“Oh, Mother, isn’t it just beautiful?” exclaimed the princess the night of the fagot party, as she watched the flames leap and dance down on the lawn.

“Yes; it is very suggestive, too,” answered Mrs. Van Vorst, “for it makes one think of the witches in Macbeth, as they stood around the cauldron watching their queer concoction ‘boil and bubble.’”

“O dear!” was Nita’s wail again, “it is lovely to see the fire and the girls, but I do want to hear the stories they tell.”

“Perhaps Nathalie will come up later,” suggested her mother, “and tell you some of the thrillers. Is that what she calls them?”

“There, they have stopped the witches’ dance and are forming a circle. Oh, one of the girls has thrown on a bundle of fagots! Yes, it’s that friend of Nathalie’s, Miss Sensible. Oh, Mother,” cried the little shut-in with a woeful countenance, “I am sure I could walk down there.” She stood up as she spoke and began to walk restlessly up and down the room.

“Oh, Nita, be careful!” pleaded her mother. “You do not want to overdo your walking, and you have been on your feet a good deal to-day.” Notwithstanding Mrs. Van Vorst’s protest there was a note of hope in her voice that betrayed that she had at last begun to see things as Nathalie had predicted, that she had made a mistake in housing her daughter behind high walls, and that the mingling with girls of her own age might bring new life to her.

“Ah, there’s Grace,” went on the voice at the window. “She’s the other girl who came with Nathalie. Oh, she’s throwing on her fagots!” The girl turned from the window as she perceived that Ellen had entered the room and was telling her mother that some one desired to see her in the library.

As Mrs. Van Vorst arose to leave the room Nita demurred, “Oh, Mother, I don’t want to be left here alone.”

“I will return as soon as possible, Nita, dear,” was the reply; “Ellen will stay with you. You can tell her about the fagot party,” she added hastily as she saw the cloud on the girl’s face. With a backward glance, as she hurried from the room, she saw that her suggestion had been followed and that Ellen had drawn her chair close to Nita’s, and was eagerly listening as her daughter related the incidents leading up to the demonstration down on the lawn.

Indeed it was not long before the faithful nurse, always interested in anything to brighten the life of her young charge, was watching the Pioneers and their doings as keenly as Nita, while wishing with her that they could hear the stories the girls were telling.

Suddenly Nita, who had been unusually silent for some time, drew Ellen’s head down to hers, and began to whisper softly in her ear.

“Oh, Ellen, will you?” she coaxed pleadingly, as she finished her whispering of something that had brought a protest from the good woman. Ellen looked dubious for a minute or so, and then the persuasive pleader had her way, for Ellen had given her assent and Nita was clapping her hands happily, as she thought of the fun in store for her later in the evening.

Meanwhile, the girls on the lawn with tense expectancy kept their eyes on Nathalie, who arose, walked towards the flaming pyre, and with a quick toss landed another bundle of fagots on the leaping flames.

“Oh, Nathalie, you will have to hurry,” called Grace excitedly, as her friend scurried back to her seat. “One of your fagots is already ablaze.”

Nathalie needed no warning for she had already plunged into her tale, and in short, concise sentences—she had practiced with Helen—was describing in graphic tone a colonial wedding, the going away of the bridal pair, the building of a log hut in the wilderness, the departure of the young husband, and the loneliness of the young bride. She paused a moment and drew a long breath as if to gather her forces for the coming ordeal.

Then with her eyes fastened in a rigid stare on the twirling glare from the flames—so as to bring her story to a proper climax when the fiery fagots fell apart—she went on and told of the face of a redskin suddenly being thrust into a window of the little cabin, of a shriek of terror, of cruel, fiendish laughter, of the fair bride being carried on the back of a tall savage, and of the final arrival at an Indian encampment, where a paint-bedaubed warrior with flaunting head-gear tried to induce the wailing bride to become his squaw.

Nathalie’s eyes, big in the flaming redness of the firelight, were riveted on the seething flames as if she saw in the twist and curl of their darting tongues the enactment of the story she was telling. The girls all bent forward eagerly, for the fagots were getting ready to burst apart as she told of the imprisonment of the bride, the making of a big bonfire, the tying of the bride to the stake, the lighting of the underbrush at her feet, and the whirling flames as they leaped up and greedily licked the terror-stricken face.

But Nathalie, like a photo-play screen, had transported her listeners to a sun-baked plain, where a white man was galloping in mad speed. A fagot had leaped from its fellows. “Oh, Nathalie, hurry!” whispered Grace, wringing her hands nervously. Ah, but Nathalie was on time, and as the fagots gave a loud snap and fell into a shower of twinkling lights the horseman came galloping into the street of the Indian encampment with a troop of soldiers close at his heels, and leaped into the fiery embers and cut—There was a loud clapping followed by cries of applause, for there was no need to tell what happened after that leap into the fire, every one knew.

“Now, Lillie, it is your turn!” shouted several voices as Nathalie, exhausted by her strenuous race between words and flames, sank back somewhat exhausted against her friend’s shoulder.

Lillie Bell, in response to her name, seized a bundle of fagots, and with a few flourishes, which she declared to be an incantation for success, threw it on the blazing pile. In a moment she was back in her seat and had started her tale of romance.

“When Washington Irving’s headless horseman was the terror of the Hudson, a party of young girls, who were wandering in the fields one moonlight night, was chased by a huge and airy phantom to the banks of the river. In order to escape their foe two of the girls darted into an empty boat fastened near the bank and rowed out into the stream. The phantom, a strange and weird object, pursued, swimming rapidly in the wake of the canoe.

“Suddenly, to the horror of the girls crouched up against a rock on shore they saw, in a broad band of moonlight shining on the water, that the phantom was the headless one. Even as they gazed it had reached the boat, and with one sweep of its mighty arm had grabbed one of the girls from her sister’s clutch, and was swimming swiftly back to land.

“The girl in the boat rowed quickly back, only to see, with her companions on shore, the phantom disappear into the woods. With phenomenal courage she flew after the headless one, screaming with all her strength. But alas, her speed and screams were of no avail, for she ran after the phantom only to see it dash into an uninhabited mansion that stood in a park thick with the gloom of forest trees.

“Horror-stricken, the girls hastened home and parties were sent in pursuit of the stolen girl, but no trace of her was found, although the empty mansion, dark with the forest gloom was searched from attic to cellar.

“Time passed, and the maiden returned not to her home, nor was any trace of her ever discovered, although every effort possible had been made. At last her sister, loved by a young farmer, refused to marry him unless he would visit the haunted mansion at midnight, to see if possibly he could obtain any clew to her sister’s whereabouts, it being generally believed that she had been murdered in the house and that her ghost haunted the abode.

“Determined to win the girl, the young farmer with his revolver and a few tapers secreted himself in the cellar of the house one day, just before twilight. He was resolved to solve the mystery of the girl’s disappearance and the reason why the house at night was filled with a peculiar, bluish light, said to be the candle borne by the headless one in his midnight tour of the premises.

“Just before midnight the farmer hastened to the upper floor and hid in a closet, where, with quaking limbs and wildly beating heart he awaited the magic hour. Unfortunately, weary with waiting, he fell asleep, but was soon awakened by a peculiar, creeping sensation along his spine. He crouched against the door holding it ajar with one hand and the pistol in the other.

“All at once there was the swish of a garment against the door. He scratched a match, lit his taper, and glared forth into the darkness. Again he heard that swish. It was in the hall. Stealthily he tiptoed to the hall door, opened it with trembling hand, and stepped forth into dense blackness, when—”

“Oh, Lillie, hurry!” screamed the Sport. “Your logs will fall in a minute!”

A strange smile flitted over Lillie’s face, but her voice went thrillingly on. “When something huge and hairy spread over him like a net, benumbing every nerve and muscle. He struggled, and finally succeeded in getting free of the unknown thing and sprang for the door leading to the open. He would get out of that house. No, he would lose Kitty, he could not live without her! He turned—ah, what was that weird flash at the top of the staircase? He heard the swish again—this time very near—it was some one coming down the stairs! He crouched against the wall and peered up; the rattling of a chain sounded on his ears; again came that weird glare, and he saw—” the fagots fell with a loud sputter, throwing forth a shower of fiery sparks. Lillie remained silent a moment, each girl held her breath in paralyzed terror, and then, as the last fagot dropped a shapeless heap on the grass, Lillie cried with tragic emphasis, “Girls, I leave you to guess what he saw!”

A second of space, Lillie’s eyes shown in a mocking smile as she glanced around the circle, and then, the smile froze on her lips, her eyes dilated wildly, and she jumped to her feet crying in frenzied horror, “What is that?” pointing as she spoke to a clump of trees on the lawn. Another second and she had turned, and with an unearthly shriek was flying across the lawn towards the house!

The girls, whose nerves had been wrought up to the highest pitch by Lillie’s weird tale, remained dumb, thinking as they saw her strange actions that it was a new thriller, and were uncertain whether to laugh or cry, as they stared at her flying figure.

Jessie, who always disliked Lillie’s tragic tales, with a half laugh sprang to her feet crying, “Well, if she isn’t the limit!” Her glance had followed Lillie’s to the clump of trees with a curious stare; the stare became fixed; she uttered a wild scream, and the next moment she, too, was rushing in mad terror across the lawn in the wake of the story-teller!

As the girls saw her glance and heard her cry, terror struck each one like an electric shock, and the next second every girl present had broken into a wild cry, and without waiting to see what was the cause of the rush over the lawn, was speeding, helter-skelter towards the house!

Nathalie had run with the others, and then, swayed by some unknown impulse, she had halted and glanced back in the direction she had seen Lillie and Jessie look. She gave a low cry, started to flee again, and then stood suddenly still, and with panting breath gazed again at the clump of trees. She caught her breath, for under the swaying boughs stood a weird, white object pointing a long white finger at her!

What was it? Could it be a Boy Scout trying to frighten them? She bent forward with intent eyes, for as the white figure swayed slightly there was something curiously familiar in its movements. The next instant Nathalie had turned, and as if shot from a catapult was speeding towards the white figure that still stood, uncannily waving its arms to and fro in the moonlight.

“Oh, Nita!” burst from the girl, “how did you come here?“ Before the white figure could answer, Ellen was seen running swiftly towards them.

“Oh, Miss Nita,” she wailed, “what a scare you have given me! Oh, you naughty girl, you promised that you would not leave the lower porch!”

“Well,” flashed the girl, “I changed my mind!” Then seizing Nathalie, who was still staring at her with big, frightened eyes, she began to laugh hysterically. “Oh, wasn’t it funny, Nathalie? Did you see how she ran? What a joke, when she was trying to scare the girls—and was scared herself—O dear, it is so funny!”

But Nathalie, with a sober face was staring down at the grass. “Oh, Nita,” she exclaimed with a sudden fear, “the grass is wet, and, Ellen, she will take cold! Oh, how did she get here? Mrs. Van Vorst will be so displeased!”

But at that instant Mrs. Van Vorst came running down the path followed by Mrs. Morrow. “Oh, Nita! Nita!” she wailed, “how could you be so foolish, you will surely take your death! Ellen, how did it happen?”

“Sure, there’s no harm done,” broke in Peter’s voice at this critical moment. “I have her chair and we’ll soon get her in, marm. Sure, I saw her stealing across the lawn all alone by herself, and I hurried after the chair, thinking she would be tired before she had gone far.”

“Thank you, Peter,” cried Nita’s mother, “you are so good and considerate. O dear, I hope she won’t take cold! It was such an imprudent thing for her to do, but Ellen, how did it happen?” There was a note of condemnation in the lady’s voice.

But before Ellen could answer, Nita, whom Peter had wrapped and placed in her chair, cried, “Now, Mamma, don’t blame Ellen. It was all my fault. I sent her to get my shawl and then I stole down here. I just wanted to hear some of the stories. But when I got here that girl—the Pioneers called her Lillie—was telling a story. She was trying to scare the girls, and then—oh, Mother, it was so funny to see her run—why, I thought I would scare her, and when she looked up, just as she had worked the girls all to a fever, I waved my arm and pointed my finger at her. Oh, Mother, if you could have heard her shriek!” Nita was again in hysterical laughter.

By this time she had her audience laughing with her, especially Peter and Ellen, who thought their young mistress had been most brilliant in outwitting them, and in frightening the young lady who had been trying so hard to frighten her companions.

“O dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Morrow, who proved to be the lady who was visiting with Mrs. Van Vorst when Nita stole down to the lower porch, “I am ashamed of my Pioneers; they are supposed to be very brave, but to-night’s performance does not appear as if they were. Nathalie, how was it you did not run with the others?”

“I did,” confessed Nathalie frankly, “but something brought me to a halt and I turned and looked back. O dear, but Nita did look terrible waving her white arms to and fro! And then it came to me that there was something familiar about the figure, I stared a moment, and then I knew! But, Mrs. Morrow, hadn’t I better look for the girls? Please do not blame them, I am sure you would have run, too, if you could have seen Nita in that sheet, pointing her finger at you.”

Then Nathalie was off, running swiftly over the lawn, peering first on one side and then the other as she gave a Bob White whistle, then a Tru-al-lee, ending with the shout, “Girls! Girls! where are you?” then the Bob White whistle again.

Her cry was heard, and one by one the Pioneers sheepishly crawled from their places of safety and joined Nathalie on the lawn. They listened with shamed faces as she told them who and what it was that had caused their sudden departure. They were reluctant to show themselves at first, especially when they learned that Mrs. Morrow was there and had heard all about their foolish flight. But with a bit of coaxing on Nathalie’s part they returned, and in a few minutes were again in their cheer-fire circle, with two additional guests, Mrs. Van Vorst and Nita, besides Mrs. Morrow, who had thought when the girls first began to tell their stories to slip in and thank Mrs. Van Vorst for her kindness, with the result that she had been a witness to their lack of bravery, as she termed it.

The rest of the evening passed quickly after one or two had told their thrillers, to the great satisfaction of Nita, who enjoyed them immensely. After the stories were told, there was a marshmallow roast, which was entered into with zest, and then came the burning send-off to Louise Gaynor, who, when her name was called, came shyly forward to receive an enormous pie, from which hung streamers of gay colored ribbons, each streamer being tied to a keepsake from one of the Pioneers.

Mrs. Morrow now expressed the regret of the Pioneers at losing so good a comrade and friend, with the added wish that she would always remember them with love, and the assurance that they would carry her on their hearts with devout wishes for her health and happiness. The streamers were pulled one by one and the loving gifts were brought forth as a tribute to the sweetest songster of the band.

The last streamer brought to light a Round Robin letter, which Louise faithfully promised not to open until the dates set, as for each day in the year of absence she would find a few words of cheer and love from her comrades, the Girl Pioneers of America.

After a few songs from the girls, Louise sang one or two of her old English songs, Lillie accompanying her on the mandolin, and then Mrs. Morrow, in a neat little speech, commended Nathalie for her courage in holding her ground when the others had taken to flight. As she ended there was a moment’s silence and then each and every girl was shouting as loud as she could:

“Hear!hear!abravePioneer!
ThreecheersforNathaliedear!”

This cheer was most embarrassing to Nathalie, who wiggled uneasily with flushed cheeks as she tried to make the girls hear that she was not brave at all. But her protests were drowned by the merry voices, as after three cheers they broke into their Pioneer song of good-by to Louise. This was followed by the song that every Pioneer loves to sing and that was:

“We’rePioneers,GirlPioneers!
We’rePioneers,GirlPioneers!
Wewillbebrave,andkindandtrue;
We’rePioneers,GirlPioneers!
Hear!Hear!Hear!
GirlPioneer!
Come,giveacheer!
GirlPi-o-neer!!!”

One bright morning two weeks after the fagot party, Helen with wondering surprise mingled with pleasure read the following:

“Madame Van Vorst presents her compliments to Mistress Helen Dame, and begs the pleasure of her company on the afternoon of the sixth of July, at a Kraeg, to meet her daughter, Mistress Anita Van Vorst, in the celebration of the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the building of the Van Vorst homestead. Mistress Helen is requested to appear in the costume of a ‘goede vrouw’ of Mana-ha-ta.”

“A Kraeg—what does that mean?” queried the girl, as with puzzled brows she eyed the tiny picture of the “Homestead” surmounting the invitation, with the dates, 1664-1914. “Ah, Nathalie will know!” The next moment the girl was hurrying across the lawn to her neighbor’s veranda, where she had spied her cosily ensconced in the hammock screened from observant eyes by a bower of green leaves.

Nathalie looked up as she heard her step and trilled a soft tru-al-lee in recognition, as Helen gave the brownish envelope in her hand a flourish.

“I knew you would be wanting to know what that meant.” Nathalie smiled happily at her friend as she pointed to the envelope.

“I understand the invitation all right,” was the quick retort, “and congratulate you on your success in winning the madame to your views that it was a shame to allow little Anita to bloom behind those high walls. But—can you tell me what kind of a thing a Kraeg is?”

“It means a Dutch house-warming! But there, I am not going to tell you any more, wait until the sixth.”

“‘In the costume of a goede vrouw of Mana-ha-ta,’” read Helen slowly. “May I deign to ask your Dutch Majesty to explain what this means?”

“You may,” nodded the occupant of the hammock, “for her Dutch Majesty has spent many weary hours with Miss Anita studying just that part of the program. You see, we want to have the real Dutch atmosphere of the early period, so we decided to have each girl impersonate some woman pioneer, and then tell who she was and what she did.”

“Well, I don’t imagine that the girls will care to get themselves up like those old Dutch vrouws, as they were so terribly stolid and uninteresting.”

“Oh, Helen,” exclaimed Nathalie sitting suddenly up in the hammock, “those Dutch vrouws were anything but uninteresting. Nita and I have read all about them in a book Mrs. Van Vorst bought for us in New York, it has just been published and is very interesting. As a matter of fact, the women who settled New York were the most efficient, the most industrious, and the most capable of any of the early pioneer women of that period.”

“I did not know that,” said Helen, raising her eyebrows; “I thought they were just stolid Dutch peasant women with little ability to do anything but knit, tend the cows, and so on.”

“A great many people seem to have that idea,” returned her friend, “but the Dutch housewives were not mere stoical drudges. Holland at that time, you know, was the only country that gave as good an education to her girls as to her boys. They were not only educated to fill responsible positions, but to have a love for literature as well as for painting, music, and the arts. So these Dutch peasants, as you call them, were better educated, better protected by the laws of the colony, and held more important positions than any of their Southern or Northern sisters.

“It is claimed,” she went on, warming to her subject, “that the Dutch housewife was the manufacturer of the day, producing under her own roof nearly all the necessities for the family use. Besides being proficient in the art of cooking, she made perfumes from the flowers in her garden, planted, gathered, dried, and brewed the hops. She culled simples and herbs for medicine, thus becoming the physician of the household. She taught her maids to card and weave wool for clothes; she spun the fine thread of the flax, grown in her yard, for the linen, knit the socks, oh, I could not begin to tell you her many industries!

“But besides all that,” continued the girl, “the goede vrouws had such good sense and judgment, and such a fine eye for commercial values that they not only owned real estate, but ofttimes carried on their own business. The burgomasters of the town paid great deference to the Dutch women’s shrewdness, judgment, and independence, so that they exerted no little influence in the state affairs of New Amsterdam.”

“Well, I never!” laughed Helen teasingly. “If you haven’t become a regular schoolma’am since you have been teaching the princess. Pray, how much am I to pay you per word?”

Nathalie laughed merrily. “Yes, isn’t it funny? I started reading about the Pioneer women to get Nita interested in something that would be instructive as well as entertaining. And lo, she has not only become absorbed in anything that pertains to the pioneers, but in many other historical subjects as well. As for me, why, I have learned a great deal, too, and that is how, when Mrs. Van Vorst said she would like to entertain the Pioneers in return for amusing Nita by the drill and the fagot party, we decided to have a Kraeg.”

“How will the girls know what characters they are to take, what they did, and so on?”

“Oh, Mrs. Morrow and I arranged all that. Notices were sent—you’ll get yours—telling the girls that all information would be furnished by Annetje Jans—that’s I—gratis. I will arrange with each girl as to her character and so on. Oh, there’s Grace! I’ll warrant you she has her notice and is in a hurry for news. But, Helen, here is the book that tells all about these Dutch women. I wish you would take it and look it over, for I know I shall need lots of help.”