The Girl Scouts at Rocky Ledge Part 10

"Now, there you go again, Jerry Manton," interrupted Ted. "As if the costume had anything to do with Nora getting lost."

And all the while Nora was thinking: "If they only knew." But she had never had any one to confide in, except Barbara, and now she did not know exactly how to tell her story. Besides, how silly it would be to say she had actually been out in the roadway in the Fauntleroy clothes?

And if they ever knew she had been seen and spoken to by a Girl Scout!

The fear of humiliation crushed back any desire to tell the whole story and so it remained as it appeared, an incident of no more importance than a case of being lost in the attic.

All the horrors of the black hole, all the terrors of her fright and faintness, besides what actually happened when she finally burst through that door and all but fell head-long down the dark stairs--this Nora crushed back from her lips, and only dared to think of it as something she would write in her secret diary.

Perhaps she would tell Barbara. It was too thrilling to remain a secret with no one but herself to ponder upon it.

A refres.h.i.+ng bath, more beef tea and a bedtime story told by the affectionate Cousin Teddie one hour later, all but dispelled the trying memory.

The story was one read from a favorite woodland series, in which children, birds and furry things found days of happiness in the carefree hours, far away from artificial restrictions of "Do" and "Don't."

The girls mentioned in the story were not spoken of as Scouts, but Nora suspected they must have been very much like such in ideals.

"You see," said Teddie gently, when she had finished the interesting story, "girls who love nature find real joy in studying the woods and learning to love the woodland creatures. You have had no chance to know what such pleasure means, dear."

"No," said Nora faintly. And at that moment she decided to put on her new uniform the very next morning, and then go forth with Cousin Ted and Cousin Jerry in quest of the adventures promised.

"I guess," she began timidly, "it is better, Cousin Teddie, for me to go along with you every day, if you don't mind."

"Why, I can't bear to leave you home, either with Vita or to your own resources," declared Ted. "But I didn't want to urge you. Your experience today may be a good thing in the end--it may help to cure you of the artificiality you have been absorbing so deeply. I will have to write your mother a bit of advice. I do not believe her little daughter is getting the sort of education best for her. Now, roll over and go to sleep." She pressed a fond kiss on the warm cheek. "And Nora love, don't bother about dreaming," finished Mrs. Jerry Manton, in a tone of voice not learned during her famous "college course."

CHAPTER VIII

THE STORY ALMA DID NOT TELL

Under a canvas tent sheltered by a particularly broad chestnut tree and surrounded by a group of beautiful white birch, the girls of Chickadee Patrol, Girl Scouts, were listening, all attention, to the very wildest tale they had ever given ears to.

Alma was talking. "Honestly girls," she insisted, "he was a real prince, dressed in black velvet and a beautiful jaunty cap----"

"Alma! Alma!" shouted her companions in derision.

"Where did you see the fairies? Just imagine in broad daylight in the woodlands----" teased one.

"Then, I shall not tell you anything more about it," desisted the abused one. "As if I wasn't surprised. Why, I was so dumfounded I could not ask him if he saw you, and I was miles behind the crowd."

"Now girls, let Alma tell," chirped Doro, in her lispy voice. "Go ahead, Al. _I_ believe you saw Prince Charming."

"Was he old enough to ride a horse?" asked Laddie, christened Eulalia.

She was defying her dentist on a piece of fudge two days old.

"Honestly, girls," began Alma again, "I never saw a boy so beautiful.

Light curls----"

"Oh!!!" came a chorus that stopped the narrator and sent her pouting over to the bed couch, where she pouted still more.

"Then, all right, I am absolutely through," she declared quite as if she meant it.

"Now just see what you have done," mourned Treble. She was so tall the girls always considered her in that clef. "Don't you mind them, Allie. I know perfectly well there are even flying cupids in the big woodlands, and I fully expect to bring a couple home to lunch----"

Cus.h.i.+ons in one big bang stopped Treble. At this rate Alma's story would never be published, orally or otherwise.

In the Scout tent the evening was being spent in recreation: hence the fun they were having with Alma. At a table fas.h.i.+oned from an upside-down packing case, with real hand carved legs where the boards were knocked out and the hatchet braces left standing, sat three of the Chickadees, discussing the new Girl Scout stories.

"I just love the first," insisted Thistle whose name was as Scotch as the emblem. "I liked the mill story and I just loved that wild, exciting time the girls had trying to win back--was it Dagmar?"

"Oh, yes, I remember," chimed in Betta. They were referring to the first volume, "The Girl Scout Pioneers," but others of the group spoke up for their particular choice of the series, naming, "The Girl Scouts at Bellaire" and "The Girl Scouts at Sea Crest."

"You may have those," offered Doro, "but I perfectly love this." She held up the last book published. It was ent.i.tled "The Girl Scouts at Camp Comalong."

"Why is that such a prize?" inquired Pell.

"Oh, haven't you read it? Well, it is a real story of the most interesting girl, Peg of the Hills."

This brought about a general discussion of the entire series, and although the method being used is not usually employed to remind readers of the other books of a series, perhaps, since the girls were speaking for themselves, it will be accepted.

Alma was whispering her Prince Charming story into the ears of Doro.

Doro was accredited the very best listener among the Chicks and she had not the faintest idea of interrupting the story teller. Of course, it was Nora whom Alma had encountered, and it was not difficult to understand why her companions should discredit the tale. A prince in the woodlands, indeed!

"Louder, Alma," begged Treble, catching only enough of the story to make her curious.

"Well, you won't believe me."

"We will! We will! Hear! Hear!" shouted Betta, whose full appellation was none other than Betta-be-good, given because she had a habit of lecturing.

"She did see a real prince," chimed in Doro. "And he did wear buckles and laces and everything."

"Where, oh where, fair maid? Lead me thither and hither and yon," moaned Pell Mell. "Next to a movie star I love a prince best," she finished dramatically, although it was common knowledge that Pell loved nothing so well as rus.h.i.+ng about and falling over adventures. She actually fell over the Ridge, that is as far down as the big flat rock, before her chums decided she was hereafter to be known as Pell Mell.

"That is all there is to tell," announced Alma, in a tone tinctured with finality. She knew perfectly well the girls would never rest until they had sought out the darling prince, and she also knew it would be lots of fun to make them "sit up and beg" for the details they had been scoffing at.

"Where, Alma?"

"Near the bend, Alma?"

"Wasn't it over by the Nest, Al?"

"She said she saw him over by the Ledge."

All this and much more was thrown out as bait, but in the parlance of the tribe, Alma did not "bite," she merely picked up a discarded book and proceeded to read.

"Well, there was a prince, I'm sure of that," persisted Pell, determined to make Alma repeat her story.