brown.  Hop Yet had retired to a
distant spot by the brook, and was washing dish-towels.  All Chinese
cooks are alike in their horror of a woman in the kitchen; but some
of them will unbend so far as to allow her to amuse herself so long
as they are not required to witness the disagreeable spectacle.

Bell delicately inserted the cake-turner under the curled edges of
the flapjacks and turned them over deftly, using a little too much
force, perhaps, in the downward stroke when she flung them back on
the griddle.

'Seems to me they come down with considerable of a thud,' she said,
reflectively.  'I hope they're not tough, for I should never hear the
last of it.  Guess I'll punch one with the handle of this tin shovel,
and see how it acts.  Goodness! it's sort of--elastic.  That's funny.
Well, perhaps it's the way they ought to look.'  Here she transferred
the smoking mysteries to her plate, passed a bit of pork over the
griddles, and, after ladling out eight more, flew off to the group at
the table.

'Are they good?' she was beginning to ask, when the words were frozen
on her lips by the sight of a significant tableau.

The four boys were standing on the bench that served instead of
dining-chairs, each with a plate and a pancake on the table in front
of them.  Jack held a hammer and spike, Scott Burton a hatchet,
Geoffrey a saw, and Philip a rifle.  Bell was nothing if not
intuitive.  No elaborate explanations ever were needed to show her a
fact.  Without a word she flung the plate of flapjacks she held as
far into a thicket as she had force to fling it, and then dropped on
her knees.


"'Shoot, if you must, this old grey head,
But spare my flapjacks, sirs," she said!


'What's the matter with them?  Tough?  I refuse to believe it.  Your
tools are too dull,--that's all.  Use more energy!  Nothing in this
world can be accomplished without effort.'

'They're a lovely brown,' began Mrs. Winship, sympathetically.

'And they have a very good flavour,' added Elsie.

'Don't touch them, dearest!' cried Bell, snatching the plate from
under Elsie's very nose.  'I won't have you made ill by my failures.
But as for the boys, I don't care a fig for them.  Let them make
flapjacks more to their taste, the odious things!  Polly Oliver, did
you put in that baking powder, as I told you, while I went for the
pork?'

Polly blanched.  'Baking powder?' she faltered.

'Yes, baking powder!  B-A-K-I-N-G P-O-W-D-E-R!  Do I make myself
plain?'

'Oh, baking powder, to be sure.  Well, now that you mention the
matter, I do remember that Dicky called me away just as I was getting
it; and now that I think of it, Elsie came just afterwards, and--and-
-'

'And that's the whole of my story, O,' sang Jack.  'I recommend the
criminal to the mercy of the court.'

'A case of too many cooks,' laughed Dr. Winship.  'Cheer up, girls;
better fortune next time.'

'There are eight more of them burning on the griddles this moment,
Polly,' said Bell, scathingly; 'and as they are yours, not mine, I
advise you to throw them in the brook, with the rest of the batter,
so that Hop Yet won't know that there has been a failure.'

'Some people blight everything they touch,' sighed Polly, gloomily,
as she departed for the kitchen.


'But when I lie in the green kirkyard -


'Oh, Polly, dear,' interrupted Margery, 'that apology will not serve
any longer; you've used it too often.'

'This is going to be entirely different,' continued Polly,
tragically.


'But when I lie in the green kirkyard,
   With the mould upon my breasts
Say not that she made flapjacks well,
   Only, she did her best.'


'We promise!' cried Bell.



CHAPTER VII:  POLLY'S BIRTHDAY:  FIRST HALF
IN WHICH SHE REJOICES AT THE MERE FACT OF HER EXISTENCE.



'"O frabjous day!  Calooh!  Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.'


Polly's birthday dawned auspiciously.  At six o'clock she was kissed
out of a sound sleep by Bell and Margery, and the three girls slipped
on their wrappers, and prepared to run through the trees for a
morning plunge in Mirror Pool.  Although it was August there was
still water enough in Minnehaha Brook to give one a refreshing dip.
Mirror Pool was a quarter of a mile distant and well guarded with
rocks and deep hidden in trees; but a little pathway had been made to
the water's edge, and thus the girls had easy access to what they
called The Mermaid's Bath.  A bay-tree was adorned with a little
redwood sign, which bore a picture of a mermaid, drawn by Margery,
and below the name these lines in rustic letters:-


   'A hidden brook,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.'


Laura had not lived long enough in the woods to enjoy these cold
plunges; and, as her ideal was a marble tub, with scented water, and
a French maid to apply the same with a velvet sponge, it is not much
wonder.  She insisted that, though it was doubtless a very romantic
proceeding, the bottom and sides of the natural tub were quite too
rocky and rough for her taste, and that she should be in constant
terror of snakes curling round her toes.

'I've a great mind to wake Laura, just for once,' said Bell, opening
the tent door.  'There never was such a morning!  (I believe I've
said that regularly every day; but I simply never can get used to
it.)  There must have been a wonderful sunrise, dears, for the glow
hasn't faded yet.  Not a bit of morning fog--that's good for Elsie.
And what a lovely day for a birthday!  Did they use to give you
anything like this in Vermont, Polly?'

'Hardly,' said Polly, peering over Bell's shoulder.  'Let's see.
What did they give us in Vermont this month?  Why, I can't think of
anything but dog-days, hot nights, and hay fever; but that sounds
ungrateful.  Why, Geoff's up already!  There's Elsie's bunch of
vines, and twigs, and pretty things hanging on her tent-door.  He's
been off on horseback.  Just my luck to have him get up first.  Jack
always does, you know; and last night I sewed up the tent-opening
with carpet-thread, good and tight, overhand--stitches I wouldn't be
ashamed of at a sewing-school.'

'Oh you naughty girl!' laughed Bell.  'The boys could rip it open
with a knife in half the time it took you to sew it.'

'Certainly.  I didn't mean to keep them sewed up all day; but I
thought I'd like Jack to remember me the first thing this morning.'

'Girls,' whispered Margery, excitedly, 'don't stand there mooning--or
sunning--for ever!  I thought there was a gopher in this tent last
night.  I heard something scratching, and I thought it was the dog
outside; but just look at these two holes almost under Laura's
pillow!'

'Let's fill them up, cover them over--anything!' gasped Bell.  'Laura
will never sleep here another night if she sees them.'

'Nobody insured Laura against gophers,' said Polly.  'She must take
the fortunes of war.'

'I wouldn't wake her,' said Margery.  'She didn't sleep well, and her
face is flushed.  Come, or we shall be late for breakfast.'

When they returned, fresh and rosy, from their bath, there was a stir
of life in all the tents.  Pancho had come from the stage-station
with mail; an odour of breakfast issued from the kitchen, where Hop
Yet was humming a fragment of Chinese song, that ran something like
this,--not loud, but unearthly enough, as Bell used to say, to spoil
almost any cooking:-

[Music follows]
Fong fong mongmong tiu he sun yi-u
sow chong how ki-u me yun tan-tar che ku choi song!


Dicky was abroad, radiant in a new suit of clothes, and Elsie pushed
her golden head out between the curtains, and proclaimed herself
strong enough for a wrestling-match with any boy or man about the
camp.

But they found Laura sitting on the edge of her straw bed, directly
over the concealed gopher-holes, a mirror in her hand and an
expression of abject misery on her countenance.

'What's the matter?' cried the girls in one breath.  But they needed
no answer, as she turned her face towards the light, for it was
plainly a case of poison-oak--one eye almost closed, and the cheek
scarlet and swollen.

'Where do you suppose you got it?' asked Bell.

'Oh, I don't know.  It's everywhere; so I don't see how I ever hoped
to escape it.  Yet I've worn gloves every minute.  I think I must
have touched it when I went up the mountain trail with Jack.  I'm a
perfect fright already, and I suppose it has only begun.'

'Is it very painful?' asked Polly, sympathetically.  'Oh, you do look
so funny, I can hardly help laughing, but I'm as sorry as I can be.'

'I should expect you to laugh--you generally do,' retorted Laura.
'No, it's not painful yet; but I don't care about that--it's looking
so ridiculous.  I wonder if Dr. Winship could send me home.  I wish
now that I had gone with Scott, for I can't be penned up in this tent
a week.'

'Oh, it won't hurt you to go out,' said Bell, 'and you can lie in the
sitting-room.  Just wait, and let mamma try and cure you.  She's a
famous doctor.'  And Bell finished dressing hurriedly, and went to
her mother's tent, while Polly and Margery smoothed the bed with a
furtive kick of straw over the offending gopher-holes, and hung a
dark shawl so as to shield Laura's eyes.

Aunt Truth entered speedily, with a family medical guide under one
arm, and a box of remedies under the other.

'The doctor has told me just what to do, and he will see you after
breakfast himself.  It doesn't look so very bad a case, dear; don't
run about in the sun for a day or two, and we'll bring you out all
right.  The doctor has had us all under treatment at some time or
other, because of that troublesome little plant.'

'I don't want to get up to breakfast,' moaned Laura.

'Just as you like.  But it is Polly's birthday, you know (many happy
returns, my sweet Pollykins), and there are great preparations going
on.'

'I can't help it, Mrs. Winship.  The boys would make fun of my looks;
and I shouldn't blame them.'

'Appear as the Veiled Lady,' suggested Margery, as Mrs. Winship went
out.

'I won't come, and that's the end of it,' said Laura.  'Perhaps if I
bathe my face all the morning I can come to dinner.'

After breakfast was cleared away, Hop Yet and Mrs. Howard's little
China boy Gin were given a half-holiday, and allowed to go to a--
neighbouring ranch to see a 'flend' of Hop Yet's; for it was a part
of the birthday scheme that Bell and Geoffrey should cook the
festival dinner.

Jack was so delighted at the failure of Polly's scheme to sew him in
his tent, that he simply radiated amiability, and spent the whole
morning helping Elsie and Margery with a set of elaborate dinner-
cards, executed on half-sheets of note-paper.

The dinner itself was a grand success.  Half of the cards bore a
caricature of Polly in the shape of a parrot, with the inscription
'Polly want a cracker?'  The rest were adorned with pretty sketches
of her in her camping-dress, a kettle in one hand, and underneath,


'Polly, put the kettle on,
We'll all have tea.'


This was the bill of fare arranged by Bell and Geoffrey, and written
on the reverse side of the dinner-cards


DINNER A LA MOTHER GOOSE.
CAMP CHAPARRAL.
August 15, 18-.

'Come with a whoop, come with a call;
Come with a good will, or not at all.'

'VICTUALS AND DRINK.'

BEAN SOUP.
'She gave them some broth, she gave them some bread.'
SALT CODFISH.
'You shall have a fishy
In a little dishy.'
ROAST MUTTON A LA VENISON.
'Dear sensibility, O la!
I heard a little lamb cry ba-a!'
POTATOES IN JACKETS.
'The butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker,
All jumped out of a roasted potato.'
STEWED BEANS.
'You, nor I, nor nobody knows,
Where oats, peas, beans, and barley grows.'
CHICKEN AND BEEF SANDWICHES.
'Hickety, pickety, my pretty hen
Laid good eggs for gentlemen.'
Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief,
Taffy came to my house and stole a piece of beef.'
LEMON PIE.
'A pie sat on a pear-tree.'
PLUM TARTS.
'The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,
All on a summer's day.'
FRUIT, NUTS, AND RAISINS.
'You shall have an apple,
You shall have a plum.'
'I had a little nut-tree, nothing would it bear
But a silver nutmeg and a golden pear.'
BREAD AND CHEESE.
'When I was a bachelor I lived by myself,
And all the bread and cheese I got I put upon the shelf.'
COFFEE AND LEMONADE.
'One, two, three, how good you be!
I love coffee and Billy loves tea.'
'Oranges and lemons,
Says the bell of St. Clemen's.'

'What they ate I can't tell,
But 'tis known very well
That none of the party grew fat.'


Bell and Geoff took turns at 'dishing up' in the kitchen, and sat
down at the table between whiles; and they barely escaped being
mobbed when they omitted one or two dishes on the programme, and
confessed that they had been put on principally for the 'style' of
the thing,--a very poor excuse to a company of people who have made
up their mouths for all the delicacies of the season.

Jack was head waiter, and having donned a clean white blouse of Hop
Yet's and his best cap with the red button, from which dangled a
hastily improvised queue of black worsted, he proceeded to convulse
everybody with his Mongolian antics.  These consisted of most
informal remarks in clever pigeon English, and snatches of Chinese
melody, rendered from time to time as he carried dishes into the
kitchen.  Elsie laughed until she cried, and Laura sat in the
shadiest corner, her head artistically swathed in white tarlatan.

Polly occupied the seat of honour at the end of the table opposite
Dr. Winship, and was happier than a queen.  She wore her new green
cambric, with a bunch of leaves at her belt.  She was sun-burned, but
the freckles seemed to have disappeared mysteriously from her nose,
and almost any one would have admired the rosy skin, the dancing
eyes, and the graceful little auburn head, 'sunning over with curls.'

When the last bit of dessert had been disposed of, and Dicky had gone
to sleep in his mother's lap, like an infant boa-constrictor after a
hearty meal, the presentation of gifts and reading of poems took
place; and Polly had to be on the alert to answer all the nonsensical
jokes that were aimed at her.

Finally, Bell crowned the occasion by producing a song of Miss
Mulock's, which had come in the morning mail from some girl friend of
Polly's in the East, who had discovered that Polly's name had
appeared in poetry and song without her knowledge, and who thought
she might be interested to hear the composition.  With the aid of
Bell's guitar and Jack's banjo the girls and boys soon caught the
pretty air, and sung it in chorus.

1.  Pretty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, will you be my own?
Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, as cold as a
stone; But my love has grown warm-er as
cold-er you've grown, O Pret-ty Pol-ly
Ol-i-ver, will you be my own?

2.  Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, I love you so dear!
Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, my hope and my
fear; I've wait-ed for you, sweet-heart, this
many a long year; For Pret-ty Pol-ly
Ol-i-ver, I've loved you so dear!

3.  Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, I'll bid you good bye:
Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, for you I'll not
die; You'll nev-er get a tru-er true
lov-er than I, So Pret-ty Pol-ly
Ol-i-ver, good-bye, love, good-bye!


At the end, Dr. Winship raised his glass of lemonade, and proposed to
drink Miss Oliver's health.  This was done with enthusiasm, and
Geoffrey immediately cried, 'Speech, speech!'

'I can't,' said Polly, blushing furiously.

'Speech!' sung Jack and Philip vociferously, pounding on the table
with knife-handles to increase the furore.

'Speech!' demanded the genial doctor, going over to the majority, and
smiling encouragingly at Polly, who was pushed to her feet before she
knew very well what she was doing.  'Oh, if Laura were not looking at
me,' she thought, 'I'd just like to speak right out, and tell them a
little bit of what is in my heart.  I don't care--I will!'

'I know you are all in fun,' she said, looking bravely into the good
doctor's eyes, 'and of course no one could make a proper speech with
Jack grinning like a Cheshire cat, but I can't help telling you that
this is the happiest summer and the happiest birthday of my whole
life, and that I scarcely remember nowadays that I have no father and
no brothers and sisters, for I have never been alone or unhappy since
you took me in among you and Bell chose me for her friend; and I
think that if you knew how grateful I am for my beautiful summer,
dear Dr. Paul and Aunt Truth, you would be glad that you gave it to
me, and I love you all, dearly, dearly, dearly!'  Whereupon the
impulsive little creature finished her maiden speech by dashing round
the table and giving Mrs. Winship one of her 'bear hugs,' at which
everybody laughed and rose from the table.

Laura Burton, who was thoroughly out of conceit with the world, and
who was never quite happy when other people seemed for the moment to
be preferred to herself, thought this burst of affection decidedly
theatrical, but she did not know of any one to whom she could confine
her opinions just then; indeed, she felt too depressed and out of
sorts to join in the general hilarity.

Dinner being over, Dr. Paul and the boys took the children and
sauntered up the canyon for a lazy afternoon with their books.  Elsie
went to sleep in the new hammock that the doctor had hung in the
sycamores back of the girls' sleeping-tent, and Mrs. Winship lay down
for her afternoon nap.  Pancho saddled the horses for Bell and
Margery, who went for a gallop.  Polly climbed into the sky-parlour
to write a long letter to her mother, and Laura was left to solitude
in the sleeping-tent.  Now everybody knows that a tent at midday is
not a particularly pleasant spot, and after many a groan at the glare
of the sun, which could not be tempered by any system of shawls, and
moans at the gopher-holes which she discovered while searching for
her ear-ring, and repeated consultations with the hand-glass at brief
intervals, during which she convinced herself that she looked worse
every minute,--she finally discovered a series of alarming new spots
on her neck and chin.  She felt then that camping out was a complete
failure, and that she would be taken home forthwith if it could be
managed, since she saw nothing before her but day after day of close
confinement and unattractive personal appearance.  'It's just my
luck!' she grumbled, as she twisted up her hair and made herself as
presentable as possible under the trying circumstances.  'I don't
think I ever had a becoming or an interesting illness.  The chicken-
pox, mumps, and sties on my eyes--that's the sort of thing I have!'

'I feel much worse, Mrs. Winship,' she said, going into the sitting-
room tent and waking Aunt Truth from a peaceful snooze.  'If you can
spare Pancho over night, I really think I must trouble you to send
Anne and me home at once.  I feel as if I wanted to go to bed in a
dark room, and I shall only be a bother if I stay.'

'Why, my child, I'm sorry to have you go off with your visit
unfinished.  You know we don't mind any amount of trouble, if we can
make you comfortable.'

'You are very kind, but indeed I'd rather go.'

'I hardly dare let you start in the hot sun--without consulting the
doctor, and everybody is away except Polly; they will feel badly not
to say good-bye.'

'It is nearly three o'clock now, so the worst of the sun is over, and
we shall be at the ranch by eight this evening.  I feel too ill to
say good-bye, any way, and we shall meet Bell and Margery somewhere
on the road, for they were going to the milk ranch.'

'Very well, my dear, if you've made up your mind I must yield,'
replied Mrs. Winship, getting up and smoothing her hair.  'I don't
dare wake Elsie, she has had such an exciting day; but I'll call
Polly to help you pack, and then tell Pancho to find Anne and harness
the team.  While he is doing that, I'll get you a little lunch to
take with you and write a note to your mother.  Perhaps you can come
again before we break camp, but I'm sorry to send you home in such a
sad plight.'



CHAPTER VIII:  POLLY'S BIRTHDAY:  SECOND HALF
IN WHICH SHE WISHES SEE HAD NEVER BEEN BORN.



'From Hebrew wit the maxim sprung,
Though feet should slip, ne'er let the tongue.


Polly came at once to the tent, where she found Laura getting her
belongings together.

'Why, Laura, it seems too bad you should go off so suddenly.  What
can I do to help you?'

The very spirit of evil entered Laura's heart as she looked at Polly,
so fresh and pretty and radiant, with her dimples dancing in and out,
her hair ruffled with the effort of literary composition, and the
glow of the day's happiness still shining in her eyes.  She felt as
if Polly was 'glad inside' that she was poisoned; she felt sure she
was internally jumping for joy at her departure; and, above all, she
felt that Polly was entirely too conceited over the attention she had
received that day, and needed to be 'taken down a peg or two.'

'Red-haired, stuck-up, saucy thing,' she thought, 'how I should like
to give her a piece of my mind before I leave this place, if I only
dared!'

'I don't need any help, thank you,' she said aloud, in her iciest
manner.

'But it will only make your head ache to bend over and tug away at
that valise, and I'll be only too glad to do it.'

'I've no doubt of that,' responded Laura, meaningly.  'It is useless
for you to make any show of regret over my going, for I know
perfectly well that you are glad to get me out of the way.'

'Why, Laura, what do you mean?' exclaimed Polly, completely dazed at
this bombshell of candour.

'I mean what I say; and I should have said it before if I could ever
have found a chance.  Because I didn't mention it at the time, you
needn't suppose I've forgotten your getting me into trouble with Mrs.
Winship, the day before the Howards came.'

'That was not my fault,' said Polly, hotly.  'I didn't speak any
louder than the other girls, and I didn't know Aunt Truth objected to
Mrs. Pinkerton, and I didn't know she was anywhere near.'

'You roared like the bull of Bashan--that's what you did.  Perhaps
you can't help your voice, but anybody in the canyon could have heard
you; and Mrs. Winship hasn't been the same to me since, and the boys
don't take the slightest notice of me lately.'

'You are entirely mistaken, Laura.  Dr. and Mrs. Winship are just as
lovely and cordial to you as they are to everybody else, and the boys
do not feel well enough acquainted with you to "frolic" with you as
they do with us.'

'It isn't so, but you are not sensitive enough to see it; and I
should never have been poisoned if it hadn't been for you!'

'Oh, go on, do!' said Polly, beginning to lose her self-control,
which was never very great.  'I didn't know I was a Lucrezia Borgia
in disguise.  How did I poison you, pray?'

'I didn't say you poisoned me; but you made me so uncomfortable that
day, bringing down Mrs. Winship's lecture on my head and getting my
best friend abused, that I was glad to get away from the camp, and
went out with Jack for that reason when I was too tired and warm; and
you are always trying to cut me out with Bell and the boys.'

'That's a perfectly--jet black--fib!' cried Polly, who was now
thoroughly angry; 'and I don't think it is very polite of you to
attack the whole party, and say they haven't been nice to you, when
they've done everything in the world!'

'It isn't your party any more than mine, is it?  And if I don't know
how to be polite, I certainly shan't ask YOU for instruction; for I
must know as much about the manners of good society as you do,
inasmuch as I have certainly seen more of it!'

Polly sank into a camp-chair, too stunned for a moment to reply,
while Laura, who had gone quite beyond the point where she knew or
cared what she said, went on with a rush of words:  'I mean to tell
you, now that I am started, that anybody who isn't blind can see why
you toady to the Winships, who have money and social position, and
why you are so anxious to keep everybody else from getting into their
good graces; but they are so partial to you that they have given you
an entirely false idea of yourself; and you might as well know that
unless you keep yourself a little more in the background, and grow a
little less bold and affected and independent, other people will not
be quite as ready as the Winships to make a pet of a girl whose
mother keeps a boarding-house.'

Poor Laura!  It was no sooner said than she regretted it--a little,
not much.  But poor Polly!  Where was her good angel then?  Why could
she not have treated this thrust with the silence and contempt it
deserved?  But how could Laura have detected and probed the most
sensitive spot in the girl's nature?  She lost all command of
herself.  Her rage absolutely frightened her, for it made her deaf
and blind to all considerations of propriety and self-respect, and
for a moment she was only conscious of the wild desire to strike--
yes, even to kill--the person who had so insulted all that was
dearest to her.

'Don't dare to say another word!' she panted, with such flaming
cheeks and such flashing eyes that Laura involuntarily retreated
towards the door, half afraid of the tempest her words had evoked.
'Don't dare to say another word, or I don't know what I may do!  Yes,
I am glad you are going, and everybody will be glad, and the sooner
you go the better!  You've made everybody miserable ever since you
came, with your jealousy and your gossip and your fine-lady airs; and
if Aunt Truth hadn't loved your mother, and if we were mean enough to
tell tales, we would have repeated some of your disagreeable speeches
long ago.  How can you dare to say I love the Winships for anything
but themselves?  And if you had ever seen my darling mother, you
never could have called her a boarding-house keeper, you cruel--'

Oh, but the dashing torrent of angry words stopped at the mere
mention of her mother.  The word recalled her to herself, but too
late.  It woke in her memory the clasp of her mother's arms, the
sound of the sweet, tired voice:  'Only two of us against the big
world, Polly--you and I.  Be brave, little daughter, brave and
patient.'  Oh, how impatient and cowardly she had been!  Would she
never learn to be good?  The better impulses rushed back into her
heart, and crowded out the bad ones so quickly that in another moment
she would have flung herself at Laura's feet, and implored her
forgiveness merely to gain again her own self-respect and her
mother's approval; but there was no time for repentance (there isn't
sometimes), for the clatter of wheels announced Pancho's approach
with the team, and Mrs. Winship and Anne Burton came into view,
walking rapidly towards the tent.

Laura was a good deal disconcerted at their ill-timed appearance, but
reflected rapidly that if Mrs. Winship had overheard anything, it was
probably Polly's last speech, in which case that young person would
seem to be more in fault than herself, so stepping out of the tent
she met Mrs. Winship and kissed her good-bye.

Little Anne ran on and jumped into the wagon, with all a child's joy
at the prospect of going anywhere.  Polly's back was turned, but she
could not disappear entirely within the tent without causing Mrs.
Winship surprise; and she went through a lifetime of misery and self-
reproach in that minute of shame and fear, when she dared neither to
advance nor retreat.

'I don't quite like to let you go alone, Laura, without consulting
the doctor, and I can't find him,' said Mrs. Winship.  'Why, you are
nervous and trembling!  Hadn't you better wait until to-morrow?'

'No, thank you, Mrs. Winship.  I am all ready now, and would prefer
to go.  I think perhaps I have stayed quite long enough, as Polly has
just told me that everybody is glad to see the last of me, and that
I've made you all miserable since I came.

This was the climax to Polly's misery; for she was already so
overcome by the thought of her rudeness that she was on the point of
begging Laura's pardon for that particular speech then and there, and
she had only to hear her exact words repeated to feel how they would
sound in Mrs. Winship's ears.

Mrs. Winship was so entirely taken aback by Laura's remark, that she
could only ejaculate, 'Polly--said--that!  What do you mean?'

'Oh, I am quite ready to think she said more than she intended, but
those were her words.'

'Polly!'

Polly turned.  Alas! it was plain enough that this was no false
accusation.  Her downcast eyes, flushed, tear-stained cheeks,
quivering lips, and the silent shame of her whole figure, spoke too
clearly.

'Can it be possible, Polly, that you spoke in such a way to a guest
who was about to leave my house?'

'Yes.'

The word was wrung from Polly's trembling lips.  What could she say
but 'Yes,'--it was true,--and how could she repeat the taunts that
had provoked her to retort?  They were not a sufficient excuse; and
for that matter, nothing could be a sufficient excuse for her
language.  Now that she was confronted with her own fault, Laura's
seemed so small beside it that she would have been ashamed to offer
it as any justification.

Mrs. Winship grew pale, and for a moment was quite at a loss as to
the treatment of such a situation.

'Don't say any more about it, Mrs. Winship,' said Laura; 'we were
both angry, or we should never have forgotten ourselves, and I shall
think no more of it.'  Laura spoke with such an air of modest virtue,
and seemed so ready to forgive and forget, that Polly in her silence
and confusion appeared worse than ever.

'But I want you to remember that you are my guest, not Pauline's;
that I asked you to come and ask you to remain.  I cannot allow you
to go simply because you do not chance to be a favourite with another
of my guests.'  (Oh! the pang these words gave Polly's faulty, tender
little heart!)

'I am only going because I feel so ill,--not a bit because of what
Polly said; I was in the wrong, too, perhaps, but I promise not to
let anybody nor anything make me quarrel when I visit you again.
Good-bye!' and Laura stepped into the wagon.

'I trust you will not mention this to your mother, since I hope it is
the only unpleasant incident of your visit; and it is no fault of
mine that you go away with an unhappy impression of our hospitality.'
Here Mrs. Winship reached up and kissed little Anne, and as the
horses were restive, and no one seemed to have anything further to
say, Pancho drove off.

'I don't care to talk with you any more at present, Polly,' said Mrs.
Winship.  'I am too hurt and too indignant to speak of your conduct
quietly.  I know the struggles you have with your temper, and I am
quite willing to sympathise with you even when you do not come off
victorious; but this is something quite different.  I can't conceive
how any amount of provocation or dislike could have led you into such
disloyalty to me'; and with this she walked away.

Polly staggered into a little play-room tent of Dicky's, where she
knew that she could be alone, pinned the curtains together so that no
one could peep in, and threw herself down upon the long cushioned
seat where Dicky was wont to take his afternoon nap.  There, in grief
and despair, she sobbed the afternoon through, dreading to be
disturbed and dreading to be questioned.

'My beautiful birthday spoiled,' she moaned, 'and all my own fault!
I was so happy this morning, but now was ever anybody so miserable as
I?  And even if I tell Aunt Truth what Laura said, she will think it
no excuse, and it isn't!'

As it neared supper-time she made an opening in the back of the tent,
and after long watching caught sight of Gin on his way to the brook
for water, signalled him, and gave him this despairing little note
for Mrs. Winship:-


Dear Aunt Truth,--I don't ask you to forgive me--I don't deserve to
be forgiven--but I ask you to do me just one more of your dear little
kindnesses.  Let me stay alone in Dicky's tent till morning, and
please don't let any one come near me.  You can tell everybody the
whole story to-night, if you think best, though I should be glad if
only Dr. Paul and Bell need know; but I do not mind anything after
displeasing you--nothing can be so bad as that.  Perhaps you think I
ought to come out and confess it to them myself, as a punishment; but
oh, Aunt Truth, I am punishing myself in here alone worse than any
one else can do it.  I will go back to Santa Barbara any time that
you can send me to the stage station, and I will never ask you to
love me again until I have learned how to control my temper.  Your
wretched, wretched

POLLY.

P.S.--I remember that it is my birthday, and all that you have done
for me, to-day and all the other days.  It looks as if I were
ungrateful, but in spite of what I did I am not.  The words just
blazed out, and I never knew that they were going to be said till I
heard them falling from my mouth.  It seems to me that if I ever
atone for this I will have a slate and pencil hanging to my belt, and
only write what I have to say.  POLLY.


The moisture came to Mrs. Winship's eyes as she read this tear-
stained little note.  'There's something here I don't quite
understand,' she thought; 'and yet Polly confessed that Laura told
the truth.  Poor child!--but she has got to learn patience and self-
control through suffering.  However, I'll keep the matter a secret
from everybody at present, and stand between her and my inquisitive
brood of youngsters,' and she slipped the note into her pocket.

At six o'clock the members of the family came into camp from various
directions, and gathered about the supper-table.  All were surprised
at Laura's sudden departure, but no one seemed especially grief-
stricken.  Dicky announced confidentially to Philip that Laura was a
'norful 'fraid-cat of frogs,' and Jack ventured the opinion that Miss
Laura hadn't 'boy' enough in her for camp-life.

'But where is Polly?' asked Bell, looking round the table, as she
pinned up her riding-skirt and sat down in her usual seat.

'She has a bad headache, and is lying down,' said Mrs. Winship,
quietly; 'she'll be all right in the morning.'

'Headache!' ejaculated four or five people at once, dropping their
napkins and looking at each other in dismay.

'I'll go and rub her head with Cologne,' said Margery.

'Let me go and sit with her,' said Elsie.

'Have you been teasing her, Jack?' asked Mrs. Howard.

'Too much birthday?' asked Dr. Paul.  'Tell her we can spare almost
anybody else better.'

'Bless the child, she wants me if she is sick.  Go on with your
suppers, I'll see to her,' and Bell rose from the table.

'No, my dear, I want you all to leave her alone at present,' said
Mrs. Winship, decidedly.  'I've put her to bed in Dicky's play-tent,
and I want her to be quiet.  Gin has taken her some supper, and she
needs rest.'

Polly Oliver in need of rest!  What an incomprehensible statement!
Nobody was satisfied, but there was nothing more to be said, though
Bell and Philip exchanged glances as much as to say, 'Something is
wrong.'

Supper ended, and they gathered round the camp-fire, but nothing was
quite as usual.  It was all very well to crack jokes, but where was a
certain merry laugh that was wont to ring out, at the smallest
provocation, in such an infectious way that everybody else followed
suit?  And who was there, when Polly had the headache, to make a
saucy speech and look down into the fire innocently, while her
dimples did everything that was required in order to point the shaft?
And pray what was the use of singing when there was no alto to Bell's
treble, or of giving conundrums, since it was always Polly who
thought of nonsensical answers better than the real ones?  And as for
Jack, why, it was folly to shoot arrows of wit into the air when
there was no target.  He simply stretched himself out beside Elsie,
who was particularly quiet and snoozed peacefully, without taking any
part in the conversation, avowing his intention to 'turn in' early.
'Turn in' early, forsooth!  What was the matter with the boy?

'It's no use,' said Bell, plaintively; 'we can't be anything but
happy, now that we have Elsie here; but it needs only one small
headache to show that Polly fills a long-felt want in this camp.  You
think of her as a modest spoke in the wheel till she disappears, and
then you find she was the hub.'

'Yes,' said Margery, 'I think every one round this fire is simply
angelic, unless I except Jack; but the fact is that Polly is--well,
she is--Polly, and I dare any one to contradict me.'

'The judgment of the court is confirmed,' said Philip.


'And the shark said, "If you
Don't believe it is true,
Just look at my wisdom tooth!"'


sang Geoffrey.

'And if any one ever tells me again that she has red hair and hasn't
good features, I should just like to show them a picture of her as
she was to-day at the dinner-table!' exclaimed Bell.

'As if anybody needed features with those dimples,' added Elsie, 'or
would mind red hair when it was such pretty hair!'

'I think a report of this conversation would go far towards curing
Polly,' said Dr. Winship, with a smile.

'And you say we can't go in there before we go to bed, mamacita?'
whispered Bell in her mother's ear, as the boys said good-night--and
went towards their tent.

'My dear,' she answered decidedly, with a fond kiss for each of the
girls, 'Polly herself asked me to keep everybody away.'

Polly herself wanted to be alone!  Would wonders never cease?

Meanwhile Dicky, who had disappeared for a moment, came back to the
fire, his bosom heaving with grief and rage.

'I went to my play-tent,' he sobbed, 'and putted my hand underneath
the curtain and gave Polly a piece of my supper cake I saved for her-
-not the frosted part, but the burnt part I couldn't eat--and she
liked it and kissed my hand--and then I fought she was lonesome, and
would like to see my littlest frog, and I told her to put out her
hand again for a s'prise, and I squeezed him into it tight, so 't he
wouldn't jump--and she fought it was more cake, and when she found it
wasn't she frew my littlest frog clear away, and it got losted!'

This brought a howl of mirth from everybody, and Dicky was
instructed, while being put to bed, not to squeeze little frogs into
people's hands in the dark, as it sometimes affected them
unpleasantly.


All this time Polly was lying in the tent, quite exhausted with
crying, and made more wretched by every sound of voices wafted
towards her.  Presently Gin appeared with her night-wrapper and
various things for comfort sent her by the girls; and as she wearily
undressed herself and prepared for the night, she found three little
messages of comfort pinned on the neck and sleeves of her flannel
gown, written in such colossal letters that she could easily read
them by the moonlight.

On the right sleeve:-


Cheer up!  'I will never desert Mr. Micawber!'  BELL


On the left sleeve:-


Darling Polly,--Get well soon, or we shall all be sick in order to
stay with you.  Lovingly, MEG.

PS.--Jack said you were the LIFE OF THE CAMP!  What do you think of
that??  M.


On the neck:-


Dearest,--You have always called me the Fairy Godmother, and
pretended I could see things that other people couldn't.

The boys (great stupids!) think you have the headache.  We girls can
all see that you are in trouble, but only the Fairy Godmother KNOWS
WHY; and though she can't make a beautiful gold coach out of this
pumpkin, because there's something wrong about the pumpkin, yet she
will do her best for Cinderella, and pull her out of the ashes
somehow.

ELSIE.


Polly's tears fell fast on the dear little notes, which she kissed
again and again, and tucked under her pillow to bring her sleep.
'Elsie knows something,' she thought, 'but how? she knows that I'm in
trouble and that I've done wrong, or she wouldn't have said that
about not being able to turn a bad pumpkin into a beautiful gold
coach; but perhaps she can get Aunt Truth to forgive me and try me
again.  Unless she can do it, it will never come to pass, for I
haven't the courage to ask her.  I would rather run away early in the
morning and go home than have her look at me again as she did to-day.
Oh! what shall I do?' and Polly went down on her knees beside the
rough couch, and sobbed her heart out in a childish prayer for help
and comfort.  It was just the prayer of a little child telling a
sorrowful story; because it is when we are alone and in trouble that
the unknown and mysterious God seems to us most like a Father, and we
throw ourselves into the arms of His love like helpless children, and
tell Him our secret thoughts and griefs.

'Dear Father in heaven,' she sobbed, 'don't forgive me if I ought not
to be forgiven, but please make Aunt Truth feel how sorry I am, and
show me whether I ought to tell what made me so angry, though it's no
excuse.  Bless and keep my darling patient little mother, and help me
to grow more like her, and braver and stronger too, so that I can
take care of her soon, and she needn't work hard any longer.  Please
forgive me for hating some things in my life as much as I do, and I
will try and like them better; but I think--yes, I know--that I am
full of wicked pride; and oh, it seems as if I could never, never get
over wanting to live in a pretty house, and wear pretty dresses, and
have my mother live like Bell's and Margery's.  And oh, if Thou canst
only forgive me for hating boarders so dreadfully, and being ashamed
of them every minute, I will try and like them better and tell
everybody that we take them--I will indeed; and if I can only once
make Aunt Truth love and trust me again, I will make the boarders'
beds and dust their rooms for ever without grumbling.  Please, dear
Father in heaven, remember that I haven't any father to love me or to
teach me to be good; and though mamma does her best, please help her
to make something out of me if it can be done.  Amen.'

'Truth,' said Mrs. Howard, when all was quiet about the camp, 'Elsie
wants to see you a moment before she goes to sleep.  Will you go to
her tent, while I play a game of cribbage with Dr. Paul?'

Elsie looked like a blossom in all the beautiful greenness of her
tent, with her yellow head coming out from above the greens and
browns of the cretonne bed-cover for all the world like a daffodil
pushing its way up through the mould towards the spring sunshine.

'Aunt Truth,' she said softly, as Mrs. Winship sat down beside her,
'you remember that Dr. Paul hung my hammock in a new place to-day,
just behind the girls' sleeping-tent.  Now I know that Polly is in
trouble, and that you are displeased with her.  What I want to ask,
if I may, is, how much you know; for I overheard a great deal myself-
-enough to feel that Polly deserves a hearing.'

'I overheard nothing,' replied Mrs. Winship.  'All that I know Polly
herself confessed in Laura's presence.  Polly told Laura, just as she
was going away, that everybody would be glad to see the last of her,
and that she had made everybody miserable from the beginning of her
visit.  It was quite inexcusable, you know, dear, for one of my
guests to waylay another, just as she was leaving, and make such a
cruel speech.  I would rather anything else had happened.  I know how
impetuous Polly is, and I can forgive the child almost anything, her
heart is so full of love and generosity; but I cannot overlook such a
breach of propriety as that.  Of course I have seen that Laura is not
a favourite with any of you.  I confess she is not a very lovable
person, and I think she has led a very unwholesome life lately and is
sadly spoiled by it; still that is no excuse for Polly's conduct.'

'No, of course it isn't,' sighed Elsie, with a little quiver of the
lip.  'I thought I could plead a better case for Polly, but I see
exactly how thoughtless and impolite she was; yet, if you knew
everything, auntie, dear, you would feel a little different.  Do you
think it was nice of Laura to repeat what Polly said right before
her, and just as she was going away, when she knew it would make you
uncomfortable and that you were not to blame for it?'

'No, hardly.  It didn't show much tact; but girls of fifteen or
sixteen are not always remarkable for social tact.  I excused her
partly because she was half-sick and nervous.'

'Well,' Elsie went on, 'I didn't hear the whole quarrel, so that I do
not know how long it lasted nor who began it.  I can't help thinking
it was Laura, though, for she's been trying her best to provoke Polly
for the last fortnight, and until to-day she has never really
succeeded.  I was half asleep, and heard at first only the faint
murmur of voices, but when I was fully awake, Laura was telling Polly
that she doted on you simply because you had money and position,
while she had not; that you were all so partial to her that she had
lost sight of her own deficiencies.  Then she called her bold and
affected, and I don't know what else, and finally wound up by saying
that nobody but the Winships would be likely to make a pet of the
daughter of a boarding-house keeper.'

'Elsie!' ejaculated Mrs. Winship; 'this grows worse and worse!  Is it
possible that Laura Burton could be guilty of such a thought?'

'I can't be mistaken.  I was too excited not to hear very clearly;
and the moment the words were spoken I knew my poor dear's fiery
temper would never endure that.  And it didn't; it blazed out in a
second, but it didn't last long, for before I could get to the tent
she had stopped herself right in the middle of a sentence; and in
another minute I heard your voice, and crept back to the hammock,
thinking that everything would be settled by Laura's going away.  I'd
no idea that she would pounce on Polly and get her in disgrace, the
very last thing, when she knew that she was responsible for the whole
matter.  You see, auntie, that, impolite as Polly was, she only told
Laura that we girls were glad she was going.  She didn't bring you
in, after all; and Laura knew perfectly well that she was a welcome
visitor, and we all treated her with the greatest politeness, though
it's no use to say we liked her much.'

'I am very sorry for the whole affair,' sighed Mrs. Winship, 'there
is so much wrong on both sides.  Laura's remark, it is true, would
have angered almost anybody who was not old and wise enough to see
that it deserved only contempt; but both the girls should have had
too much respect for themselves and for me to descend to such an
unladylike quarrel.  However, I am only too glad to hear anything
which makes Polly's fault less, for I love her too dearly not to
suffer when I have to be severe with her.'

'She wouldn't ask you to overlook her fault,' continued Elsie, with
tears in her eyes.  'I know just how wretched and penitent she must
be--Polly is always so fierce against her own faults--but what must
be making her suffer most is the thought that she has entirely lost
your confidence and good opinion.  Oh, I can't help thinking that God
feels sorrier this very minute for Polly, who fights and fights
against her temper, like a dear sunbeam trying to shine again and
again when a cloud keeps covering it up, than He does for Laura, who
has everything made smooth for her, and who is unhappy when her
feathers are ruffled the least bit.'

'You are right, dear, in so far that a fiery little soul like Polly's
can, if it finds the right channels, do God's work in the world
better than a character like Laura's, which is not courageous, nor
strong, nor sweet enough for great service, unless it grows into
better things through bitter or rich experiences.  Now, good-night,
my blessed little peacemaker; sleep sweetly, for I am going into
Polly's tent to have a good talk with her.'

As Mrs. Winship dropped the curtains of Elsie's tent behind her, and
made her way quietly through the trees, the tinkling sound of a banjo
fell upon the still night air; and presently, as she neared Polly's
retreat, this facetious serenade, sung by Jack's well-known voice,
was wafted to her ears:


'Prithee, Polly Oliver, why bide ye so still?
Pretty Polly Oliver, we fear you are ill.
I'm singing 'neath thy window, when night dews are chill,
For, pretty Polly Oliver, we hear you are ill.'


She was about to despatch Master Jack to his tent with a round
scolding, when the last words of the song were frozen on his lips by
the sound of a smothered sob, in place of the saucy retort he hoped
to provoke.  The unexpected sob frightened him more than any fusilade
of hot words, and he stole away in the darkness more crestfallen than
he had been for many a year.

Mrs. Winship, more troubled than ever, pulled apart the canvas
curtains, and stood in the opening, silently.  The sight of the
forlorn little figure, huddled together on the straw bed, touched her
heart, and, when Polly started up with an eloquent cry and flew into
her extended arms, she granted willing forgiveness, and the history
of the afternoon was sobbed out upon her motherly shoulder.

The next morning Mrs. Winship announced that Polly was better, sent
breakfast to her tent, and by skilful generalship drove everybody
away from the camp but Elsie, who brought Polly to the sitting-room,
made her comfortable on the lounge, and, administering much good
advice to Margery and Bell concerning topics to be avoided, admitted
them one by one into her presence, so that she gradually regained her
self-control.  And at the dinner-table a very pale Polly was present
again, with such a white face and heavy eyes that no one could doubt
there had been a headache, while two people, at least, knew that
there had been a heartache as well.  The next day's mail carried the
following letter to Laura Burton:


CAMP CHAPARRAL, August 16, 188-.

My dear Laura,--As I told you when you were leaving, I cannot well
say how sorry I am that anything should have occurred to mar your
pleasant remembrance of your stay with us.  That your dear mother's
daughter should have been treated with discourtesy while she was my
guest was very disagreeable to me; but I have learned that you were
yourself somewhat to blame in the affair, and therefore you should
have borne the harsh treatment you received with considerable
patience, and perhaps have kept it quite to yourself.  ('That little
cat told her, after all,' said Laura, when she read this.  'I didn't
think she was that kind.')  Polly would never have confessed the
cause of the quarrel, because she knew nothing could justify her
language; but Elsie was lying in the hammock behind the tent and
overheard the remark which so roused Polly's anger.  You were not
aware, of course, how sore a spot you touched upon, or you could
never have spoken as you did, though I well know that you were both
too angry to reflect.  Polly is a peculiarly proud and high-spirited
girl--proud, I confess, to a fault; but she comes, on her mother's
side, from a long line of people who have had much to be proud of in
the way of unblemished honesty, nobility, fine attainments, and
splendid achievements.  Of her father's honourable services to his
country, and his sad and untimely death, you may have heard; but you
may not know that Mrs. Oliver's misfortunes have been very many and
very bitter, and that the only possibility of supporting and
educating Polly lies at present in her taking boarders, for her
health will not admit just now of her living anywhere save in
Southern California.  I fail to see why this is not thoroughly
praiseworthy and respectable; but if you do not consider it quite an
elegant occupation, I can only say that Mrs. Oliver presides over the
table at which her 'boarders' sit with a high-bred dignity and grace
of manner that the highest lady in the land might imitate; and that,
when health and circumstances permit her to diminish the distance
between herself and the great world, she and her daughter Polly, by
reason of their birth and their culture, will find doors swinging
wide to admit them where you and I would find it difficult to enter.
Polly apologises sincerely for her rudeness, and will write you to
that effect, as of course she does not know of this letter.

Sincerely your friend,

TRUTH WINSHIP.



CHAPTER IX:  ROUND THE CAMP-FIRE



'The time before the fire they sat,
And shortened the delay by pleasing chat.'


The August days had slipped away one after another, and September was
at hand.  There was no perceptible change of weather to mark the
advent of the new month.  The hills were a little browner, the dust a
little deeper, the fleas a little nimbler, and the water in the brook
a trifle lower, but otherwise Dame Nature did not concern herself
with the change of seasons, inasmuch as she had no old dresses to get
rid of, and no new ones to put on for a long time yet; indeed, she is
never very fashionable in this locality, and wears very much the same
garments throughout the year.

Elsie seemed almost as strong as any of the other girls now, and
could enter with zest into all their amusements.  The appetite of a
young bear, the sound, dreamless sleep of a baby, and the constant
breathing in of the pure, life-giving air had made her a new
creature.  Mrs. Howard and Jack felt, day by day, that a burden of
dread was being lifted from their hearts; and Mrs. Howard especially
felt that she loved every rock and tree in the canyon.

It was a charming morning, and Polly was seated at the dining-room
table, deep in the preparation of a lesson in reading and
pronunciation for Hop Yet.  Her forehead was creased with many
wrinkles of thought, and she bit the end of her lead-pencil as if she
were engaged in solving some difficult problem; but, if that were so,
why did the dimples chase each other in and out of her cheeks in such
a suspicious fashion?  She was a very gentle, a very sedate Polly,
these latter days, and not only astonished her friends, but surprised
herself, by her good behaviour, her elegant reserve of manner, her
patience with Jack, and her abject devotion to Dicky.

'I'm afraid it won't last,' she sighed to herself occasionally.  'I'm
almost too good.  That's always the way with me--I must either be so
bad that everybody is discouraged, or else so good that I frighten
them.  Now I catch Bell and Elsie exchanging glances every day, as
much as to say, "Poor Polly, she will never hold out at this rate; do
you notice that nothing ruffles her--that she is simply angelic?"  As
if I couldn't be angelic for a fortnight!  Why I have often done it
for four weeks at a stretch!'

Margery was in the habit of giving Hop Yet an English lesson every
other day, as he had been very loath to leave his evening school in
Santa Barbara and bury himself in a canyon, away from all educational
influences; but she had deserted her post for once and gone to ride
with Elsie, so that Polly had taken her place and was evolving an
exercise that Hop Yet would remember to the latest day of his life.
It looked simple enough:-

1.  The grass is dry.
2.  The fruit is ripe.
3:  The chaparral is green.
4.  The new road is all right.
5.  The bay-'rum' tree is fresh and pretty.

But as no Chinaman can pronounce the letter 'r,' it was laboriously
rendered thus, when the unhappy time of the lesson came:

1.  The-glass-is-dly.
2.  The-fluit-is-lipe.
3.  The-chap-lal-is-gleen.
4.  The-new-load-is-all-light-ee.
5.  The bay-lum-tlee-is-flesh-and-plitty.

Finally, when she attempted to introduce the sentence, 'Around the
rough and rugged rock the ragged rascal ran,' Hop Yet rose hurriedly,
remarking, 'All lightee; I go no more school jus' now.  I lun get
lunchee.'

Bell came running down the path just then, and linking her arm in
Polly's said, 'Papa has the nicest plan.  You know the boys are so
disappointed that Colonel Jackson didn't ask them over to that rodeo
at his cattle ranch--though a summer rodeo is only to sort out fat
cattle to sell, and it is not very exciting; but papa promised to
tell them all about the old-fashioned kind some night, and he has
just remembered that to-morrow is Admission Day, September 9, so he
proposes a real celebration round the camp-fire to amuse Elsie.  She
doesn't know anything about California even as it is now, and none of
us know what it was in the old days.  Don't you think it will be
fun?'

'Perfectly splendid!'

'And papa wants us each to contribute something.'

'A picnic!--but I don't know anything.'

'That's just what I'm coming to.  I have such a bright idea.  He said
that we might look in any of his books, but Geoff and Jack are at
them already, and I'd like a surprise.  Now Juan Capistrano, an old
vaquero of Colonel Jackson's, is over here.  He is a wonderful rider;
papa says that he could ride on a comet, if he could get a chance to
mount.  It was he who told the boys that the rodeo was over.  Now I
propose that we go and interview Pancho and Juan, and get them to
tell us some old California stories.  They are both as stupid as they
can be, but they must have had some adventures, I suppose, somewhere,
sometime.  I'll translate and write the things down, for my part, and
you and Margery can tell them.'

'Lovely!  Oh, if we can only get an exciting grizzly story, so that


Every one's blood upon end it will stand,
And the hair run cold in their veins!


And was Dr. Paul out here when California was admitted into the
Union--1850, wasn't it?'

'Of course; why, my child, he was one of the delegates called by
General Riley, the military governor, to meet in convention at
Monterey and make a State constitution.  That was September, too--the
first day of September 1849.  He went back to the East some time
afterwards, and stayed ten or fifteen years; but he was a real
pioneer and "forty-niner" all the same.

The next night, September 9th, was so cool that the camp-fire was
more than ordinarily delightful; accordingly they piled on more wood
than usual, and prepared for a grand blaze.  It was always built
directly in front of the sitting-room tent, so that Mrs. Howard and
Mrs. Winship could sit there if they liked; but the young people
preferred to lie lazily on their cushions and saddles under the oak-
tree, a little distance from the blaze.  The clear, red firelight
danced and flickered, and the sparks rose into the sombre darkness
fantastically, while the ruddy glow made the great oak an enchanted
palace, into whose hollow dome they never tired of gazing.  When the
light streamed highest, the bronze green of the foliage was turned
into crimson, and, as it died now and then, the stars winked brightly
through the thousand tiny windows formed by the interlacing branches.

'Well,' said the doctor, bringing his Chinese lounging-chair into the
circle, and lighting his pipe so as to be thoroughly happy and
comfortable, 'will you banish distinctions of age and allow me to sit
among you this evening?'

'Certainly,' Margery said; 'that's the very point of the celebration.
This is Admission Day, you know, and why shouldn't we admit you?'

'True; and having put myself into a holiday humour by dining off
Pancho's dish of guisado (I suppose to-night of all nights we must
call beef and onion stew by its local name), I will proceed to
business, and we will talk about California.  By the way, I shall
only conduct the exercises, for I feel rather embarrassed by the fact
that I've never killed, or been killed by, a bear, never been bitten
by a tarantula, poisoned by a rattlesnake, assaulted by a stage-
robber, nor anything of that sort.  You have all read my story of
crossing the plains.  I even did that in a comparatively easy and
unheroic fashion.  I only wish, my dear girls and boys, that we had
with us some one of the brave and energetic men and women who made
that terrible journey at the risk of their lives.  The history of the
California Crusaders, the thirty thousand or more emigrants who
crossed the plains in '48, more than equals the great military
expeditions of the Middle Ages, in magnitude, peril, and adventure.
Some went by way of Santa Fe and along the hills of the Gila; others,
starting from Red River, traversed the Great Stake Desert and went
from El Paso del Norte to Sonora; others went through Mexico, and,
after spending over a hundred days at sea, ran into San Diego and
gave up their vessels; others landed exhausted with their seven
months' passage round the Horn; and some reached the spot on foot
after walking the whole length of the California peninsula.'

'What privations they must have suffered!' said Mrs. Howard.  'I
never quite realised it.'

'Why, the amount of suffering that was endured in those mountain
passes and deserts can never be told in words.  Those who went by the
Great Desert west of the Colorado found a stretch of burning salt
plains, of shifting hills of sand, with bones of animals and men
scattered along the trails; of terrible and ghastly odours rising in
the hot air from the bodies of hundreds of mules, and human creatures
too, that lay half-buried in the glaring white sand.  A terrible
journey indeed; but if any State in the Union could be fair enough,
fertile enough, and rich enough to repay such a lavish expenditure of
energy and suffering, California certainly was and is the one.  Now
who can tell us something of the name "California"?  You, Geoffrey?'

'Geoffrey has crammed!' exclaimed Bell, maliciously.  'I believe he's
been reading up all day and told papa what question to ask him!'

'I'll pass it on to you if you like,' laughed Geoffrey.

'No--you'd never get another that you could answer!  Go on!'

'In 1534, one Hernando de Grijalva was sent by Hernando Cortez to
discover something or other, and it was probably he who then saw the
peninsula of California; but a quarter of a century before this a
romance called Esplandian had appeared in Spain, narrating the
adventures of an Amazonian queen who brought allies from "the right
hand of the Indies" to assist the infidels in their attack upon
Constantinople--by the way I forgot to say that she was a pagan.
This queen of the Amazons was called Calafia, and her kingdom, rich
in gold and precious stones, was named California.  The writer of the
romance derived this name, perhaps, from Calif, a successor of
Mohammed.  He says:  "Know that on the right hand of the Indies there
is an island named California, very close to the Terrestial Paradise,
and it was peopled by black women without any man among them, for
they lived in the fashion of the Amazonia.  They were of strong and
hardy bodies, of ardent courage, and of great force.  Their island
was the strongest in all the world, with its steep cliffs and rocky
shore.  Their arms were all of gold, and so was the harness of the
wild beasts which they tamed and rode.  For in the whole island there
was no metal but gold.  They lived in caves wrought out of the rocks
with much labour, and they had many ships with which they sailed out
to other countries to obtain booty."  Cortez and Grijalva believed
that they were near the coast of Asia, for they had no conception of
the size of the world nor of the vastness of the Pacific Ocean; and
as the newly-discovered land corresponded with the country described
in the romance, they named the peninsula California.'

'My book,' said Philip, 'declared that the derivation of the name was
very uncertain, and that it was first bestowed on one of the coast
bays by Bernal Diaz.'

'Now, Philip!' exclaimed Margery, 'do you suppose we are going to
believe that, after Geoff's lovely story?'

'Certainly not; I only thought I'd permit you to hear both sides.  I
knew of course that you would believe the prettier story of the two--
girls always do!'

'That isn't a "pretty story"--your remark, I mean, so we won't
believe it; will we, girls?' asked Bell.

'Now, Polly, your eyes sparkle as if you couldn't wait another
minute; your turn next,' said Dr. Winship.

'I am only afraid that I can't remember my contribution, which is
really Bell's and still more really Pancho's, for he told it to us,
and Bell translated it and made it into a story.  We call it
"Valerio; or, The Mysterious Mountain Cave."'

'Begins well!' exclaimed Jack.

'Now, Jack, you must be nice.  Remember this is Bell's story, and she
is letting me tell it so that I can bear my share in the
entertainment.'

'Pancho believes every word of it,' added Bell, 'and says that his
father told it to him; but as I had to change it from bad Spanish
into good English, I don't know whether I've caught the idea
exactly.'

'Oh, it will do quite nicely, I've no doubt,' said Jack,
encouragingly.  'We've often heard you do good English into bad
Spanish, and turn and turn about is only fair play.  Don't mind me,
Polly; I will be gentle!'

'Jack, if you don't behave yourself I'll send you to bed,' said
Elsie; and he ducked his head obediently into her lap, as Polly, with
her hands clasping her knees, and with the firelight dancing over her
bright face, leaned forward and told the Legend of


VALERIO; OR, THE MYSTERIOUS MOUNTAIN CAVE.

'A long time ago, before the settlement of Santa Barbara by the
whites, the Mission padres had a great many Indians under their
control, who were known as peons, or serfs.  They were given enough
to eat, were not molested by the outside Indians, and were entirely
peaceable.  There were so few mountain passes by which to enter Santa
Barbara that they were easily held, and of course the padres were
anxious to keep their Indians from running away, lest they should
show the wilder tribes the way to get in and commit depredations.
These peaceable Indians paid tribute to intermediary tribes to hold
the passes and do their fighting.  Those about the Mission gave corn
and cereals and hides and the products of the sea, and got in
exchange pinones (pine nuts).  One of these Indians, named Valerio,
was a strong, brave, handsome youth, whose haughty spirit revolted at
his servitude, and, after seeking an opportunity for many weeks he
finally escaped to the Santa Ynez mountains, where he found a cave in
which he hid himself, drawing himself up by a rope and taking it in
after him.  The Indians had unlimited belief in Valerio's mysterious
and wonderful powers.  Pancho says that he could make himself
invisible at will, that locks and keys were powerless against him;
and that no one could hinder his taking money, horses, or food.  All
sorts of things disappeared mysteriously by day and by night, and the
robberies were one and all laid to the door of Valerio.  But after a
while Valerio grew lonely in his mountain retreat.  He longed for
human companionship, and at length, becoming desperate, he descended
on the Mission settlement and kidnapped a young Indian boy named
Chito, took him to his cave, and admitted him into his wild and
lawless life.  But Chito was not contented.  He liked home and
comfortable slavery better than the new, strange life; so he seized
the first opportunity, and being a bright, daring little lad, and
fleet of foot, he escaped and made his way to the Mission.  Arriving
there he told wonderful stories of Valerio and his life; how his
marvellous white mare seemed to fly, rather than gallop, and leaped
from rock to rock like a chamois; and how they lived upon wheat-
bread, cheeses, wine, and other delicacies instead of the coarse fare
of the Indians.  He told them the location of the cave and described
the way thither; so the Alcalde (he was the mayor or judge, you know,
Elsie), got out the troops with their muskets, and the padres
gathered the Mission Indians with their bows and arrows, and they all
started in pursuit of the outlaw.  Among the troops were two
hechiceros (wizards or medicine-men), whose bowed shoulders and
grizzled beards showed them to be men of many years and much wisdom.
When asked to give their advice, they declared that Valerio could not
be killed by any ordinary weapons, but that special means must be
used to be of any avail against his supernatural powers.
Accordingly, one of the hechiceros broke off the head of his arrow,
cast a charm over it, and predicted that this would deal the fatal
blow.  The party started out with Chito as a guide, and, after many
miles of wearisome travel up rugged mountain sides and over steep and
almost impassable mountain trails, they paused at the base of a
cliff, and saw, far up the height, the mouth of Valerio's cave, and,
what was more, Valerio himself sitting in the doorway fast asleep.
Alas! he had been drinking too heavily of his stolen wine, or he
would never have so exposed himself to the enemy.  They fired a
volley at him.  One shot only took effect, and even this would not
have been possible save that the spell was not upon him because of
his sleep; but the one shot woke him and, half rising, he staggered
and fell from the mouth of the cave to a ledge of rocks beneath.  He
sprang to his feet in a second and ran like a deer towards a tree
where his white mare was fastened.  They fired another volley, but,
though the shots flew in every direction, Valerio passed on unharmed;
but just as he was disappearing from view the hechicero raised his
bow and the headless arrow whizzed through space and pierced him
through the heart.  They clambered up the cliffs with shouts of
triumph and surrounded him on every side, but poor Valerio had
surrendered to a more powerful enemy than they!  Wonderful to relate,
he still breathed, though the wound should have been instantly fatal.
They lifted him from the ground and tied him on his snow-white mare,
his long hair reaching almost to the ground, his handsome face as
pale as death, the blood trickling from his wound; but the mysterious
power that he possessed seemed to keep him alive in spite of his
suffering.  Finally one of the hechiceros decided that the spell lay
in the buckskin cord that he wore about his throat--a rough sort of
necklace hung with bears' claws and snake rattles--and that he never
would die until the magic cord was cut.  This, after some
consultation, was done.  Valerio drew his last breath as it parted
asunder, and they bore his dead body home in triumph to the Mission.

'But he is not forgotten.  Stories are still told of his wonderful
deeds, and people still go in search of money that he is supposed to
have hidden in his cave.  The Mexican women who tell suertes, or
fortunes, describe the location of the money; but, as soon as any one
reaches the cave, he is warned away by a little old man who stands in
the door and protects the buried treasure.  An Indian lad, who was
riding over the hills one day with his horse and his dogs, dismounted
to search for his moccasin, when he suddenly noticed that the dogs
had chased something into a cave in the rocks.  He followed, and,
peering into the darkness, saw two gleaming eyes.  He thrust his
knife between them, but struck the air; and, though he had been
standing directly in front of the opening, so that nothing could have
passed him, yet he heard the clatter of hoofs and the tinkle of
spurs, and, turning, saw a mysterious horseman, whose pale face and
streaming hair melted into the mountain mist, as it floated down from
the purple Santa Ynez peaks into the lap of the vine-covered foot-
hills below.'



CHAPTER X:  MORE CAMP-FIRE STORIES



'And still they watched the flickering of the blaze,
And talked together of the good old days.'


'Brava!'  'Bravissima!'  'Splendid, Polly!' exclaimed the boys.
'Bell, you're a great author!'

'Couldn't have done better myself--give you my word!' cried Jack,
bowing profoundly to Bell and Polly in turn, and presenting them with
bouquets of faded leaves hastily gathered from the ground.

'Polly covered herself with glory,' said the doctor; 'and I am very
proud of your part in it, too, my little daughter.  I have some
knowledge of Pancho's capabilities as a narrator, and I think the
"Story of Valerio" owes a good deal to you.  Now, who comes next?
Margery?'

'No, please,' said Margery, 'for I have another story.  Take one of
the boys, and let's have more facts.'

'Yes, something historic and profound, out of the encyclopaedia, from
Jack,' said Polly, saucily.

'Thanks, Miss Oliver.  With you for an audience any man might be
inspired; but--'

'But not a BOY?'

'Mother, dear, remove that child from my sight, or I shall certainly
shake her!  Phil, go on, just to keep Polly quiet.'

'Very well.  Being the oldest Californian present, I--'

'What about Dr. Paul?' asked the irrepressible Polly.

'He wasn't born here,' responded Philip, dryly, 'and I was.'

'I think that's a quibble,' interrupted Bell.  'Papa was here twenty
years before you were.'

'It's not my fault that he came first,' answered Philip.  'Margery
and I are not only the oldest Californians present, but the only
ones.  Isn't that so, sir?'

'Quite correct.'

'Oh, if you mean that way, I suppose you are; but still papa helped
frame the Constitution, and was here on the first Admission Day, and
was one of the Vigilantes--and I think that makes him more of a real
Californian than you.  You've just "grown up with the country."'

'Bless my soul!  What else could I do?  I would have been glad to
frame the Constitution, admit the State, and serve on the Vigilance
Committee, if they had only waited for me; but they went straight
ahead with the business, and when I was born there was nothing to do
but stand round and criticise what they had done, or, as you express
it, "grow up with the country."  Well, as I was saying when I was
interrupted--'

'Beg pardon.'

'Don't mention it.  Uncle Doc has asked me to tell Mrs. Howard and
Elsie how they carried on the rodeos ten or fifteen years ago.  Of
course I was only a little chap'--('VERY little,' murmured his
sister)--'but never too small to stick on a horse, and my father used
often to take me along.  The rodeos nowadays are neither as great
occasions, nor as exciting ones, as they used to be; but this is the
way a rodeo is managed.  When the spring rains are mostly over, and
the grass is fine,--say in April--the ranchero of a certain ranch
sends word to all his neighbours that he will hold a rodeo on a
certain day or days.  Of course the cattle used to stray all over the
country, and get badly mixed, as there were no fences; so the rodeo
was held for the purpose of separating the cattle and branding the
calves that had never been marked.

'The owners of the various ranches assemble the night before,
bringing their vaqueros with them.  They start out very early in the
morning, having had a cup of coffee, and ride to the "rodeo-ground,"
which is any flat, convenient place where canyons converge.  Many of
the cattle on the hills round about know the place, having been there
before, and the vaqueros start after them and drive them to the
spot.'

'How many vaqueros would there be?' asked Elsie.

'Oh, nine or ten, perhaps; and often from one thousand to three
thousand cattle--it depends on the number of ranches and cattle
represented.  Some of the vaqueros form a circle round the cattle
that they have driven to the rodeo-ground, and hold them there while
others go back to the ranch for breakfast and fresh horses.'

'Fresh horses so soon?' said Mrs. Howard.  'I thought the mustangs
were tough, hardy little beasts, that would go all day without
dropping.'

'Yes, so they are; but you always have to begin to "part out" the
cattle with the freshest and best-trained horses you have.  The
owners and their best vaqueros now go into the immense band of
cattle, and try to get the cows and the unbranded calves separated
from the rest.  You can imagine what skilful engineering this takes,
even though you never saw it.  Two work together; they start a
certain cow and calf and work them through the band of cattle until
they near the outside, and then "rush" them to a place three or four
hundred yards beyond, where other vaqueros are stationed to receive
and hold them.  Of course the cattle don't want to leave the band,
and of course they don't want to stay in the spot to which they are
driven.'

'I don't blame them!' cried Bell impetuously.  'Probably the cows
remember the time when they were branded themselves, and they don't
want their dear little bossies put through the same operation.'

'Very likely.  Then more cows and calves are started in the same way;
the greatest difficulty being had with the first lot, for the cattle
always stay more contentedly together as the group grows larger.
Occasionally one "breaks" and runs off on the hills, and a vaquero
starts after him, throws the reata and lassos him, or "lass's" him,
as the California boys say.'

'There must be frightful accidents,' said Mrs. Winship.

'Yes; but not so many as you would suppose, for the horsemanship, in
its particular way, is something wonderful.  When an ugly steer is
lassoed and he feels the reata or lariat round his neck, he sometimes
turns and "makes" for the horse, and unless the vaquero is
particularly skilful he will be gored and his horse too; but he gives
a dexterous turn to the lariat, the animal steps over it, gets
tangled and thrown.  Frequently an animal breaks a horn or a leg.
Sometimes one fall is not enough; the steer jumps up and pursues the
horse.  Then the vaquero keeps a little ahead of him and leads him
back to the rodeo-ground, where another vaquero lassos him by the
hind legs and throws him, while the reata is taken off his neck.'

'There is another danger, too,' added Dr. Winship.  'The vaquero
winds the reata very tightly round the pommel of his saddle to hold
the steer, and he is likely to have his finger caught in the hair-
rope and cut off.'

'Yes, I forgot that.  Two or three of the famous old vaqueros about
Santa Barbara--Jose Maria, Jose Antonio, and old Clemente--have each
lost a finger.  Well, the vaqueros at length form in a circle round
the band of selected cattle.  The ranch owner who gives the rodeo
takes his own cattle that he has found--the ones bearing his brand,
you know--and drives them in with the ones to be branded, leaving in
the rodeo-ground the cattle bearing the brands of all the other
rancheros.  There has been much drinking of aguardiente (brandy) and
everybody by this time is pretty reckless.  Then they drive this
selected band to the home corral, the vaqueros yelling, the cattle
"calling," and the reatas whizzing and whistling through the air.  If
any unfortunate tries to escape his fate he is pursued, "lass'd," and
brought back.  By this time the cattle are pretty well heated and
angry, and when they get into the crowded corral they horn each other
and try to gore the horses.  A fire is then built in one corner of
the corral and the branding-irons are heated.'

'Oh! hold my hand, Polly, if the branding is going to begin, I hate
it so,' exclaimed Elsie.

'I won't say much about it, but it's no worse than a thousand things
that people have to bear every year of their lives.  Animals never
have to have teeth filled, for instance, nor limbs amputated--'

'Oh, just think of a calf with a wooden leg, or a cow with false
teeth!  Wouldn't it be funny?' laughed Bell.

'They don't have a thousand ills that human flesh is heir to, so they
must be thankful they get off so easy.  Well! the branding-irons are
heated, as I say--each cattle-owner having his special brand, which
is properly recorded, and which may be any device not previously
used.  Two men now catch the calves; one lassoing them by the head,
the other by the legs.  A third man takes the iron from the fire and
brands the chosen letter or hieroglyphic on the animal's hind
quarter.'

'Sometimes on the fore quarter, don't they?' asked Bell.  'I've seen
brands there,--your horse has two, and our cow has one also.'

'Yes, a brand on the fore quarter shows that the animal has been
sold, but it always has the original brand on the hind quarter.  When
a sale is effected, the new brand is put anywhere in front of the
fifth rib, and this constitutes what they call a venta, or sale.  If
you notice some of the little "plugs" ridden by Santa Barbara boys,
you'll see that they bear half a dozen brands.  By the way, if the
rodeo has been a very large one, they are several days branding the
cattle, so they are turned out to pastorear a little while each day.'

'The brand was absolute sign of ownership, you know, girls,' said Dr.
Winship; 'and though there was the greatest care exercised in
choosing and recording the brands, there was plenty of opportunity
for cheating.  For instance, a man would often see unbranded cattle
when riding about, and there was nothing to prevent his dismounting,
building a fire, heating his iron, and putting his own brand on them.
Then, at the next rodeo, they were simply turned over to him, for, as
I say, the brand was absolute ownership.'


'Whene'er I take my rides abroad,
   How many calves I see;
And, as I brand them properly,
   They all belong to me,'


said Bell.

'How I should like to see a rodeo!' sighed Elsie.  'I can't imagine
how the vaqueros can fling the reata while they are riding at full
speed.'

'It isn't so very wonderful,' said Polly, nonchalantly 'the most
ordinary people can learn it; why! your brother Jack can lasso almost
as well as a Mexican.'

'And I can "lass" any stationary object myself,' cried Bell; 'a
hitching-post, or even a door-knob; I can do it two or three times
out of ten.'

'That shows immense skill,' answered Jack, 'but, as the thing you
want to "lass" never does stay still, and as it is absolutely
necessary to catch it more than three times out of ten, you probably
wouldn't make a name and fortune as a vaquero.  Juan Capistrano, by
the way, used to be famous with the lariat.  I had heard of his
adventure with a bull on the island of Santa Rosa, and I asked him
about it to-day; but he had so exhausted himself telling stories to
Bell that he had very few words for me.  You see there was a bull, on
Santa Rosa island, so wild that they wanted to kill him; but nobody
could do it, though he was a terror to any one who ventured on the
island.  They called him "Antiguelo," because of his long horns and
long tail.  He was such a terrible fighter that all the vaqueros were
afraid to lass' him, for he always broke away with the lariat.  You
see a horse throws a bull by skill and not by strength, of course.
You can choke almost any bull; but this one was too smart! he would
crouch on his haunches and pull back until the rope nearly choked him
and then suddenly "make" for the horse.  Juan Capistrano had a
splendid horse--you see as much depends on the horse as the man in
such a case--and he came upon Antiguelo on the Cerro Negro and lass'd
him.  Well, did he fight? I asked.  "Si, Senor."  Well, what
happened?  "Yo lo mate" (I killed him), he said, with a shrug of his
shoulders, and that's all I could get out of Juan regarding his
adventure.'

'But you haven't done your share, you lazy boy,' objected Bell.  'You
must tell us more.'

'What do you want to hear?  I am up on all the animal and vegetable
life of Southern California, full of interesting information
concerning its old customs, can give you Spanish names for all the
things that come up in ordinary conversation, and am the only man
present who can make a raw-hide reata,' said Jack, modestly.

'Go on and tell us how, O great and wise reatero,' said Bell.

'I'll tell you that myself,' said Elsie, 'for I've seen him do it
dozens of times, when he should have been studying his little
lessons.  He takes a big piece of raw hide, cuts a circle right out
of the middle, and then cuts round and round this until he has one
long continuous string, half an inch wide.  He then stretches it and
scrapes the hair off with a knife or a piece of glass, gets it into
four strands, and braids it "round."'

'Perhaps you think braiding "round" is easy to do,' retorted Jack, in
an injured tone; 'but I know it took me six months to learn to do it
well.'

'I fail to see,' said his mother, 'how a knowledge of "braiding
round" and lassoing of wild cattle is going to serve you in your
university life and future career.'

'Oh yes, it will.  I shall be the Buffalo Bill of Harvard, and I
shall give charming little entertainments in my rooms, or in some
little garden-plot suitable to the purpose.'

'Shall you make a point of keeping up with your class?' asked Mrs.
Winship.

'Oh yes, unless they go too fast.  My sports won't take any more time
than rowing or baseball.  They'll be a little more expensive, because
I'll have to keep some wild cattle constantly on hand, and perhaps a
vaquero or two; but a vaquero won't cost any more than a valet.'

'I didn't intend furnishing you with a valet,' remarked his mother.

'But I shall be self-supporting, mother dear.  I shall give
exhibitions on the campus, and the gate-money will keep me in
luxury.'

'This is all very interesting,' said Polly, cuttingly; 'but what has
it to do with California, I'd like to know?'

'Poor dear!  Your brain is so weak.  Can't you see that when I am the
fashion in Cambridge, it will be noised about that I gained my
marvellous skill in California?  This will increase emigration.  I
don't pretend to say it will swell the population like the discovery
of gold in '48, but it will have a perceptible effect.'

'You are more modest than a whole mossy bank of violets,' laughed Dr.
Paul.  'Now, Margery, will you give us your legend?'

'Mine is the story of Juan de Dios (literally, Juan of God), and I'm
sorry to say that it has a horse in it, like Polly's; only hers was a
snow-white mare, and mine is a coal-black charger.  But they wouldn't
tell us any romantic love-stories; they were all about horses.'


STORY OF JUAN DE DIOS.

'In early days, when Americans were coming in to Santa Barbara, there
were many cattle-buyers among them; and there were large bands of
robbers all over the country who were ready to pounce on these
travellers on their way to the great cattle ranchos, kill them, and
steal their money and clothes, as well as their horses and trappings.
No one could understand how the robbers got such accurate information
of the movements of the travellers, unless they had a spy somewhere
near the Mission, where they often stopped for rest and refreshment.

'Now, there was a certain young Indian vaquero in the employ of the
padres at La Mission de la Purisima.  He was a wonderful horseman,
and greatly looked up to by his brother vaqueros, because he was so
strong, alert, and handsome, and because he was always dressed
elegantly in rich old Spanish embroideries and velvets, given to him,
he said, by men for whom he had done great services.

'One day a certain traveller, a Spanish official of high degree, came
from Monterey to wed his sweetheart, the daughter of the richest
cattle-owner in all the country round.  His spurs and bit and bridle
were of solid silver; his jaquima (halter) was made of a hair rope
whose strands had been dyed in brilliant colours; his tapaderos
(front of the stirrups), mochilas (large leather saddle flaps), and
sudaderos (thin bits of leather to protect the legs from sweat), were
all beautifully stamped in the fashion used by the Mexicans; his
saddle blankets and his housings were all superb, and he wore a broad
sombrero encircled with a silver snake and trimmed with silver lace.

'The traveller stayed at La Purisima all night, and set out early in
the morning to ride the last forty miles that separated him from his
bride.  But Juan and two other robbers were lying in wait for him
behind a great rock that stood at the entrance of a lonely canyon.
They appeared on horseback, one behind the unfortunate man and two in
front, so that he could escape neither way.  They finally succeeded
in lassoing the horse and throwing him to the ground with his rider,
who defended himself bravely with his knife, but was finally killed
and robbed, Juan taking his clothes and trappings, and the other two
dividing the contents of his purse.  They could not have buried their
victim as successfully as usual, or else they were surprised, and had
to escape, for the body was found; and Juan, whom the padres had
begun to view with suspicion, was nowhere to be found about the
Mission.  Troops were sent out in pursuit of him, for this particular
traveller was a high official, and it was necessary that his death
should be avenged.  They at last heard that Juan had been seen going
towards Santa Ynez Mission, and, pursuing him thither, they came upon
him as he was driving a band of horses into a corral, and just in the
act of catching his own horse, a noble and powerful animal, called
Azabache, because of his jet-black colour.  The men surrounded the
corral, and ordered him to surrender.  He begged them to wait until
he had saddled Azabache, and then they might shoot them both down
together.  He asked permission to call three times (pegar tres
gritos), and after the third call they were to shoot.  His last wish
was granted.  He saddled and mounted his splendid horse, called once-
-twice--thrice,--but when the last shout faded in the air, and the
troops raised their muskets to fire, behold, there was no Juan de
Dios to be seen.  They had been surrounding the corral so that no one
could have ridden out; they looked among the horses, but Asabache was
nowhere to be found.

'Just then a joyous shout was heard, so ringing and triumphant that
every man turned in the direction from which it came.  There,
galloping up the hillside, nearly half a mile distant, was Juan de
Dios, mounted on his coal-black Azabache!  But it was no common
sunshine that deepened the gorgeous colours of his trappings and
danced upon his silver spurs till they glistened like two great
stars!  It was a broad, glittering stream of light such as no mortal
had ever seen before and which almost blinded the eyes; and over this
radiant path of golden sunbeams galloped Juan de Dios, until he
disappeared over the crest of the mountain.  Then the light faded;
the padres crossed themselves in silence and went home to their
Mission! and Juan de Dios never was heard of more.'

Modest little Margery was hailed with such cheers that you could not
have seen her cheeks for the blushes; and, just as the party began to
think of forsaking the fascinating camp-fire for bed, Bell jumped up
impetuously and cried, 'Here, Philip, give me the castanets, please.
Polly and Jack, you play "Las Palomas" for me, and I'll sing and show
you the dance of that pretty Mexican girl whom I saw at the ball
given under the Big Grape Vine.  Wait till I take off my hair ribbon.
Lend me your scarf, mamma.  Now begin!'


LAS PALOMAS. {2}
(THE DOVES.)
Cua-tro pa-lo-mi-tas blan-cas que vie-
nen de por a--lla.  U-nas a las o-tras
di-cen no hay a-mor como el de a-ca.


It is barely possible, but not likely, that anything prettier than
Bell's Mexican danza was to be seen under the light of the September
stars that night; although they were doubtless shining down upon a
thousand lovely things.  With all the brightness of her loosened hair
rising and falling with the motion of her swaying figure--with her
twinkling feet, her crimson cheeks and parted lips, she looked the
very spirit of the dance, and her enraptured--audience only allowed
her to stop when she was absolutely breathless.

'Oh what a beautiful evening!' exclaimed Elsie, when the celebration
was finally over.  'Was there ever such a dear, dear canyon with such
dear people in it!  If it only wouldn't rain and we could live here
for ever!'


'Rain, rain, stay away!
Come again another day,
Little Elsie wants to play,'


recited Polly, and then everybody went to their straw beds.



CHAPTER XI:  BREAKING CAMP



'The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,
And drinks and gapes for drink again;
The plants suck in the earth and are,
With constant drinking, fresh and fair.'


But it did rain; and it didn't wait until they were out of the canyon
either.  It began long before the proper time, and it by no means
confined itself to a shower, but opened the winter season fully a
month before there was any need of it, and behaved altogether in a
most heartless and inconsiderate manner, like a very spoil-sport of a
rain.

It began after dark, so as to be just as disagreeable as possible,
and under the too slight cover of their tents the campers could hear
the rush and the roar of it like the tramping of myriad feet on the
leaves.  Pancho and the two Chinamen huddled under the broad
sycamores in their rubber blankets, and were dry and comfortable; but
all the waterproof tents leaked, save Elsie's.

But when it was dawn, the Sun, having heard nothing apparently of any
projected change in the weather, rose at the usual time in the most
resplendent fashion--brighter, rosier, and more gloriously, if you
will believe me, than he had risen that whole long sunshiny summer!
And he really must have felt paid for getting up at such an unearthly
hour in the morning, when, after he had clambered over the grey
mountain peaks, he looked down upon Las Flores Canyon, bathed in the
light of his own golden beams.

If he knew anything about Ancient History and Biblical Geography--and
if he didn't I don't know who should, inasmuch as he had been present
from the beginning of time--he must have thought it as fair as the
Garden of Eden; for Nature's face simply shone with cleanliness, like
that of a smiling child just fresh from its bath, and every leaf of
every tree glistened as he beamed upon it, and shook off its crystal
drops that he might turn them into diamonds.

'It was only a shower,' said Dr. Winship, as he seated himself on a
damp board and partook of a moist breakfast, 'and with this sun the
tents will be dry before night; Elsie has caught no cold, the dust
will be laid, and we can stay another week with safety.'

Everybody was hilarious over this decision save the men-of-all-work,
who longed unspeakably for a less poetic existence--Hop Yet
particularly, who thought camping out 'not muchee good.'

Dicky was more pleased than anybody, perhaps, as every day in the
canyon was one day less in school; not that he had ever been to
school, but he knew in advance, instinctively, that it wouldn't suit
him.  Accordingly, he sought the wettest possible places and played
all day with superhuman energy.  He finally found Hop Yet's box of
blueing under a tree, in a very moist and attractive state of
fluidity, and just before dinner improved the last shining hour by
painting himself a brilliant hue and appearing at dinner in such a
fiendish guise that he frightened the family into fits.

Now Dr. Winship was one of the most weather-wise men in California,
and his predictions were always quite safe and sensible; but somehow
or other it did rain again in two or three days, and it poured harder
than ever, too.  To be sure, it cleared promptly, but the doctor was
afraid to trust so fickle a person as the Clerk of the Weather had
become, and marching orders were issued.

The boys tramped over all their favourite bits of country, and the
girls visited all their best beloved haunts, every one of them dear
from a thousand charming associations.  They looked for the last time
in Mirror Pool, and saw the reflection of their faces--rather grave
faces just then, over the leave-taking.

The water-mirror might have been glad to keep the picture for ever on
its surface--Margery with her sleek braids and serene forehead; with
Polly, saucy nose and mischievous eyes, laughing at you like a merry
water-sprite; Bell, with her brilliant cheeks glowing like two roses
just fallen in the brook; and Gold Elsie, who, if you had put a frame
of green leaves about her delicate face and yellow locks, would have
looked up at you like a water-lily.

They wafted a farewell to Pico Negro, and having got rid of the boys,
privately embraced a certain Whispering Tree under whose singing
branches they had been wont to lie and listen to all the murmuring
that went on in the forest.

Then they clambered into the great thorough-brace wagon, where they
all sat in gloomy silence for ten minutes, while Dicky's tan terrier
was found for the fourth time that morning; and the long train, with
its baggage-carts, its saddle-horses and its dogged little pack-
mules, moved down the rocky steeps that led to civilisation.  The
gate that shut them in from the county road and the outer world was
opened for the last time, and shut with a clang, and it was all over-
-their summer in a canyon!



Footnotes:



{1} Foot-notes by a rival of the Countess.

{1a}  Is that spelled right?
{1b}  Fifty miles an hour, Jack says.
{1c}  Poetic licence.
{1d}  Gone back to cold cream.
{1e}  And pie.
{1f}  For sale at all bookstores, ten cents a copy.

{2}  'Four little white doves began to coo,
   To coo to their mates so fair;
And each to the other dove said, 'Your coo
   With mine cannot compare!'







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