A half-hour later the two girls stood on Mrs. Morrow’s veranda, and with Fred’s mocking laughter still ringing in their ears told of their hasty exit from the gray house. With shame-mantled face and downcast eyes Grace handed Mrs. Morrow her note.

In answer to that lady’s surprised inquiries the story was told at length, a few extra flourishes unconsciously added to plead for the unexpected finale to their errand. But Mrs. Morrow was most kind, not at all like Fred, and did not laugh at them for being “scare-babies” as he had expressed it. She voiced her sympathy most generously, saying she did not wonder they were frightened, as she was sure at their age she would have done the same.

“I cannot imagine what it could have been,” she pondered, in much perplexity. “I will ask the doctor. If he does not know he will probably hear about it, if it was really anything serious.”

She smiled in a way that made Nathalie, whose intuitions were keen, exclaim hastily, “Oh, indeed, Mrs. Morrow, we did not imagine it at all. I am sure if you could have heard that terrible shriek—and that laugh! Oh, I can hear it still!” Her brown eyes emphasized her words as they darkened with the haunting terror that caused her to rush pell-mell after Grace.

“But I do hope,” remarked Mrs. Morrow, “that Mrs. Van Vorst will never know that the young girls who took such sudden flight from her house were Pioneers, as Pioneers are supposed to be very courageous.” There was a twinkle in her eyes as she spoke that partly atoned for the implication as to the girls’ lack of courage.

They made no reply for a moment, and then Grace, as if to atone for her delinquency, exclaimed contritely, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Morrow, I was frightened—but if you want me to—” her voice faltered, “I will take it to her again.”

“No, indeed,” quickly rejoined that lady, “I could not be so cruel as to send you there again, for no matter if the shriek was nothing, you were really frightened. I did not mean to rebuke you; I only wanted to seize this opportunity to show you what an important thing courage is—and how we should cultivate it, even in small things. As for the note, I will get the doctor to take it or send it by post. I will have to confess, however, that I am disappointed, for I was so anxious to have Mrs. Van Vorst see what well-behaved and pleasing young girls belonged to the organization.”

“And you sent me!” wailed Grace. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Morrow, but what an arrant coward I have proved—and Nathalie of course would not have run if I had not!” The tears welled up piteously in her blue eyes.

“Oh, no, Grace,” interposed Nathalie loyally, “I was just on the verge of running away myself!” And then she told them about the mandarin with the grinning mouth, and sinister, bead-like eyes, that she was sure had blinked at her. This caused a laugh and cleared the atmosphere of the unpleasantness that had been created by the morning’s adventure.

The Saturday of the Pilgrim Rally—the day that was to make Nathalie a Pioneer—arrived. At an early hour of the morning the Pioneers of the three bird groups—each one with a package—began to file into Seton Hall, the little stone building used by the town for important meetings and often for social functions. Out of deference to Nathalie the girls had decided to bring their Pilgrim costumes with them—hence the mysterious packages—and not don them until she had been admitted to the organization.

With interested eyes Nathalie heard the Pioneers recite their pledge, give the sign, the salute,—the three movements of the closed hand, signifying a brave heart, an honest mind, and a resourceful hand,—and give the rousing Girl Pioneer cheer. She felt a trifle shaky, she confided to Helen who was seated next to her, dreading the ordeal of being made prominent as most girls do, but she regained her nerve somewhat as the Director arose and with a smiling nod of welcome began to call the names.

Certainly it was a pretty fancy to have each member respond to her name by giving the bird call of her group. The quick clear note of Bob White, the “Chip! chip!” of the meadow sparrow, and the oriole’s greeting were all inspiring, but it was the melodious “Tru-al-lee!” of the bluebird group that held her with its sweet, low trill.

As Nathalie heard her name called when it came time to perform the initiative ceremony of making her a Pioneer, her head began to whirl, but setting her teeth determinedly, with squared shoulders and head erect, she walked down the aisle, faced the Director, and in a clear voice repeated her pledge. In answer to the question, would she remember that the honor of a world-wide organization had been placed in her hands, and that henceforth whatever she said or did was not done simply as Nathalie Page, but as a Girl Pioneer, she answered gravely, “I will!”

The second question was now asked, if she would try to live in such a way that through and by her example the words Girl Pioneer should come to mean all that was honest, highest, best, and most efficient in the girlhood of her country, she again replied with the solemn, “I will.”

The Director now stepped to her side, and taking her by the hand said, “Nathalie Page, in the name of the Girl Pioneers of America, and by the authority vested in me as a Director, I receive you into our organization. You are now a Girl Pioneer of America. May you be a worthy successor of those women, brave, honest, resourceful, from whom our name is taken, and who in the early days of the country, standing side by side with the men, faced hardships, privations, and dangers, and helped to make possible the United States of America!”

Mrs. Morrow paused a moment, and then with one of her ready smiles took Nathalie’s hand in hers and gave her a cordial welcome. Then turning toward the Pioneers she said, “Let us welcome our new member.”

The girls sprang quickly but noiselessly on their feet, crying:

“Whomhavewehere?
AnewPioneer!
Comegiveacheer
GirlPi-o-neer
NathaliePage!”

The new Pioneer unconsciously heaved a deep sigh when the ceremony was over and she was allowed to return to her seat. She was tempted to smile at her palpitating heart when going through such a simple ceremony as the initiation to an organization of girls; and yet she was vaguely conscious that it was a momentous episode in her life, and she firmly resolved that her vow should be a binding one, and that she would try her best to become a worth-while Pioneer and a Blue Robin.

The seriousness of her act became even more apparent as she listened with keen interest to Mrs. Morrow’s little talk, which was, in memory of the day’s celebration, about the Pilgrims. It was the desire to do right in the face of all difficulties which animated the Founders of this great nation in their struggle for Freedom and Right, and which led their wives, daughters, and sisters to forego the necessities of life, to cross an unknown sea and to face the perils of the wilderness and to aid them in their noble purpose.

It was this sacrifice of the things that made life endurable, and their strict adherence to duty that gave rise to the sterling qualities of unflinching determination, hardy courage, stern endurance, unrepining cheerfulness, untiring loyalty, patient industry, and quick resourcefulness that has gained the name of the Pioneer spirit, and made these early women founders of our nation models of all that is pure and best in womanhood.

Their Director then went on and told of the handicrafts of the Pilgrims, such as baking, brewing, sewing, knitting, quilting, spinning, planting the foodstuffs, carding wool, and the many industries that were necessary to keep life in those pioneer days.

As the new Pioneer heard the gentle, persuasive voice, she began to see life in a new aspect, and to understand something of what it meant to emulate these noble women. “In your hikes, before your cheer fires, in your camps, in your home and school life, as well as in the tests and your outdoor and indoor activities, and in your sports and games, keep these women as your cheer star,” said Mrs. Morrow earnestly, “so that you, too, will be actuated by the qualities that ennobled them. And when the call comes, be kindly, helpful, resourceful, pure, and upright in the midst of all temptation and danger, and you will not only have the name of Pioneer, but will be filled with the real pioneer spirit.”

Mrs. Morrow stood silent a moment and then repeated slowly:

The girls now seated themselves in a circle, and as Jessie read the news from the monthly “Pioneer,” which reported a flower hike for the Saturday two weeks hence, they took out their materials and set to work. Some wove gay-colored yarn on small frames, others braided raffia baskets, or made squares of plaited slips of paper, while Mrs. Morrow told them something about the art of weaving.

After some time spent in learning this old-time craft, the Director asked the girls how they could best apply this industry to a very common fundamental of the home. There was a slight pause, and then some one called out “To the carpet!” Another girl ventured to say “Our clothes.” Mrs. Morrow smiled as she said they were all right in a sense, but the particular craft she meant at that time was what Helen had timidly suggested, and that was, darning stockings!

There was a ripple of laughter at this truism and then, to Nathalie’s surprise, there was a stocking drill, every one hauling forth a stocking from her basket and setting to work to practice this homely art. It was indeed a trial by needle to Nathalie, and she suffered some embarrassment when, after borrowing a stocking from her neighbor, and trying her very best to do it well, it was returned to her from the Director with the remark that she needed training in the science.

Later, when Mrs. Morrow came to her side and showed how neatly her stocking hole appeared after weaving her thread back and forth, and made Nathalie practice doing the same, the girl suddenly realized what a braggart she had been. “Oh, I told Mother I was the champion mender,” she thought remorsefully. “What a bungle I must have been making of those stockings!” With the avowed purpose that she was going to make darning her life-work for the next three weeks, she laid her work aside and hurried with the girls into the adjoining dressing-room to get ready for the real Pilgrimy time, when they were to represent the women of Plymouth town.

“Do you always have an all-day meeting?” she asked Grace, who was pinning a blue bird on Nathalie’s gown, for at Helen’s suggestion she was to appear at this, her first Rally, as a Blue Robin, in memory of the first songster that welcomed the Pilgrims.

“Oh, no, indeed,” answered Grace, “but we departed from our usual plan, which is to meet in the afternoon only, unless we have a hike or demonstration, as we wanted to make our luncheon the Mayflower Feast. But, oh, Nathalie,” she ended enthusiastically, “you are a veritable blue bird! Look, girls, isn’t she the dearest? That bluebird blue makes her cheeks like pink roses!”

At this sudden thrust into notoriety the girl’s color grew more vivid as she turned for the inspection of the girls. They grew very enthusiastic over her bluebird costume with its bluish-gray slip with scalloped edges, and bluebird cap edged with tiny blue wings, where a blue bird, standing up in the front, poised with outspread wings “ready to fly,” as one of the girls asserted.

“Oh, it’s only blue paper muslin,” explained the “flier,” as her mates had called her, when they examined the Blue Robin gown. “Helen helped me make it, and what a time we had making that birdie stick—hands off,” she finished laughingly, as some too ardent admirer pressed her close, “or I shall not fly away but fall to pieces.”

By this time, however, her admirers had found a new love in the Tike, who came dancing before them all in white. She was literally a bower of trailing arbutus, as sprays of that spring flower were fastened all over her gown.

“I am the Pilgrim flower,” she piped pertly, “some call me the Mayflower blossom.” And then catching up her skirts, with a low curtsey she repeated softly:

“OhI’mtheflowerthatneverdies,
’Neathleavessobrowninbedsolow.
Thearbutus,whoingladsurprise
Bloomed‘Welcome’fromfieldsofsnow
ToourPilgrimsiresoflongago.”

“Oh, here’s Lillie Bell!” called some one. “Isn’t she a duck of a dear!” Simultaneously the girls forsook the Tike and flocked around Lillie, who, gowned in pure white, with kerchief and lace cap, represented Susannah White, the first bride of the colony.

“Yes, and I want you to note, girls,” she asserted impressively, with a nonchalant nod to the welcome accorded her, “that I am not only the first bride, but the first mother of the colony, for my little Peregrine was born when the Mayflower rode at anchor in Cape Cod Bay, and Mrs. Morrow claims this is even a greater honor than to be the first bride. But, girls—” she ended abruptly, dropping her matronly pose, “have you seen Edith—she was to be Helen Billington—I never knew her to be so late before?”

“There! that accounts for the aching void in my heart, I know I missed some one,” cried Jessie half mockingly. “O dear, what will become of my Pioneer article if the Sport does not appear?” The girls all laughed in appreciation of Jessie’s serio-comic declaration, for it was generally conceded that Edith was the most active spirit of the band, as her sporting proclivities, her general good-nature, and her dashing escapades always furnished plenty of “copy” when any of their various hikes or demonstrations were in progress.

“Oh, don’t fret; a bad penny always turns up!” chimed in Kitty, who did not particularly admire the Sport.

“I’ll bet you a cookie that she has been arrested for appearing in disorderly apparel on the street,” observed Grace roguishly; “for she told me she was going to dress at home.”

“Oh, girls, aren’t you ready?” at this instant asked Louise Gaynor, suddenly appearing in the doorway leading to the room where Mrs. Morrow, as Mistress Carver, the Governor’s lady, was waiting to receive them.

“Her Sweet Graciousness, Mistress Carver, waits for you without in the Common House.”

“Modestandsimpleandsweet,theverytypeofPriscilla,
Priscilla,theMayflowerofPlymouth!”

Thus hummed Lillie as she walked around this winsome representation of that Puritan maiden, surveying her critically, but with approving eye.

“Oh, you’re just too sweet for anything!” warbled another bluebird, “you’re—”

“You’re too sweet to have to do your own proposing, methinks,” broke in Jessie, touching one of the long golden braids that fell from beneath the demure little cap of this first edition of women’s rights.

But at sweet Priscilla’s gentle reminder that the first lady of the land should not be kept waiting, the merry girls ceased their chatter, did their best to assume the decorous manners of the Puritan women, filed into line, and were soon in the adjoining room.

Here they were greeted by Dame Brewster, the Elder’s wife, no other than Helen, who, in ruffled cap and quaintly flowered gown, excelled even her own aspirations to appear like that motherly dame, as in speech of quaint wording she made each Mayflower damsel known to Mistress Carver.

After the greetings had been voiced, the first surprise came, and that was when the Tike came bounding into the midst of the gentle dames and informed them that a cheer fire was blazing on the grass-plot in the rear of the Hall. The Pioneers in profound wonder—as they had not expected to have a cheer fire—followed Mistress Carver to the garden, where a circle was formed around this magic inspirer of cheer, whose burning fagots snapped and crackled noisily, as if to do its share in the old-time celebration. It was in memory, Grace declared, of the many fires that had cheered the settlers in the cold and desolation of the new world.

Murmurs of wonder and queries about this mysterious surprise were silenced, as some one started a general clapping, a recognition often accorded the Pioneers’ cheer star. Then, as they gathered around the flaming light, some one suggested that perhaps the Governor’s lady could tell as to who was the magic fire-maker.

The lady in question, although disclaiming that she knew who lighted the magic inspirer, did finally admit that she could guess who had done it, but as that was a privilege that every one had, she had nothing to tell. However, the mystery remained unsolved, although some bright one ventured to suggest that it might have been the Sport, who was still missing, as she delighted to do the unexpected.

Immediately the missing Pioneer began to be eulogized for her clever and mysterious absence, as these representatives of hundreds of years ago circled about their emblem of cheer and romance. To usher in the first ceremony, or, as the girls sometimes called it “the christening of the blazer,” some one called for the story-teller to give one of her thrillers. This cry was forthwith taken up by the little company, and became so imperative that Lillie at last complied with the request, and in a few moments was telling, in her usual impressive way, the story of those pioneers, the Pilgrim men and women, who fought the first battle for liberty and union on the shores of this land.

When Lillie’s story came to an end, she received her usual applause, for every one had listened with the closest attention to the account of the many pilgrimages of these simple folk from the northeastern countries of England. In trying to serve God as they deemed right they had separated themselves from the English church and had begun to hold little meetings in the village of Scrooby. Hounded by the authorities they finally sailed to the low countries, which at that time were considered a place of refuge for the oppressed of all nations. They lived one year in Amsterdam, meeting for worship near a convent, whose sweet chimes called them to a low-ceiled room, where they sung their songs of praise and read God’s word.

But their wanderings were not over, and a year later they sailed on one of the great waterways of this Dutch land to Leyden. Here they remained twelve years in twenty-three humble little homes, built on a plot of ground known as the Koltsteeg, and called Bell Alley, just across the way from the great dome of St. Peter’s church.

Here in this land of foreign tongue their children grew up, learned their trades and, alas, many of the ways of these people, especially their methods of keeping the Sabbath, which were contrary to the beliefs of these God-loving people. It was for this reason as well as for others, that they started forth on their wanderings again, and migrated to the new land across the sea, sailing in the Mayflower on the twenty-second of July, 1620.

Nathalie was somewhat disappointed in the beginning, that she was not to hear one of Lillie’s twentieth-century thrillers, but the story of the Pilgrims was so interesting that she felt amply repaid for her disappointment. Although familiar with their story in this land, she had never heard much about the lives of these founders before they came to America.

The tale of these ancient folk was rendered even more interesting by various interruptions at intervals, as when Dame Brewster read, in solemn tone, the Constitution formed by these people in the cabin of the Mayflower, said to have been written on an old chest, and known as The Compact, the first stone in the American Commonwealth.

The Governor’s lady enlivened the tedious voyage over by telling of several little incidents that had occurred; one was when the Mayflower during a severe storm was saved from going to the bottom by some one wedging a kracht, or jackscrew, in a leak that had suddenly sprung amidships.

Little Humility Cooper, one of the children of the Mayflower voyagers, an Oriole Pioneer, recited Mrs. Heman’s “Landing of the Pilgrims,” while sprightly Mary Chilton told of her race with John Alden to be the first one of the little company to step on Plymouth Rock. She added to the interest of this recital by giving a short account of this historical granite from the day it served as a foundation stone of her victory until the present time.

A Bob White told about the first American washday, and the fun the children had gathering sweet juniper boughs to build the fires, over which hung the tripod from which was suspended the kettles of that historic occasion.

Louise Gaynor, as Priscilla, recited parts of Longfellow’s poem, “The Courtship of Myles Standish,” with its picturesque account of the most romantic happening of the little town, while as Mistress Fuller, Barbara described Fort Hill and told about Captain Standish and his sixteen valiant men-at-arms who explored the hills and woods of the wilderness.

Kitty Corwin, as another Pilgrim dame, told of the erection of the seven little houses with their thatched roofs, built in a row on First, or Leyden Street, giving a rather exciting account of the many serious accidents that happened to the Common House where the stores and ammunition of the community were stored. And so, in picturesque detail, each feature of the story was brought forth to form in the minds of these twentieth century Pioneers a picture that would last through the years that were to follow, and help them gain an insight into the characters they were representing.

Elizabeth Winslow, the first wife of the first American statesman, one of the first to pass away in the fatal sickness of that lonely winter; Mrs. Hopkins, who won fame as the mother of the boy Oceanus, born on the Mayflower; Bridget Fuller, the wife of the genial Dr. Fuller, and others, were all impersonated by some one of the Pioneers.

Even the ghosts, as Grace dubbed them, were heard from: Myles Standish’s first wife, known as the beautiful English Rose, who died soon after reaching the new land, and Dorothy Bradford, the young wife of William Bradford, who came to her death by falling overboard while her husband was exploring the shores with Captain Standish and his men.

By the time the story with its variations had been told, the girls, tired of posing with old-time stiffness and ceremony, were all laughing merrily as some one of the band suddenly spied some comical or grotesque aspect of the impersonator, when the Tike screamed shrilly, “Oh, who is that?” pointing to a black-draped figure standing in the doorway of the hall, with red, perspiring face, hat cocked on one side, and a generally bedraggled appearance.

It was the missing Pioneer, Edith, who, after the hubbub had subsided as to her untimely appearance and tardy arrival, pulled off her long black cloak and threw herself on the grass by the side of Lillie. With gasps and sundry emphasizing shrieks she told what had befallen her on the way to the Rally.

“Father was ill last night, so the first thing this morning I had to go for the doctor. Then as mother was busy attending to Father I had to get the youngsters ready,—they were going to a May picnic, for of course,” Edith added petulantly, “no matter what happened to me, Mother would not have the kiddies disappointed.”

Catching Mrs. Morrow’s reproving eye, she stammered apologetically, “Of course, I would not have them disappointed myself—they are dears—but it lost me my morning; and then, just as I was hurrying by the gray house,—oh, girls—” dropping her voice to a tense whisper, “what do you think I heard?”