4. Nathalie Is Asked To Become A Blue Robin
"The Mystic!" echoed Nathalie in mild amazement, while one or two of the group turned and gazed curiously at the gray-shrouded figure hurrying by.
"You needn't ask me to look at her," asserted the Sport with a scowl, "after screwing up my courage as I did to ask her if we could use her terraced lawn for one of our drills; why, the glance she gave me almost froze me stiff!"
The girls laughed at Edith's tragic tone, while Lillie Bell retorted teasingly, "Well, she must be a chill-raiser, Edith, if she could freeze the marrow in your spine."
"Girls, you should not speak as you do about Mrs. Van Vorst," admonished Helen, "you know Mrs. Morrow says that she has suffered a great sorrow."
"Pshaw, we all know that," returned the Sport unfeelingly, "but that is no reason why she should make every one else suffer, too."
"Granted," rejoined Helen, "but she has grown to look at things through morbid eyes."
"I should think the gray gown she wears would make any one morbid," suggested Lillie. "But what is the use of discussing her? I believe she is just a crank with a fad," she added.
"Who is she, and why does she go about in that queer gray gown?" inquired Nathalie, insistently.
"She is Mrs. Van Vorst, the richest woman in town," explained Grace. "She lives in that big, gray house surrounded by the stone wall. Haven't you noticed it? It's on Willow Street, up on the hill. You must have seen it."
"Oh, the big house with the beautiful Dutch garden," exclaimed Nathalie, "and the queer little house at one side of it?"
"Yes," nodded Helen, "but that queer little house is an ancient landmark-a Dutch homestead-built on a grant of land given by Governor Stuyvesant to Janse Van Vorst way back in 1667. The Van Vorsts, or their descendants, have lived on that place for hundreds of years. Billy Van Vorst, the last of the line, married Betty Walton, a rich New York girl. He died some years ago, and-well, I don't know the exact story-" Helen hesitated, "but they say Mrs. Van Vorst has an awful temper-oh, I hate to tell it-and then it may not be true." "But it is true," asserted Jessie Ford, "for Mother used to know Billy and Betty, too. She said shortly after Billy's death Mrs. Van Vorst became angry with her little child-I don't know whether it is a boy or girl-and-"
"Whatever it is," broke in Edith, "it is all distorted and twisted, looks like a monster, for I saw it one day in the garden, the day I was there. It is always muffled up so people can't see it."
"Well, anyway," went on Jessie, "Mrs. Van Vorst got into a temper with the child and shut it up in a dark room, and then went off to a reception or something, and forgot all about it."
"Oh, how could she?" ejaculated Nathalie with a shudder.
"Well, when she came home and remembered it-it wasn't in the room-"
"And they found it all in a heap on the pavement in the yard," again interrupted Edith, anxious to forestall the climax; "I have heard all about it, they say it was an awful sight."
"Dead?" cried Nathalie in a shocked tone.
"No, not dead," returned Jessie, "but it might as well have been. It had become frightened in the dark, said some one was chasing it, and in trying to escape climbed out on a shed and fell to the ground. Mrs. Van Vorst was ill for a long time, almost lost her mind. Then she gave up society and came down here and built this big house beside the homestead. She has lived in it ever since, but keeps to herself; she doesn't seem to want to know people."
"Oh, I don't wonder she mourns in gray then!" exclaimed Nathalie. "I feel sorry for her!"
"And so do I!" chimed Helen squeezing her new friend's hand responsively, "for she will have to suffer remorse all her life. Mother says she is to be pitied."
"Well, I should have more pity for her if she would let us have the lawn back of her house for our flag drill," remarked Lillie Bell, "or for one of our demonstrations."
"You can be sure I'll never ask her again," declared the Sport, vehemently; "I believe she hates us just because we are young, and can enjoy life when her child can't."
At this moment Grace arose and handed Nathalie a peculiar-looking envelope of rough brown paper. "No, it won't explode," she giggled, as she saw Nathalie handling the quaintly-folded envelope rather gingerly.
"You needn't think it is the butcher's bill, either," laughed Helen, "for it isn't. It is simply an invitation to one of our group meetings, or Pioneer Rallies, as we call them. We always use that kind of paper when we invite guests, for it was the kind used in pioneer times."
Reassured by Helen's explanation, Nathalie opened the envelope, noting the old-style script printed by hand in scarlet letters, evidently the work of one of the Pioneers. Then she slowly read aloud:
"They knew they were Pilgrims, and looked not much on those things, but lifted up their eyes to Heaven, their dearest country, and quieted their spirits within."
- Bradford.
Ye presence of ye young maide, Mistress Nathalie Page is enjoined to appear on ye 23rd of this month at ye Common House (Seton Hall) on ye corner of ye cross roades to Bergen Town, to join with ye maides of ye colony of Westport in a seemly diversion and Mayflower Feast.
Postscript: Kindly come apparelled in ye meeting-house cloathes and behave as a young maide should so do.
From the Girl Pioneers of America, ye Many-greated-grand-daughters of ye Mothers of ye Pilgrim Colony, who came to this new world in ye good sloop MAYFLOWER in 1620.
The expression of wonderment in Nathalie's eyes changed to one of amusement as she laughingly cried, "My, but you are the real article!"
"Yes, the scribe did that," said Helen proudly; "I think it ought to be put in a glass case."
"Thank you!" promptly returned Jessie; "I accept your praise, but suggest, as industry is one of the laws of the Pioneers, that I should receive a special badge of merit, for if you could have seen me poking into those musty documents at the library to get the thing right, you would say I deserved it."
"But what does it mean?" demanded Nathalie curiously. "What have you to do with the Pilgrims?"
"Why, it means," explained Helen, "that we girls, to freshen up our minds on pioneer history, so that we may learn more about the women we emulate, name each of our rallies after some one group of pioneers, or some special pioneer woman, in memory of their service to us. Then we all talk about them, each one telling what she knows."
"Or what she doesn't know, generally," broke in Lillie, dryly.
"I guess you are about right, Lillie," added Grace, "for we are awfully rusty on pioneer history. It always seemed so stupid at school, but we have learned a lot since we started naming our rallies after pioneer things, and trying to see what we can cram. Why, girls," she cried suddenly, as if impelled by inspiration to tell the latest thing she had learned, "do you know that there were almost thirty children who came over with the Pilgrims in the
Mayflower?"
"Well, I for one did not," remarked Jessie candidly; "I didn't know that the Pilgrims had any children; supposed they were just a lot of blue-nosed men who wore high ruffs and tall, round hats, and who went about with long faces, telling people they would go to the devil if they dared to smile."
"There, Jess," broke in Lillie Bell mischievously, "you needn't get profane over it."
"Of course they were grim and forbidding-looking," supplemented Kitty, "and-"
"And sanctimonious," added some one, "with their blue laws."
"Girls, you are all wrong," spoke up Helen, with a sort of call-you-down air, "it was the Connecticut elders who made the blue laws. The Pilgrims were sincere, earnest men. Remember what Mrs. Morrow said about them?"
There was a sudden silence for a moment, and then a faint voice was heard from the other end of the veranda. Every one pricked up her ears and craned her neck to see who was speaking.
"Ye Stars! it is the Flower of the Family," whispered Edith; "what has come to her?"
The sweet, low voice went on slowly, perhaps a trifle unsteadily, "God sifted a whole nation that he might send choice grain into the wilderness."
"Hooray for the Flower!" shouted some one, and then of course they all had to clap, while the editor-in-chief of the "Pioneer," who was sitting next to the speaker, jotted down this little saying with the air of an expert reporter.
"Now, do you suppose," went on Helen, "that these picked men-"
"This choice grain," corrected the Sport softly, who was trying hard to create a laugh.
"Edith, please be serious," admonished Helen, looking at that young lady with reproving eyes, but she was sitting with folded arms and eyes cast down, the picture of innocent and bland decorum.
Helen, seeing she had subdued the Sport for the time being, continued: "Yes, this choice grain was composed of not only sincere and courageous men, as we know, but the most tolerant of any of the first settlers in this country. But, of course, in serious, solemn times one is not apt to be funny. They were not really sanctimonious, they just got that name because they tried to live up to their convictions."
"But they got it!" retorted the Sport, who was always hard to convince in an argument. Helen flashed her eyes at her in rebuke, and then, turning toward Nathalie, said, "We are not only going to tell what we have learned about the Pilgrims at the rally, but we are to end with a Mayflower Feast. We do not expect to eat the things the colonists did, of course, but the table is to be decorated with May-flowers-that is with all the flowers that grow in May-so you see, it will really be a May-flower Feast."
"The Boy Scouts are going to pick the flowers for us!" chimed the Tike, her good-natured face beaming good-fellowship at Nathalie.
"Dr. Homer-he is Mrs. Morrow's brother-" supplemented Grace, "is the Scout Master of the Eagle Patrol, and as he is very anxious to make the boys chivalrous, he likes to have them help us all they can."
"But we are to have a great big entertainment," exclaimed Carol importantly, "very soon, and we're to sell tickets so that we can make money for the Camping Fund."
"And we have such a bright idea for getting up something novel in the way of entertainments," spoke up Helen interestedly. "Each girl is to put on her thinking-cap and get to work on an idea; it has to be original, nothing borrowed, or that has been used before, and then turn it in to our Director in proper shape to be carried out. All of these novel ideas are to be kept secret until we have had all of the entertainments, and then we shall vote for the one we think the best. The winners will receive merit badges for their efficiency."
"Oh, that will be great!" cried Nathalie, "but tell me, where are you going camping?" she questioned animatedly, for her thoughts had instantly reverted to a summer or so before when she and a party of school girls had camped up in the woods of Maine.
"We don't know yet," was Helen's practical rejoinder, "for we have got to know how much money we shall have to spend. But come, girls, be serious and tell Nathalie some of our sports and activities. We want to show her that we can do things worth while, you know."
"Oh, get Lillie Bell to tell us one of her stories!" cried the Sport, who was a warm admirer of the story-teller.
"Oh, I can't think of any now!" replied Lillie lazily. And then as a chorus of voices seconded this plea, she cried, "Really girls, I can't. I was up half the night studying for exam. But," her face brightened, "I will tell you about the picked chicken if you like. As it has something to do with our pioneer law, it will come in all right."
"Oh, yes, do!" pleaded her hostess, who had been wishing that she might hear one of the story-teller's thrillers.
"It isn't a blood-curdler this time, Miss Page," apologized Lillie, "so I cannot give you an exhibition of my reputed talent as a fictionizer. It is simply that Mother had a headache, Father was going to bring home a swell friend to dine with us, and as it happened, the butcher sent a feathered fowl, and our little Dutch maid was ill."
"Oh, it was maddening," she sighed in dolorous reminiscence, "but there was no way out of it, for we had to have that chick for dinner. So I set to work; some people say that when you try to do right everything rises up against you. So it proved to me, but I remembered our Pioneer motto, 'I Can,' and glued myself to that job. Verily, I thought that chicken must be a relative to the goose that laid the golden egg, for every feather I pulled, a dozen at least came to the funeral. But I won out, and went to bed with a clear conscience, and that fowl-inside of me!"
"Hooray for the Pioneer laws!" called several voices hilariously, and then at one and the same time, in their eagerness to give proof of well-doing, each one started to relate some personal experience. The effect of several story-tellers spinning yarns at the same time was so ludicrously funny that all the stories ended in merry laughter.
"Oh, let's vary the entertainment," suggested Grace, "and sing our Pioneer song for Miss Page."
In another moment the fresh young voices, accompanied by a swing of heads and a tap of feet, were singing, to the tune of "Oh, Maryland, My Maryland":
"We laugh, we sing, we jump, we run,
We're Pioneers, Girl Pioneers!
We're always having lots of fun;
We're Pioneers, Girl Pioneers!
The wild birds answer to our call,
These feathered friends in trees so tall;
We learn to know them one and all.
We're Pioneers, Girl Pioneers!
Refrain.
We're Pioneers, Girl Pioneers!
We're Pioneers, Girl Pioneers!
We will be brave, and kind, and true;
We're Pioneers, Girl Pioneers!"
Nathalie, who was enjoying this musical treat immensely, and longed to join in, suddenly gave a start. She had heard a familiar hand strike the keyboard of the piano, and then start in with the tune the girls were singing, while a clear, high, soprano voice-one that the girl had never heard before-took up the air, and in a moment was leading the girls in their song, and as though accustomed to do it.
She saw one or two of the girls smile at another in a mysterious way, and began to wonder what it all meant. As the last verse came to a close, and there were three, Mrs. Page stepped through the low French window from the living-room on the veranda, followed by a figure in white and Dick, who was hobbling along on a broom turned upside down.
There was a silent moment, and then the Girl Pioneers had jumped to their feet and were saluting the lady in white, for it was Mrs. Morrow, their Director. No, they did not touch their shoulders as in the salute to Helen, their group leader, but the forehead, in military salute.
Mrs. Morrow returned the salute, and then, as the girls broke into their Pioneer yell, came over to Nathalie without waiting for an introduction. But the young hostess had risen to her feet and was standing with outstretched hand.
"Oh, my dear! you must sit down, or you may strain your foot!" cried Mrs. Morrow anxiously, as she caught Nathalie's hand in hers and smiled down at her with luminous gray eyes, the kind that seem to radiate hearty good-will and cheer. Her greeting was so gracious, and there was such an undefinable charm in the bright face of the young matron, that Nathalie surrendered immediately.
"I did not mean to intrude on your sport, girls," cried Mrs. Morrow in a moment, turning toward the group, still holding Nathalie's hand, "but I was as anxious as you all were to meet our new neighbor."
The color deepened in Nathalie's cheeks as she cried in her impulsive way, "Oh, but you are not intruding at all, Mrs. Morrow; I am more than anxious to meet you, for-" she stopped a moment, and then flashed, "the girls all say you are lovely!"
There was a wild cheer at this, whereupon, the gray-blue eyes smiled at Nathalie again. Then turning, the lady nodded to the compliments so boisterously expressed by the girls. For a few moments it seemed as if each girl was trying to outdo every other girl as to who should win in this race for tongue speed, as they crowded around Nathalie and their Director.
Presently Nathalie looked up and laughed, for Dick did look so funny as he hobbled from one girl to another-he had always been a lover of girls-on his broomstick. As if divining why she laughed, Dick, who had heard her looked up. "Hello there, Blue Robin!" he cried teasingly, "what have you got to say about it?"
"Blue Robin?" repeated Mrs. Morrow in puzzled query, turning towards Nathalie, "why does he call you Blue Robin? That is the name of this group."
"But I thought the name of this group was Bluebird," answered Nathalie in some surprise.
"So it is," returned Mrs. Morrow, "but you know, bluebird means blue robin, too."
"There, Dick! I was not so far wrong after all!" cried Nathalie triumphantly, looking at her brother with convincing eyes. Then she turned and quickly told how she had found the bluebird's nest in the old cedar, how she had called the birdlings blue robins, and how Dick-who was a terrible tease-had plagued her about it ever since.
"But please inform me, Mrs. Morrow," now spoke that young man, "why you say bluebirds are blue robins?"
"Why, you know, the first bird seen by the Pilgrims when they came to this land was a bluebird-our earliest songster. As it resembled the robin so much, they wrote home to their friends and told of the beautiful blue robins they had seen in the new land."
"Oh, Nathalie," cried Helen with joy in her voice, "do you know the finding of the blue robin's nest surely must be an omen for good! Keep the name your brother has given you, and become a real bluebird, or blue robin, by joining our group and becoming a Pioneer!"
"Oh, yes, Miss Page, do!" came quickly to Nathalie's ears; "we should love to have you one of us."
"I'll coach you in the tests!" sang out Helen, who was ready to dance with pleasure to think that there was a prospect of her new friend becoming a Pioneer.
"And I'll help!" added Grace. "And so will I," "And I!" chimed several girlish voices.
Nathalie sat in embarrassed silence, hardly knowing what to answer to these many cordial invitations to join, and offers to help her do the tests. "I would love to be one of you," she spoke hesitatingly, "but I am not at all clever at doing things, for I can't sew, or cook, or do anything useful at all!" The girl's voice was almost plaintive.
"Ah, you are just the one we want, then," was Mrs. Morrow's quick reply; "we want girls who don't know how, so we can teach and train them in the right way."
There was loud applause at this remark, and then as the hubbub subsided somewhat, Mrs. Morrow held up her hand for silence. "Now, girls," she said, "give Miss Page time to think. Yes, we should be overjoyed to have you join the group, Miss Page, for later, in the summer, one of our bluebirds is to emigrate South for the winter, and we should love to have you take her place. I agree with Helen that the finding of the bluebird's nest in the old cedar meant that you were to become a true bluebird, or Blue Robin, as we shall have to call you."
Nathalie looked at Dick, and then at her mother. Mrs. Page was smiling at her so reassuringly that Nathalie understood that she gave her consent, and joyfully signified her willingness to become a Pioneer. With a bob of her head at Dick she declared, that she would become one if only to show her brother that there was such a thing as a Blue Robin.
Mrs. Morrow then explained that they had selected the bluebird as their mascot not only because it was the bird of pioneer days, but because the word blue means true, and Girl Pioneers were to be true in word, and thought, and deed. And then as a bird means swift, they were to be swift to the truth.
"The bluebird is also noted for its cheerfulness," she continued. "The Pioneers are to be cheerful. It is a loyal bird; the Pioneers are to be loyal to one another, to their pledges and laws, and to every one and to all things that are right, good, and pure. The bird is also very gentle, and we want the Pioneers to cultivate kindliness and gentleness. Flower," she called suddenly, "sing us that pretty little bluebird song you know."
In compliance with this request the Flower sang, in her sweet soprano, a funny little song about a bluebird courting his lady love. Each verse ended with the call-note, "Tru-al-lee," which the girls caught up as a refrain and sang with sweet, low tones, the Flower's bird-like trill rising high above the others.