Back Aa

Pee-Wee Harris Adrift

Close

<h3> CHAPTER XVII </h3> <h3> THE SCENE IS SET </h3> In history we read that while the hardy pioneers toiled and suffered in the New England forest the gay votaries of fashion danced and made merry in the royal courts of Europe. And history repeats itself, for while Minerva Skybrow and her girl companions decked the Skybrow lawn with lanterns of many colors, and frilled their hair, and festooned the rustic summer-house with streamers, the sturdy adventurers who swore allegiance to the martial traffic sign of Pee-wee Harris were suffering as no hardy pioneer had ever suffered before as they loyally partook of the hunter's stew which their leader had prepared in the dishpan. If, indeed, this novel concoction was the favorite fare of hunters, it is no wonder that the race of hunters is becoming extinct. But our business is not with the explorers. The spacious lawn of the Skybrow home was bathed in the soft light of many paper lanterns depending from cords strung from tree to tree. Other lanterns nestled in the spreading trees like jewels in a setting of foliage. On that night the genial moon smiled down upon the Camp-fire Girls and sent his myriad of rays like a serenading party to enliven the festive scene. The place looked like some enchanted grove. A platform had been built for the dancing, several little khaki-colored tents that had done service in the North Woods (north of Bridgeboro) dotted the lawn, the emblem of the Camp-fire Girls waved above the summer-house, bathed in the glow of a small search-light, and, glory of glories, a small tent nestling under a spreading elm near the moonlit river contained a table which looked like a snowy monument reared in tribute to the god of food. Yes, Roy was right; the Skybrows did not do these things by halves. Here indeed was a haven for the famished; here rescue awaited the starving scout. In the center stood a pyramid of triangular sandwiches, rivalling in magnitude the pyramids of Egypt. This was flanked by two gorgeous icing cakes, one white and one brown. A bowl of chicken salad overflowed its cut glass confines, the same as Pee-wee's island had overflowed its trusty scow. It is true that the much feared salted almonds were there but they crouched in shame under the spreading sides of a wooden hash-bowl camouflaged with crepe paper and piled with jellied doughnuts. If there were any lady fingers they did not show their faces (if lady fingers have faces) but the jovial raspberry tart was there in all its glory a hundred strong. "Oh, I think everything is perfectly scrumptious," said Minerva Skybrow, completing a tour of inspection at this culinary paradise and allowing herself an olive or two. "Goodness gracious, let them alone or there won't be any left," said Miss Dora Dane Daring. "Silly!" said Minerva. "There are oceans of them. Doesn't the river look perfectly lovely in the moonlight?" "Oh, I think everything is perfectly adorable," said another friend; "and the weather is just heavenly. For goodness' sakes, let the candy alone; that's the fourth piece you took." "Listen," said Minerva. "I'm not going to let a single one of them come out here till they have all arrived. We're going to have the concert in the house first and they've just got to listen to Mrs. Wild speak about the Camp-fire movement, because she's just perfectly wonderful. Do you know, I wish I had put the refreshments in the summer house. No, I don't either—yes, I do. It would have been more romantic—rustic." "Oh, I think this tent is perfect," said another girl, slyly helping herself to a salted almond. "I know," said Minerva, her hand stealing unconsciously toward a box of marshmallows, "I know, but what I wanted was something unusual—symbolic. A rustic platform in one of the big trees would have been nice; it would have been sort of—sort of scoutish. I want to have things different. That's why boys always make fun of the Camp-fire Girls, they think we're tame. Think how Roy Blakeley and his friends actually camped in that adorable old railroad car while it was traveling, goodness knows where. When I went to the Aero Club reception with Harold Fall they had the refreshments in a great balloon; we had to go up to it on a ladder—shh, listen! Did you hear a noise?" A chorus of excited whisperings followed her startled query. "No, where?" "What was it?" "Was it a voice?" "You mean on the river?" "Shh, listen," said Minerva; "look, do you see a light—right there among the bushes? Shh. Don't run." There was indeed a light shining through the dark foliage alongshore and presently a voice was to be heard, a voice speaking words to strike terror to the stoutest Camp-fire Girl heart. "I watched for the cops," it said, "and as soon as I saw them I beat it across the field and told the gang and every one got away but it was a narrow escape. One detective had me by the collar. This is going to be easy though." "Bandits!" whispered Minerva. "They're going to rob the house while we're on the lawn," breathed Margaret Timerson. "They're crouching on the shore just behind those bushes," said another girl. "Leave it to me," said the mysterious voice. "I'll handle them." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2