CHAPTER VIII
The "Stunt"
The general verdict on Rona, when she arrived back at The Woodlands, wasthat she was wonderfully improved.
"It isn't only her dresses," said Gertrude Oliver, "though she looks adifferent girl in her new clothes; her whole style's altered. She usedto be so fearfully loud. She's really toned down in the most amazingfashion. I couldn't have believed it possible."
"I'm afraid it's only a veneer," declared Stephanie, with a slightinglittle laugh. "You'll find plenty of raw backwoods underneath, ready tocrop up when she's off her guard. You should have heard her thismorning."
"And she broke an ink-bottle," added Beth Broadway.
"Well, she's not perfect yet, of course, but I stick to it that she'simproved."
"Oh, I dare say! But Ulyth's welcome to keep her cub. She'll always bemore or less of a trial. What else can you expect? 'What's bred in thebone will come out!'"
"Yes, I'm a great believer in heredity," urged Beth, taking up thecudgels for her chum. "If you have ancestors it gives you a decidedpull."
"Everybody has ancestors, you goose," corrected Gertrude.
"Well, of course I mean aristocratic ones. The others don't count. Itmust make a difference whether your grandfather was a gentleman or afarm-boy. Rona says herself she's a democrat. I'm sure she looked thepart when she arrived."
"I don't know that she exactly looks it now, though," said Gertrude,championing Rona for once.
Everyone at the school realized that the Cuckoo was trying to behaveherself. The struggles towards perfection were sometimes almostpathetic, though the girls mostly viewed them from the humorous side.She would sit up suddenly, bolt upright, at the tea table, if MissBowes' eye suggested that she was lolling; she apologized for accidentsat which she had laughed before, and she corrected herself if abackwoods expression escaped her.
"Am I really any shakes smarter--I mean, more toned up--than I was?" sheasked Ulyth anxiously.
"You're far better than you were last term. Do go on trying, that'sall!"
"Will they take me as a candidate in the Camp-fire League?"
"I expect so, but we shall have to ask Mrs. Arnold about that."
Since the great reunion by the stream in September there had been nomeetings of the Camp-fire League. Mrs. Arnold had been ill, and thenhad gone away to recruit her health, and no one was able to take herplace as "Guardian of the Fire". She was recovered now, and at homeagain, and had promised to help to make up for lost time bysuperintending a gathering at the beginning of the new term. It was tobe held in the big hall of the school, though the girls begged hard tohave it out-of-doors, pleading that on a fine evening they could keepperfectly warm, and it would only resemble a Fifth of November affair.
"That may be all very well for you, but I'm not going to risk Mrs.Arnold's catching cold," returned Miss Bowes; which argument put a finalstop to the idea.
"We'll have ripping fun in the hall, if we can't be outside," beamedAddie. "I always enjoy a stunt."
"What's a stunt?" asked Rona.
"A stunt? Why, it's just a stunt!"
"It's an American word," explained Lizzie. "It means just having any funthat comes. An impromptu kind of thing, you know. We sing, or recite, oract, or dance, on the spur of the moment--anything to keep the ballrolling, and anybody may be called upon at any moment to stand up andperform."
"Without knowing beforehand?" queried Rona, looking horror-stricken.
"Yes, that's the fun of it. We have a bag with all our names written onslips of paper, and we draw them out one by one to fill up theprogramme. Nobody knows who's to come next. You may be the very first,or you may sit quaking all the evening, and never be called at all."
"I hope to goodness--I mean, I hope very much--I shan't be drawn."
"You never know; so you'd better have something in your mind's eye."
Punctually at six o'clock on the appointed night the whole school filedinto the hall, each girl carrying a candle in a candlestick. Salutingtheir leader, they ranged themselves round the room for the openingceremony. At an indoor meeting this was of necessity different from thekindling of the camp-fire, but it had a certain impressiveness of itsown. First the lamps were extinguished, and the room was placed inentire darkness. Then Mrs. Arnold struck a match and lighted her candle,which she held towards the Torch-bearer of highest rank, who lightedhers from it, and performed the same service for her next neighbour. Inthis way, one after another, the candles were lighted all round theroom, every girl saying, as she offered the flame to her comrade: "Ipass on my light!" After the "shining" song was sung, all thecandlesticks were arranged on the large central table, taking the placethe camp-fire would have occupied out-of-doors.
The business of the meeting came first, the roll-call was read, and therecorders gave their reports of the last gathering. Several members wereawarded honours for knowing the stars, being able to observe certainthings in geology and field botany, or for ability in outdoor sports orindoor occupations, such as carpentry, stencilling, or sewing. Theambulance work and the knitting done last term were specially noted andcommended. A few new candidates applied for enrolment, and theirqualifications were carefully considered by the Guardian of the Fire.Rona, after undergoing the League Catechism from Catherine Sullivan, thehead girl and chief Torch-bearer, had submitted her name as candidate,and now waited with much anxiety to hear whether she would be accepted.After several others had been admitted, Mrs. Arnold at last called:
"Corona Margarita Mitchell."
Quite startled at the unaccustomed sound of her full Christian name,Rona saluted and stepped forward.
"You have passed only three out of the seven tests required," said Mrs.Arnold. "I'm afraid you will have to try again, Rona, and see if you canbe more successful before the next meeting. No candidate can be acceptedexcept on very good grounds. That is the law of the League."
Much crestfallen, the Cuckoo fell back into her place, and Mrs. Arnoldwas just about to read the next name when Ulyth interrupted:
"Please, Guardian, if a candidate has shown unusual presence of mind,may that not stand in place of some of the other tests?"
"It depends on the circumstances. How does that apply in this case?"
"Rona has saved a life," declared Ulyth, then explained briefly howDorothy had fallen on to the hearth and had been caught back from thefire in the very nick of time.
"In her thin dress she would probably have been burnt to death but forRona's quickness," added Ulyth, with a tremble in her voice.
"I had not heard of this," replied Mrs. Arnold. "Rona is very greatly tobe congratulated on her presence of mind. Yes, I may safely say that itcan cancel the tests in which she has failed, and that we may enrol herto-night as a candidate. Corona Margarita Mitchell, if for three monthsyou preserve a good character in the school, and learn to recite theseven rules of the Camp-fire Law, you may then present yourself aseligible for the initial rank of Wood-gatherer in the League. There isyour Candidate's Badge."
Immensely gratified, Rona received her little bow of blue ribbon. Shehad hardly dared to hope for success, as Catherine had been ratherwithering over her Catechism, and had warned her that she would probablybe disqualified. It was pleasant to meet with encouragement, andespecially to be commended before the whole school. She had never dreamtof such luck, and she looked her grateful thanks at Ulyth across theroom.
She was the last but one on the list of applicants, and when JessieHoward (alas, poor Jessie!) had been rejected the ceremonial part of themeeting was over. The girls smiled, for now the "stunt" was to begin.Catherine produced the bag, shook it well, and handed it to Mrs. Arnold,who drew out a slip of paper.
"Marjorie Earnshaw!" she announced.
"Glad it's one of the Sixth to open the ball," murmured some of theyounger girls as Marjorie stepped to the circle reserved for performersin front of the table.
The owner of the one guitar in the school was always much in request atCamp-fire gatherings, so i
t seemed a fortunate chance that her nameshould be drawn first. She had brought her instrument, so as to beprepared in case the lot fell on her, and giving the E string a lasthurried tuning she sat down and began a popular American ditty. It was afavourite among the girls, for it had a lively, rollicking chorus, whichthey sang with great gusto. Fifty voices roaring out: "Don't forget yourDinah!" seemed to break the ice and set the fun going.
Marjorie's E string snapped suddenly, but she played as best she couldon the others, though she confessed afterwards that she felt like ahorse that has lost its shoe. Except for this accident she would haveresponded to the enthusiastic calls of "Encore!"; as it was, she retiredinto the background to fix a new string. It lent a decided element ofexcitement to the programme that nobody knew what the next item was tobe. The lot, as it happened, fell on one of the younger girls, who wasoverwhelmed with shyness and could only with great urging be persuadedto recite a short piece of poetry. By the law of the Stunt everybody wasobliged to perform if called upon, so Aveline fired off her sixteenlines of Longfellow with breathless speed, and fled back joyfully to theranks of the Juniors. Two piano solos and a step-dance followed, thenthe turn came to Doris Deane, a member of the Upper Fifth. Doris'sspeciality was acting, so she promptly begged for two assistants, andchose from IV B a couple of junior members who had practised with herbefore. Taking Nellie and Trissie for "Asia" and "Australia", she gavethe scene from _Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch_ where that delightfulbut haphazard heroine gets herself and the children ready to go to theopera. The zeal with which she ironed their dresses, her alternatescoldings and cajolings, her wild hunt for the tickets, which all thewhile were stuck in her belt, the grandeur of her deportment when thefamily was at last prepared for the outing, all were most amusinglyrepresented. Doris was really a born actress, and so completely carriedher audience with her that the lack of costumes and scenery was not feltin the force of the reality that she managed to throw into her part.Covered with glory, she gave place to her successor, who, whilebewailing the hardness of her luck in having to follow so smart aperformance, recited a humorous ballad which won peals of applause. Mrs.Arnold again dipped her hand into the bag and unfolded a twist of paper.
"Corona M. Mitchell," she read.
"Not me, surely! I can't do anything," objected Rona hastily.
"You'll have to," laughed the girls. "No one's let off."
"I can't, I tell you. I've no parlour tricks."
"Give us a story, Rona," suggested Ulyth. "One of those New Zealandadventures you used to tell to Peter and Dorothy. They loved them."
"Yes, yes! A camp-fire story. That would be spiffing!" clamoured thegirls. "Sit on the floor, near the fire, and we'll all squat near you.We haven't had a story for ages and ages!"
"Tell it just as you did at home," urged Ulyth.
"I'll try my best," sighed Rona, taking a small stool near the fire, soas to be slightly above the audience clustered round the hearthrug.
"It happened about a year ago," she began; "that's summer-time in NewZealand, you know, because the seasons are just opposite. It was PamelaHigson's birthday, and I'd been asked to go over for the day. I saddledBrownie, my best pony, and started at seven, because it's a twelve-mileride to the Higsons' farm, and I wanted to be early so as to have timefor plenty of fun. Brownie was fresh, and he wasn't tired when I gotthere, so we decided to give him an hour's rest and then ride up intothe bush and have a picnic. Pamela showed me her birthday presents whilewe waited. She'd had a box sent her by the mail, and she was verydelighted about it.
"Well, at perhaps eleven o'clock I set off with Pamela and the rest ofthe Higson children. There was Jake, just my own age, and Billy, alittle younger, and Connie and Minnie, the two smallest. Oh yes, we eachhad our own horse or pony: Everybody rides out there. We slung basketsand tin cans over our saddles and then started up by the dry bed of theriver towards the head of the gully. It was very hot (January's likeJuly here), but we all had big hats and we didn't care. It was such funto be together. When your nearest neighbours are twelve miles off youdon't see them often enough to get tired of them. Billy was alwaysmaking jokes, and Jake was jolly too in a quiet kind of way. Sometimeswe could all ride abreast, and sometimes we had to go in single file,and our horses seemed to enjoy it as much as we did. Brownie lovedcompany, so it was a treat for him as well as for me. The place we weregoing to was a piece of high land that lay at the top of the valleyabove the Higsons' block. There were generally plenty of berries upthere, and we thought they'd just be ripe. It took us a fairly long timeto do the climb, because there was no proper road, only a rough track.It was lovely, though, when we got up; we had a splendid view down thegully, and the air was so much cooler and fresher than it had been atthe farm. We tethered our horses and gathered scrub to make a fire andboil our kettle. In New Zealand no one thinks of having a meal withoutdrinking tea with it. We'd the jolliest picnic. The Higsons were famousfor their cakes, and they'd brought plenty with them. I can tell you wedidn't leave very many in the baskets.
"'Best put out our camp-fire,' Jake said when we'd finished; so we allset to work and stamped it out carefully. Everything was so dry with theheat that a spark might easily have set fire to the bush. Then we tookour cans and went off to find berries. There were heaps of them; so wejust picked and picked and picked for ever so long. Suddenly, when wewere talking, we heard a noise and looked round. There was a stampedeamong the horses, and two of them, Billy's and Connie's, had brokenloose and were careering down the gully. We ran as quick as lightning tothe others for fear they might also free themselves and follow. I caughtBrownie by the bridle and soothed him as well as I could; but he wasvery excited and trembling, and kept sniffing. Then I saw what hadfrightened him, for a puff of wind brought a puff of smoke with it, andahead of us I saw a dark column whirl up towards the sky. Even theyoungest child who's lived in the bush knows what that means. When allthe grass and everything is so dry, the least thing will start a fire.Sometimes campers-out are careless, and the wind blows sparks; sometimeseven a piece of an old bottle left lying about will act as aburning-glass. We didn't inquire the reason; all we knew was that wemust tear back to the farm as rapidly as we could. Bush fires spreadfearfully fast, and this one would probably sweep straight down thegorge.
"With two animals gone, luck was against us. Billy took Minnie's pony,Connie mounted behind Jake, and I made Minnie come with me on Brownie,because he was so strong, and better able to bear the double burden thanPamela's horse. It was well for us we were good riders, for we pelteddown that gully fit to break our necks. Brownie was a sure-footed littlebeast, but the way he went slithering over rocks would have scared meif I hadn't been more afraid of the fire behind. We knew it would betouch and go whether we could save the farm or not. If the men were allfar away there would be very little chance, though we meant to do ourlevel best.
"Well, as I was saying, we just stampeded down the gully, and our horseskept their feet somehow. I guess we arrived at the house like a tornado.We yelled out our news, and coo-eed to some of the men we could seeworking in the distance. They came running at once, and Mrs. Higson sentup the rocket that was used on the farm as a danger-signal. Fortunatelythe rest of the men had only gone a short way. They were back almostdirectly, and everybody set to work to make a wide ring of bare landround the farm. They cut down trees, and threw up earth, and burnt agreat patch of grass, and we children helped too for all we were worth.We were only just in time. We could see the great cloud of smoke comingdown the valley, and as it grew nearer we heard the roaring or the fire.It seemed to bear down on us suddenly in a great burning sheet. For amoment or two the air was so hot that we could scarcely breathe, thenthe flame struck our ring of bare land, and parted in two and passed oneither side of us, leaving the farm as an island. We watched it gocrackling farther down the valley, till at last it spent itself in arocky creek where it had nothing to feed on. All the place it had passedover was burnt to cinders, a horrible black mass. Only the house andthe buildings and a
few fields round them were untouched. It was anawful birthday for poor Pamela."
"Was your own farm hurt?" asked the girls breathlessly, as Rona pausedin her story.
"Not at all. You see it was in quite a different valley, and the firehadn't been near. Jake rode home with me, to make sure I was safe. Dadhadn't even seen the smoke."
"Suppose you hadn't noticed the fire when you were up in the hills?"
"Then we should have been burnt to cinders, farm and all."
"I think Rona's most thrilling adventure will have to end our Stunt,"said Mrs. Arnold. "It's nearly eight o'clock. Time to wind up and getready for supper. Attention, please! Each girl take her candle. Where'sour pianist? Torch-bearer Catherine, will you start the Good-nightSong?"
"I'm a candidate now, thanks to you!" exulted Rona to Ulyth; "perhaps byEaster I may be a Wood-gatherer!"
"It's something to work for, isn't it?" said Mrs. Arnold, who happenedto overhear.