The tenseness of Edith’s tone, coupled with her mysterious manner, had the desired effect, and the Pioneers all bent forward eagerly with expectant eyes, anxious to hear what she had seen and heard, while some too impetuous one called out, “Oh, do hurry and tell us what it was!”

“It was the most terrible shriek I ever heard,” answered Edith, with a long-drawn sigh. Having succeeded in getting her audience where she wanted them she was anxious to prolong her triumph. “Why, my heart jumped into my mouth, and I—”

“Where did the noise come from?” inquired practical Helen impatiently, who never wasted any time in getting wrought up, as she called it, by the Sport’s yarns.

“It came from the garden of the gray house,” was the quick retort; and then, crossly, “I do wish, Helen, you would wait—you’ll spoil the whole thing if you don’t let me tell it properly.”

Grace, who had been listening intently to the Sport’s recital, looked up quickly and encountered a glance from Nathalie’s eyes as she suddenly turned from Edith and looked across the circle at Grace to see if she had heard. But Grace, whose memory was still rankling with her adventure at the gray house, was afraid that if the girls knew they would plague her unmercifully for being a runaway, and hastily put her hand on her lips in warning not to tell what had happened to them.

Nathalie nodded loyally and then turned to hear Edith repeat, “Yes, the noise came from the garden of the gray house, I have always told you there was something queer about that place. At first I started to run away, and then I thought, ‘O pshaw! whatever it is, it won’t hurt me behind those high walls.’ So I walked close up to the wall near one corner to see if I could not manage to climb up in some way and look into the garden. I had just spied a tiny hole in the lower part of the wall—I guess some boys had made it, you know they are always spying about that place, anyway—when I heard loud breathing. I looked up and saw a man creeping stealthily around the corner of the wall, as if dodging some one. Well, I just gave one look at him, he had great black, burning kind of eyes, staring out of a face as white as a corpse. He suddenly spied me, and by the uncanny glare he gave I knew right off he was the one who had been shrieking, he was the crazy man who lives there! Great guns! but I didn’t wait to take another look, I took to my heels and flew. Then I heard steps thumping behind me—looked back—oh, girls,” she shrieked hysterically, “he was chasing me, running after me as hard as he could!”

She gulped, and then with a gasp continued, “Oh, for a moment I thought I was doomed, but—well—you know I can run, and I did, for my life. I ran every step of the way here—and—oh, I’m so hungry! Have you had the feast yet?”

“What became of the man?” inquired Helen tersely.

“Oh, yes, what became of him?” added one or two others.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” asserted Miss Edith carelessly. “All I know is that he is as crazy as a loon, and that he lives in the gray house.”

“Edith,” exclaimed Mrs. Morrow sharply, “as long as you did not see the man come from the gray house do not say he lives there; and as for saying he is crazy, that is absurd. That is just an idle report; do not repeat it until you have proof that what you say is correct. He was probably a tramp, and may have been chased from the garden by one of the servants.” Mrs. Morrow’s face showed keenly her annoyance and disbelief in Edith’s surmise.

“But what could the screams have been?” asked Helen, wonderingly, “if they really came from the garden?”

“Oh, I am sure they did,” asserted the Sport positively, “for I have heard other people say that they have heard queer noises coming from that place. But girls,” she exclaimed, as if anxious to dismiss the subject, “do tell me what you have been doing. Oh, I did so hate to miss all the fun.”

“Yes, kiddie, it is too bad,” consoled Lillie, putting her arm around her friend, “but we have not had the feast yet, we’ve just been listening to little stories about the Pilgrims—you know you heard me read my story the other day—” she stopped abruptly, for a sudden rustling in a clump of trees back of the garden had caused every one to turn and peer apprehensively over their shoulders.

“Oh,” shivered the Sport nervously, “perhaps it is the crazy man!” She sprang to her feet and made as if to take to her heels again.

Every girl followed her example, and in another moment there would have been a wild stampede to the shelter of the hall, if a loud voice had not called out, “Welcome, Englishmen! Welcome!”

Simultaneously with these words a lithe form sprang into the midst of the terrified girls, who clung to one another with wildly beating hearts as with dilated eyes they glared at the intruder, a tall Indian youth, resplendent with a feathered head-gear. He was clad in deerskin trousers fringed at the seams, a string of hairy scalps hung at his belt, and he held a bow and arrow in his hands as he stood and looked down at this bevy of frightened colonial maids with a broad smile on his grease besmeared face.

There was just a second’s pause, and then Helen shouted merrily, “Oh, it’s Teddy Hart, and he’s Samoset! Oh, girls, don’t you remember? He was the Indian who came and welcomed the Pilgrims!”

Of course they all remembered, for had not Lillie dealt at length upon that very scene when telling her story? And Teddy Hart, why, he was a Boy Scout, one of Fred Tyson’s patrol, which was known as the Eagle patrol.

This was all that was needed to make the girls forget the crazy man and the Sport’s harrowing tale, and they crowded about Teddy crying, “Oh, Ted, where did you get the rig?” or, “What made you think of it?” and, “Isn’t it the best ever?” This last was from the Tike who was hopping about the new arrival examining the hairy scalps—which turned out to be a few wigs borrowed from the village barber—with keen curiosity.

“Great CÆsar! give a fellow a chance to breathe, won’t you?” fired the make-believe Samoset, as he mopped his face energetically. “Don’t riddle me with questions; I’m not a target!”

Yes, this was the second surprise, or the forerunner of it, for before Teddy was ready to surrender his place as the hero of the moment, the beat of a drum was heard, and from the little bit of woodland where Ted had been hiding issued a group of queer-looking individuals. They were all attired in somber-colored clothes with broad white collars, high conical-shaped hats, and all carried guns and had swords clanking at their sides in good impersonation of the Fathers of their country. The next moment they had formed in line and with well-simulated solemnity of countenance, “as if going to meeting-house,” tittered Grace, these sixteen men-at-arms, headed by Capt. Standish—who was no other than Fred Tyson—marched valiantly down the street towards the garden.

It was the Sport after all who saved the day for the Pioneers, for as they stood in dazed laughter wondering how to greet these unexpected guests, the Sport’s hand shot up, and two seconds later the girls had joined her in saluting their brother organization, as with one accord they gave the Pioneer cheer.

In quick response to a signal from their leader, the Scouts came to a halt, and as one man each Scout’s hand went up to his forehead in the salute of three ringers held upright. This was followed by another cheer, a rousing one this time, as each boy shouted lustily:

“Ready!Ready!Scout!Scout!Scout!
Goodturndaily!Shout!Shout!Shout!”

The boys now fell into step again, and in a few moments had entered the little wicker gate where they broke ranks as they were cordially welcomed by the Governor’s lady and Dame Brewster. For a short space following pandemonium reigned, as the boys tried to answer the many queries propounded by the girls, each Pioneer, spying some one favorite boy, singled him out with merry jest to answer as to the why and wherefore of the unlooked for surprise.

Nathalie felt somewhat embarrassed and stood apart from the girls, not having met any of the Scouts of the town. Perhaps she was a little scornful, for in the city she had been wont to pass a khaki uniform with scant approval, considering these emulators of chivalrous knights mere boys. Not understanding the aims or purposes of the organization they had failed to attract her.

But as she stood watching these tall, well-developed lads with heads held high, squared shoulders, and with the ruddy glow of an active life in the open on their bright faces, she reluctantly admitted that they were interesting to look at, at least.

“Ah, Miss Nathalie, I see you have forgotten me!” spoke a voice at the girl’s elbow. She turned quickly to see the laughing brown eyes of Fred Tyson. Fred’s face was flushed with embarrassment as he felt somewhat timorous as to this city girl’s greeting, since he had last seen her walking away from him with flushed cheeks and angry mien as he teasingly taunted, “Scare-babies! Scare-babies!”

But Nathalie had forgotten all about that trivial incident—perhaps because she had a brother and knew the moods of boys and how they delighted to tease and hark at the girls—and she dimpled with cordiality as she returned his greeting.

She was soon sparkling with merriment as Fred told of the fun they had in rigging up, and the sensation they created as they marched through Main Street. By this time the explanations from the boys were over, and the secret of the cheer fire was revealed. It had been made by the Scouts at the suggestion of Dr. Homer, who was much interested in the Pioneers and had planned the two surprises to give a little more tone to the celebration and fun to the girls.

The girls now clamored that they were hungry, and at an intimation from Mrs. Morrow the Scouts were invited to repair to one of the side rooms in the hall, where their Mayflower Feast was to be held.

The invitation was accepted by Fred for the patrol, and the party of merry-makers filed noisily into the hall. When the boys saw the Stars and Stripes, and the yards of red, white, and blue bunting hanging in graceful folds from the walls of the room, they broke into patriotic song. “Red, White, and Blue” was first sung in compliment to the Girl Pioneers’ colors, and was quickly succeeded by the “Battle Cry of Freedom,” and “The Star-Spangled Banner,” in recognition of the starry emblem that symbolizes—more than any design that floats to the wind—the uplift of mankind, Liberty, and Union!

A cheery fire of pine knots blazed a greeting from the hearth, while two long boards supported on trestles and covered with a shining damask cloth, represented the table of Pioneer days. Odd bits of old-time ware, such as silver porringers, queer-shaped jugs, or blackjacks, a number of wooden bowls, a high-standing salt-cellar, and a pewter tankard, were distributed about the table. But it was the flowers that lay in bunches here and there—and all May ones, too, from the clusters of white snowballs, lilacs, pink and yellow azaleas, to the big bowls filled with sprigs of arbutus—that held Nathalie’s eyes.

But flags, antiques, and flowers soon became things of the past, as the girls brought forth their lunch-baskets; each one had vied with the other to bring some choice edible and with the help of the modern knights, who declared that they had come for that purpose, the table was loaded with goodies.

Just before the feast was served, Will Ditmas, a fair counterpart of William Brewster, the ruling elder of Plymouth, suddenly stood up and, after much throat-clearing, announced in a droning voice that if those present were willing, for the furtherance of sobriety and seemly behavior, he would read a few rules from “A Pretty Little Pocket Book.”

After stonily staring over a pair of goggles at a few irrepressible gigglers the would-be Elder read: “Speak not until spoken to; break not thy bread, nor bite into a whole slice; take not salt unless with a clean knife, and throw no bones under the table.”

Those who were trying to keep their faces straight wavered in the attempt and joined the irrepressible Tike in a few hysterical titters as he continued: “Hold not thy fork upright, but sloping, lay it down at the right hand of the plate, with the end of the blade on the table plate, and look not earnestly at any person that is eating.”

This last was the final straw for the Tike, and she giggled so unrestrainedly that she threatened hysteria, and Helen had to whack her on the back so that she could get her breathing apparatus in working order again. This ebullition was like a match to fire, and all those who had been smothering their mirth now broke forth into loud laughter, which threatened to become clamorous had not Mrs. Morrow held up her restraining finger.

The signal was too well known not to be obeyed, and the too mirthful ones were recalled to themselves. Then, too, they were all hungry; so forgetting the old-time admonitions of their forebears, they were soon occupied satisfying their hunger.

After the left-over goodies had been gathered into baskets to be delivered to a poor family, and the place was set in order again, the chivalrous knights and the emulating Pioneers swarmed merrily into the dance hall, where they held high court to the light fantastic as Mrs. Morrow, the one-piece orchestra, rattled off ragtime harmony for round and square dances.

Nathalie by this time had met a number of the Scouts, and to her surprise found that some of them danced as well as, and in some cases better than her boy friends in the city. The would-be Elder, who had droned the rules from the pocket book, proved not only a good dancer, but most companionable, and finding that Nathalie was sadly ignorant as to the aims and purposes of the Scout organization, he set forth to enlighten her.

He took off his Scout badge, pointed out the eagle, and the stars and shield, explaining that it was a trefoil badge and represented the three points in the Scout oath. The curl-up at the end of the scroll was a reminder to each Scout that the corners of his mouth should always be turned up in a smile of cheerfulness. The knot in the loop was a “conscience pricker,” as he expressed it, that a Scout was pledged to do some one a good turn every day.

The next dance was Fred Tyson’s, and when it ended they seated themselves in a corner of the hall to cool off, and as Nathalie fanned herself with a much bedraggled handkerchief, they hit upon a topic that proved most entertaining, and that was—college. Fred stated that he expected to go to Dartmouth in the fall and was therefore looking forward to it with much pleasure.

Nathalie, with sparkling eyes, told how she had dreamed and longed to go to college, and then the golden lights in her eyes shadowed as she said that since the death of her father she had decided to stop dreaming about what was impossible for her, and to do something worth while, so she had become a Pioneer.

“But don’t you think it worth while to go to college?” was Fred’s puzzled query, “for surely there is nothing that will help a girl more in life than to have—what is it—the higher education?”

“Yes, I know,” assented his companion, “that is all right, but when one finds that they can’t have a thing—no matter how big or grand it is, or how much they want it—if it is impossible, it ceases to be worth while; that is, why spend time lamenting, or thinking about something that can’t be accomplished?”

“Why, you are a regular little philosopher!” laughed Fred. But Nathalie was not heeding, for suddenly looking across the room she perceived that the dancers had retired from the floor, all but the Pioneers, who were standing in two lines in the center of the room facing one another as if about to dance the Virginia Reel.

“Oh, what are they going to do?” she cried, but before her companion could answer Helen came running up.

“Come on, Nathalie, we are going to dance the Pioneer dance. It’s lots of fun.”

“But I don’t know it,” objected the girl. “I am not going to make a show of myself before all these boys.”

“Oh, but you won’t,” urged Helen, “for you can be my partner, and I will tell you as we go along; and then its awfully simple, for we just go through the motions of pioneer handcraft—”

“Pioneer handcraft?” echoed Nathalie more puzzled than before.

“Yes, don’t you remember what Mrs. Morrow told us about the handcrafts of the Pioneer women? Well, she made up this dance to make these crafts definite. Oh, come, it is easy!” In a moment, Nathalie’s objection being overruled, she bade Fred good-by and was hurried by her partner to join one of the two lines on the floor.

Only a few explanations were necessary, and Nathalie, who was quick to learn, joined her voice to the girlish ones singing:

“Singing,ringingthro’theair
ComesthesongofMollyfair.
Milking,milkingCrumpleHorn
Downinthebarnatearlydawn.”

As the song ended, the closed right hand of every Girl Pioneer was held out in front, elbow bent upward. Then came three movements up and down in imitation of the act of churning. This was done three times, as in chorus came:

“Churning,turning,seeitsplash,
Thisway,thatway,withadash.”

As the next two lines rang out:

“Skimmingskimmingfoamywhite,
Makingthebuttergoldenbright,”

the motions were changed to those of skimming milk, repeated three times as in the previous movement, the girls emphasizing the end of each movement by stamping the feet, using first one and then the other. They ended this last motion by each girl placing her hands on her hips and tripping in line with the others lightly down the room in time with the music and then back to place.

A second of time, and each dancer was making the motion of holding a baby in her encircled arms, and while swaying to and fro these words were softly crooned:

“Goldenslumberkissyoureyes,
Smilesawakeyouwhenyourise.
Sleepprettywantons,donotcry,
AndIwillsingalullabye.”

Another moment, and the arms had fallen, each girl faced her opposite partner, and then linking hands together they were rocking a cradle as they joyously warbled:

“Babyisasailorboy,swing,cradle,swing;
Sailingisthesailor’sjoy,swing,cradle,swing.”

Now the girls were waltzing gaily down the room and back again to place, where this time they formed in rows of three in each line. A crash of chords from the piano, and each girl stepped forward with outstretched left hand, and made the motion of taking something with the right hand from the closed left, and casting it on the ground, as they repeated clearly and loudly:

“Goodflaxandgoodhemptohaveofherown,
InMay,agoodhousewifewillseethatitissown.
Andafterwardstrimittoserveinaneed,
Thefimbletospin,thecardfromherreel.”

Yes, they were sowing hemp as their great-grand-mothers had done hundreds of years ago—a sign of a thrifty housewife. Now came three claps of the hand and again the girls swung into two facing lines. Each performer now lightly put forward the right foot, poised on the ball of the left one, while making the motion as of moving the treadle of a spinning-wheel, as with lifted hands she twisted the flax, stopping every moment to moisten one finger in an imaginary cup fastened to the distaff.

“Polly Green, her reel,” announced Helen as leader of the dance, and then came the old-fashioned couplet softly hummed:

“Countyourthreadsright,
Ifyoureelinthenight
WhenIamfaraway.”

Before Nathalie could decide whether the couplet meant only to count your threads at night while Polly was far away, the dancers had swung into place and were going through the minuet. With slow and stately measure they moved, ending each turn with the dipping, sweeping curtsy that has made that dance so graceful a reminder of the festivities of early days.

Now they are singing:

“Twiceayeardeplumedmaytheybe
Inspryngentymeandharvesttyme,”

as with swift motion each girl pretended to grab up something with her left hand while the right flew up and down with noiseless regularity—plucking a goose for dinner.

The next instant every alternate girl had put her hand over her mouth in the form of a horn and was calling loudly, “Ho, Molly Gray! Hi, Crumple Horn!” This call had barely ceased its musical reverberation when each fair dancer caught up the hem of her apron and, bending forward, with well-simulated deftness was gathering or picking up something from the ground which was quickly thrust into her apron. Another flash of white arms, and each girl had caught up the hem of her neighbor’s gown and with a pretended switch was driving her forward while merrily singing:

“Drivingintwilightthewaitingcowshome,
Witharmsfull-ladenwithhemlockboughs,
Tobetracedonabroomerethecomingday
Fromitseasternchambershoulddanceaway.”

As the songs and motions ended, the girls filed into line and marched around the room as if carrying muskets, that is, women’s muskets, brooms.

Once more in row, each girl pretended she was holding a card with one hand, while drawing another card softly, but swiftly across the first. This was done with a deft, catchy motion as the girls sing-songed:

“Niddy-noddy,niddy-noddy
Twoheadsononebody.”

“Now we are imitating the motions of carding wool,” Helen whispered softly to Nathalie. “Niddy-noddy means the old-fashioned hand-reel used in the days when there were no machines.”

The Pioneers had finished carding wool and were dancing the Virginia Reel, spinning each other around with the vigor and vim of young hearts as a prelude to the next dance. In this they simulated sewing, taking their stitches with a precision and handiness that rivalled the little maids of Puritan days. With a posture as of holding a wooden frame, while in and out the needle flew, each damsel repeated slowly, with quaint precision:

“LolaStandishismyname.
Lord,guidemyheartthatImaydothywill,
AndfillmyHandswithsuchconvenientskill
AswillconducetoVirtuevoidofshame,
AndIwillgivetheGlorytothyname.”

Only a space of time and the samplers were dropped, and each girl grew strangely still, with bent head and listening ears. With eyes flaming in a fixed stare she poised an imaginary fowling-piece on her shoulder. They stood for a moment in this pose as each one present grasped the idea that they were doing the deed that many a Pioneer woman had bravely done in those early days, in the absence of husband keeping guard over the home from the relentless ravages of the red man!