“Oh, it’s the crazy man!” came with a flash into Nathalie’s mind. What should she do? If she could only take off that horrible bandage from her eyes!

“Oh, don’t be frightened!” exclaimed the princess with a merry laugh as she saw her companion cower in her chair. “It’s only Jimmie! Jimmie, stop that racket!” she continued with a loud clap of her hands. But Jimmie, whoever he was, only replied with another agonizing shriek. This time the princess called angrily, “Mamma, come and make Jimmie stop his shrieking. Miss Page is awfully frightened!”

Nathalie, as she heard the foregoing explanation, and realized that it was not an insane person screaming, gave a hysterical gasp and turned her head in the direction of the shrieks, but alas! her blinders, like a black wall, barred her vision.

A few hurried steps, a scuffle evidently, accompanied by the loud flapping of wings, and then a jumble of French, Spanish, and English, jabbered in defiant rage, revealed that Jimmie was a cockatoo!

But Jimmie, determined not to be worsted in his fight to be heard, with much loudness and clearness of note now broke into “In the Sweet Bye and Bye.” This sudden transition from the terrestrial to the celestial proved too much for Jimmie’s audience, and peals of laughter rang out, in which Nathalie’s treble and the doctor’s deeper note mingled with the cockatoo’s song. Jimmie, thinking he was winning an encore, started in with “Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief—” but this time he was summarily thrust from the room by an attendant—amid jabbering protests.

The doctor now reminded Nathalie that they must be going, as he had an important case on hand; he had waited for her, he explained, knowing that she would be unable to manage alone with her blinders, as he called the handkerchief.

As Nathalie rose to go the princess seized her hand, crying, “No, you shall not go. You have only been here a few moments!” Notwithstanding her mother’s admonition that the doctor must not be detained, the invalid persisted in clutching her new friend’s hand in a vise-like grip, much to her embarrassment. Finding, however, that she was not to have her way, the princess broke forth into a low whimpering.

Nathalie stood still, and then feeling ashamed that a girl of her age should act the part of a child of five, endeavored to persuade her to let her go, promising to come again soon. She met with no success, and driven desperate by the command, “Come, Nathalie, we must go!” she roughly pulled her hand away. Whereupon, the whimpering cries of the princess degenerated into shrieks of rage, so prolonged and shrill that Nathalie, with a thrill of surprise, immediately recognized from whom Jimmie had learned his shrieks.

As the car sped swiftly along in the direction of home, after the black handkerchief had been relegated to the doctor’s pocket again, Nathalie suddenly reddened furiously, looked queer for a moment, and then burst into stifled laughter, much to the doctor’s amusement, who was gravely watching her.

“Hello!” he cried at length, “what’s up?” after his companion had made one or two ineffectual efforts to control her risibility.

But at last she sobered, and with the tears still in her eyes told how she and Grace had been sent by Mrs. Morrow a short time before—to deliver a letter to Mrs. Van Vorst, and how when they were waiting in the reception room they had heard those same terrible shrieks and frenzied laughter that Jimmie had emitted that morning, and, thinking that it was an insane person, they had run for their lives.

“O dear,” she gasped hysterically, “what a joke on Grace and me! To think of our running away when it was only a cockatoo! Oh, what sillies we were!”

“I agree with you,” returned the doctor so solemnly that the girl flushed and looked at him quickly with shamed eyes, but his humorous twinkle did not agree with his blunt assurance, so Nathalie’s self-esteem suffered no wound.

“You know where you were then to-day?” questioned the doctor slowly after a pause.

“Oh, yes, at the house of the Mystic!”

“The house of the Mystic?” with some astonishment.

“Oh, that is the name the girls have given Mrs. Van Vorst because she acts so queerly. She has been very disagreeable to the Pioneers, they claim, refusing to let them drill on the lawn in the rear of her house. The girls say she hates young people, and then she always dresses so queerly in gray, too. She has shrouded herself in mystery by shutting herself up in that big gray house behind those walls. Edith Whiton insists that there is an insane person in the house and that he chased her the day of the Pilgrim Rally.”

“An insane person! There is no insane person in the house. That is nonsense, and should not be repeated!” exclaimed the doctor in an annoyed tone.

“Yes, I know, but the girls believe Edith, and so did I until to-day. But Grace and I have never told a soul what we heard, only Mrs. Morrow. But, oh, Doctor,” she cried impulsively, “can’t I tell Grace about the cockatoo? I will tell her not to tell a living soul,” she ended earnestly.

“No,” returned the doctor decidedly, “Miss Grace is all right, but she might let it out in her sleep. No, you wait, and some time you girls can have the best laugh ever, as my kiddies say.”

So the story of Nathalie’s visit to the princess in the tower was buried deep within her heart, although it came very near being unearthed several times when she was in the company of Grace or Helen, for really, it was hard to keep it a secret when it was such a good joke.

Saturday, the day of the wild-flower hike, was warm and sunshiny, with the balminess of summer in its gently wafting breezes. Every one present was filled with the anticipation that they were going to have a “dandy time.”

“Are we all here?” questioned Mrs. Morrow, as she stood on the veranda steps, craning her neck from one side to the other in the endeavor to see that her bird groups were all there. In her natty khaki suit, with its red-banded sombrero and red tie, she looked as jaunty and young as the Bluebirds, Bob Whites, and Orioles, who, with admiring eyes, watched her as they stood lined up on the path with knapsacks, staffs, and all the paraphernalia needed for the hike.

The several bird calls attested that the band were all on hand, and then they filed up on the veranda before their Director as lunch-baskets were opened for inspection, so that she could see that each one had been properly prepared and was in a “relishy condition,” as Helen explained to Nathalie.

In a few moments the inspection was over and the girls tripped merrily down the walk and out of the gate, making such a hubbub with the clatter of their tongues that the doctor, as he came hurriedly up the path, teasingly put his fingers in his ears in intimation that they were making undue clamor.

The Flower of the Family’s knapsack bulged with a package of Aunt Jemima’s Pancake Flour, suggestive of the flapjacks to be, while the Editor-in-chief, with a reporter-like air, carried a large note-book under her arm so as to feature the affair in the forthcoming “Pioneer.” The Encyclopedia was lumbered with two musty volumes on flower lore, she explained, so as to be able to give all desired information on the various specimens that were to be gathered by the hikers.

The Pot-Boiler’s knapsack was not only stuffed with several mysterious-looking packages, but was glaringly conspicuous, that young lady, true to her name, having pasted a paper advertisement of an iron pot on its cover. The Sport carried a few garden implements: a small shovel, a rake, and a hoe, with which to burrow in the ground for those specimens that grew in a brook or in the mossy hollows in the woods. The Tike, as the privileged fag, carried a basket to fill with wild-flowers to be distributed to the shut-ins of the town hospital on their return.

Each Pioneer, besides her lunch-box, carried a self-made note-book—Nathalie had spent several hours making hers—with a pencil attached for her flower specimens, data, and so forth. Nathalie felt a bit disappointed that she had not been able to buy a uniform, although Helen had said that it made no difference, for she noticed to her dismay that she was the only Pioneer minus that very desirable accessory, dear to the heart of every hiker.

The girls had gone but half a block when a sudden cry of pleasure rippled through the line. Then, as one Pioneer, the girls gave their call in welcome to Dr. Homer, who, as Mrs. Morrow explained, was to take the place usually occupied by her husband, when the Pioneers were on a long hike.

The doctor responded by giving the Boy Scout salute as he stood a moment with raised hat. When the girls filed by, to Nathalie’s surprise he stepped to her side and asked, as he smiled in recognition, “May I have the pleasure of hiking with you?”

Nathalie’s cheeks bloomed pink at the remembrance of their last meeting, but her eyes brightened as she nodded an assent. Perhaps some of the girls felt a little envious as they saw whom the doctor had selected for the favor of his company, as he was a great favorite and had always proved a delightful companion. But they quickly stifled any feeling that jarred, as each one remembered that she had had her turn, and that now it was Nathalie’s opportunity to have this pleasure as the new Pioneer.

And Nathalie’s turn added a zest and enjoyment to her first hike that was long remembered, for through Dr. Homer’s kindness in imparting to her many stray bits of knowledge she was able to hide her greenness in wood-lore, bird-lore, and many of the activities in which the other Pioneers were so proficient.

The Pioneers had barely reached the open when the Sport and one of the Orioles were despatched by the Director to blaze a trail. In order to give this advance corps a chance to get ahead, the rest of the company rested on the road, sitting down on the grass, or on some decayed tree trunk, while others practiced wall-scaling, among them Nathalie and the doctor, the latter acting as their instructor.

This scaling feat meant stepping carefully upon the ledge of a stone wall that skirted the road, and then springing down as quickly and lightly as possible, so as not to dislodge stray stones and bring them rattling after one. This forerunner of other feats to come led the doctor to tell how a Scout practiced wall-scaling; sometimes by standing on the shoulders of another Scout, and then climbing a high wooden fence, which was claimed by many to be a more difficult performance than scaling a stone wall. This, of course, proved an incentive for the girls to do their best, especially Nathalie, who as a city-bred girl did not want to prove a laggard.

A few minutes later, as they resumed their tramp, Nathalie’s face grew radiant as she suddenly spied a tree near with a penknife notch on the bark. “Oh, girls, here is the trail! Go this way!” she cried excitedly, pointing as she spoke to the notched sign of a twig bent at the end, making it look somewhat like the point of a broken arrow. As she was coming to be a zealous student of the bent-twig signs, the trail-blazing system invented for the Pioneers, she explained a number of these bent-twig signs to the doctor, who was deeply interested and not only told of the many signs used by the Scouts, but showed her the trees that were the easiest to cut.

Chatting, laughing, and singing—for the girls vied with the birds in their joyousness that summer morning—making bird calls, alternating with notch-making and flower-gathering made the time pass swiftly. The new Pioneer was amazed when Dr. Homer pulled out his watch and looking at his pedometer said that they had walked four miles, and that in a short time they would hit the wood trail, where they were to camp for dinner.

Nathalie’s flower-box was soon full of specimens that she had gathered from the roadside and the meadow where her lesson in wall-scaling came in handy. Perhaps this wild flower hunt proved but a small part of her pleasure, for as she strolled along the doctor proved most companionable as he coached her in hike knowledge.

Never walk over anything you can go around, he had told her, and never step on anything you can step over, for every time you step on anything you lift the weight of your body, which makes more to carry when tramping. He also made her laugh heartily when he insisted upon examining the footwear of the hikers, expounding as he did so upon the foolishness of damsels in general, who would insist upon wearing shoes either too big or too small for them. The small shoes, he said, crowded the feet, and the big ones added extra weight, and made them road-weary before the tramp was half over.

He also told her about the weather signs; a low cloud moving swiftly indicated coolness; hard-edged clouds, wind; rolled or jagged clouds, strong wind; and a mackerel sky, a whole day of fair weather. Nathalie, perhaps to show this young man with the smiling gray eyes who looked at you so fearlessly that she, too, did know just a tiny bit about weather signs, sang softly:

“HarktotheEastWind’ssongfromthesea,
Blowingthemistycloudso’erlea;
Shakingthesheavesofgoldengrain
Withthepatteroftherain;
Givingtheearthacoolingdrink,
Washingtheflow’rsabrighterpink.

HarktotheWestWind’ssongofcheer
Bringingblueskyandweatherclear;
Drivingawaythecloudssogray
Fillingtheearthwithsunlight’sray;
Cheeringtheheartsofthosewhomourn,
Fillingthedarkwithgoldendawn.”

When the little lecture had ended she had learned that when a slack rope tightens, when smoke beats down, when the sun is red in the morning, or when there is a yellowish or greenish sunset it means rain; how to tell which way the wind blows by pulling blades of grass and then letting the wind blow them, or to suck your thumb and let the wind blow around it, the cool side telling the tale.

To be sure, they were all simple things to learn, but they were the essentials of life, as the doctor said, who had a most jolly manner of giving his stray bits of information, all the while making so much sport, as he ambled on, that Nathalie was sure she would remember everything he had told her.

When the girls reached the wood with its cool, damp shade, moss-grown paths, and running brooklet, they set to work with renewed vigor to hunt for specimens. The Sport, notwithstanding the fun the girls had made of her garden implements, found that they were in great demand. For a time she was the star hiker, as first one and another pleaded, “Oh, Edith, just let me have that rake a minute!” or, “Oh, I see the dandiest little blue flower here in this crevice!” and so on.

When they finally grew tired of flower-hunting they pushed their way to a level space in the open on the edge of the woods, where knapsacks, frying-pans, pots, and all such camping utensils were hastily thrown on the grass, and the girls hied themselves to the spring to wash their heated cheeks and rearrange their tangled tresses. Some, more venturesome than the others, took off their shoes and stockings and waded in the brook’s cooling flow, while the older ones, summoned by a series of bird calls, hurried back to camp to prepare dinner.

To their delight, as the girls returned from the spring, they found that Dr. Homer had built an Indian “wickiup,” that is a dome-shaped wigwam, by sticking in the ground in a circle a number of limber poles. The ones the doctor had used were willow wands, but almost any kind of a bough would do, he claimed. He then showed the girls how he had bent the tops of each pair of opposites or poles forward until they met. The ends were then interlocked and tied firmly. Over this impromptu wigwam—for it had been made with no tool but his strong penknife—he had thrown a blanket shawl.

The girls were all much interested in the Indian wigwam for this was the simplest way of making a tent, and they examined it eagerly. They were especially interested when the doctor told them that one time when he had lost his trail up in the Maine woods, he had made a dome-shaped wigwam and had rested in its shelter, high and dry, during a severe storm.

When the novelty of the wigwam had worn off, every girl declared herself famished for something to eat, and the dinner committee hustled about picking up small dry twigs, which were placed in a heap, lightly, so as to draw the air. These were then covered with the heavier sticks until the desired height for a campfire was reached. Several fires were to be started, as no time was to be wasted in cooking the edibles.

When all was in readiness, there was a general call for Nathalie, who, as the new Pioneer, was to take her first lesson in lighting a fire with only one match. Every Pioneer, of course, was eager to show her how to do this feat, but Mrs. Morrow silenced the clamor by assigning the task to Helen.

“Oh, Mrs. Morrow—I think—” Nathalie stopped, a sudden roguish expression flittered over her face, and then she meekly followed Helen to the wood-pile and stood silent as she watched that young lady scratch her match, hold it in the hollow of her hand, and then, with a soft puff, kneel, and apply it to a twig.

The twig was obstinate, however, and Helen’s one match attempt was a decided failure. The Sport now offered her services as instructor, but Nathalie, feeling sorry for Helen, who with a crestfallen air had retired to the ranks of onlookers, cried, “Oh, no, Mrs. Morrow, can’t I try by myself?”

As the Director nodded an assent, while the doctor laughingly declared she would have beginner’s luck, Nathalie took her match, examined it carefully, and then scratched it on the box. A tiny blue flame quivered in the air, which she carefully sheltered with her hand as she knelt before the heap of twigs, and blew, oh, so softly. It must have been a magic blow, for as she bent down and held it to the smallest twig she could find, almost a wisp of straw, it spread itself to the air, caught the twig in its flame, and in another moment drifting spurts of smoke showed that Nathalie had lighted the fire with one match!

The doctor whistled softly as he saw that Nathalie had succeeded, but before she could regain an upright position, the Pioneers had broken forth into loud clapping, somewhat to her confusion as she stood with the blackened match still in her hand.

Should she tell, she pondered, as her glance swept from face to face of the applauding girls; then as she saw the amused look in the doctor’s eyes, as he stood with folded arms leaning against a tree watching her, she gave a little laugh. She opened her lips to speak, but when the clapping continued, as if each Pioneer was bent on seeing who could clap the loudest, she raised her hand as she had seen Mrs. Morrow and Helen do sometimes.

This appeal had the desired effect, and as the clapping dwindled, Nathalie, with a nervous laugh, cried, “Girls, please don’t clap me any more, for I do not deserve it. This is not the first time I have lighted a fire with a single match. A few summers ago I camped up in the Maine woods. The second day at camp some one upset a pail of water on the box with our match supply, and as only one dry box was left, and it was some miles to the nearest settlement, we were compelled to economize, and were allowed only one match to light a fire. I was going to tell you,” she gave a little ripple of laughter, “but you were all so anxious to show me I did not want to spoil your fun, and then as I have not attempted the feat since that summer, I did not know whether I could do it again or not.”

A circle of stones was now placed around the fires so as to prevent them from spreading in case of a strong wind, and then the lunch-boxes were opened. It was not long before the savory fumes of frying frankfurters, boiling cocoa, and flapjacks signified that a camp dinner was in progress.

The girls found a level rock on which they spread a cloth and small board, and then the bread was cut and buttered in a way that showed that they were experts at the task. Nathalie made the cocoa, counting noses as she put in a teaspoonful of cocoa to every cup of boiling water, letting it boil three minutes by the watch of the doctor, who had kindly offered to help his little hike-mate, as he called her.

The hikers now seated themselves around the fires—for there were three—and then something happened that held Nathalie with reverent awe for she saw Mrs. Morrow’s face sober with a sweet seriousness, as she gave the signal for silence. Every head was quickly lowered in response to this signal, and then a timid voice—it belonged to the Flower—broke the reverent stillness by softly chanting a blessing to the Giver of all good.

Each girl had brought her own tin cup, plate, knife and fork, lump of sugar, and napkin. Pats of butter were now distributed, followed by the molasses jug, so as to be ready for the flapjacks that were now browning to a turn. The “Ohs!” and “Ahs!” of delight that burst forth as the cakes found their way around the circle amply repaid the baker for her reddened face and hard labor over the burning fagots.

Of course there had to be mishaps; the first piece of bacon to grease the griddle dropped into the fire instead of the pan, and a number of cakes turned out failures and had to be consigned to the waste-heap. But it was a regular hike spread, and meant lots and lots of fun, especially when the pancake contest was started.

This was something new to Nathalie, and she quite enjoyed it as she watched one girl after the other take her turn in making a flapjack. She first poured the batter on the griddle in just the right quantity, and then skillfully tossed it high in air as she turned it, so that it would land in just the right place on the pan and finish to just the right shade of brown.

All the party, even the doctor, tried their hands at this feat, all but the new Pioneer, who shrank back, afraid to venture as she knew that expertness came only with many trials. But the girls were persistent and so good-natured in trying to show her that she felt a little ashamed, especially when Mrs. Morrow, who was jotting down the names of the experts for merit badges, repeated softly, “I can!”

Nathalie immediately sprang up, and although feeling that she would make a perfect goose of herself at this new trial, took the little pitcher, poured out the batter, and then with a quaking heart watched it darken. Ah, she slipped the turner under, and was just about to give it the magic toss when her hand slipped, and batter and turner fell into the flames.

She was so disgusted with this dismal attempt that she would have liked to disappear to parts unknown if the doctor had not cried, “Ah, just one more trial, I know you will get it this time!” To her unutterable astonishment the doctor’s prediction came true, and she really tossed a flapjack with such success that her hike-mate declared it was “the best ever,” and begged permission to eat it in memory of the plucky deed.

Of course Grace, Louise, and Helen each won a badge, as was discovered when the contest was over. But even feasting has its limitations on a warm day in June, and as the edibles disappeared the hike spread came to an end. The Tike and one of the Bob Whites were now despatched to the spring for some water, while the rest of the hikers—all but Mrs. Morrow, who was escorted to the wigwam for a siesta—flew hither and thither, filling the pots with water to boil off the grease, rubbing the griddle with sand, and so on.

As Nathalie and the doctor were jabbing the knives in the dirt to clean them, Helen came running up crying, “Oh, what do you suppose the water-carriers are up to? They have been gone an awfully long time and we have not a drop of water to wash the dishes?”

“I will go and see!” exclaimed the doctor, jumping up hastily, but he had not gone more than a few steps when a shrill scream broke the brooding silence of the woods. In another instant pots, pans, and dishes were flung broadcast as every one made a wild rush in the direction of the spring, headed by the doctor. As the doctor reached the spring, however, and saw that the screams did not issue from that quarter he turned, and with a few flying leaps reached the scene of disaster, some distance down the stream.

The girls started to run after him, but in a moment his loud laughter brought them to a standstill, for surely it could not be anything very serious or he would not be indulging in such levity! Helen and the Sport, however, who had rushed steadily on, were not far behind the doctor, and as they swung around the bend of the trees, they beheld a diminutive figure, sputtering and gasping, with rivulets of water trickling from bedraggled garments and locks, being assisted up the bank by the doctor’s strong arm!