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Chapter Three |
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The nightly camp-fire was one of the most attractive events of all the camp-life. There had already developed a great deal of rivalry between the tents, as to which one could build the best fire, until it had become a fine art. One night it would be built in the woods, another night upon the sandy beach, and perhaps the next over by the cat-tail swamp on Little Corey. But wherever it was, it always held its hour of enchantment and good fellowship, for no camper was ever too tired, no matter what the activities of the day, to enter heartily into every yell and song and stunt. When the fire would roar and crackle, the fellows would dance about it and yell like wild Indians on the war-path, then add log after log to the blaze until the supply was exhausted. But when the flames had died away, and nothing remained but the brightly glowing embers, with here and there the charred end of a stick that had escaped the flames, then the fellows would crowd together in a closer group, often slipping their arms around one another's shoulders, or lounging back into the laps of their favorites. It was then that a great hush would settle over all. In chariots of light drawn by tiny spark-steeds or in swiftly curling wreaths of smoke their thoughts were carried off into strange riots of fancy. Every burning stump and dying ember became alive with sprightly imps and fairies and goblins. It was at such times that hearts were warmed with fellowship, and that a real spirit of comradeship was brought out. Was it any wonder that at such times, in such environment, the wee small voice of the Great Creator should be heard by many a boy in a new a fascinating manner? "Gee, isn't that scrumptious?" whispered Vincent as he sidled up to Cooper. "That's a bum fire," growled Dale. "It's nothing but a lot of brush. Wait till we get a crack at it." "And-a then we'll show you fellows what a fire is," chimed in Bill good-naturedly. "That one looks like a box of toothpicks." The songs had begun, then followed the yells, more songs; then after half an hour of spontaneous fun, the "chief" raised his hand for quiet. This was the time when all the important announcements were made for the morrow, as well as many suggestions relating to conduct and general camp spirit. The group had just settled into quiet, and the "chief" had begun to speak, when "Love" called out in tones of great excitement: "O, gee, but that was big bug! It just crawled up that tree. I bet it was three inches long, belonged to the order of Leipidroptera, too." "The order of what?" questioned Harold. "Well, that's what Mr. Verne taught us in nature study yesterday, anyway, order of Lepidroptera." "No, no," corrected the "dean". "Lepidoptera are butterflies. That was Coleoptera, order of beetles. It must have been one of those long-horned borers. They hatch from these large white grubs you find in rotting stumps." "There are never any long-horned borers in my grub ever," suggested "Shrimp" as he jerked his arms up to protect himself from the shower of punches and pokes that always followed a poor pun. Again quiet reigned, and the "chief" began a second time: "Every man in this crowd wants to be sure to win at least his Brown Rag this year. Every fellow that is going to try say 'Aye.'" There was a deafening yell. "Very well; that's good. I am glad you have so much enthusiasm about it, too, fellows, for it is just like this, -- if we are going to have the privilege of spending a few weeks together out here in this great out-of-doors, let us make it pay us back something in all-around development. Let us not be satisfied with just having fun and being well fed, but let us grow. Let us develop and round out our lives. Every bit of athletic activity is an asset if it is used rightly, and it is about the greatest thing in all the world for a fellow to be able to find real fun in just helping the other fellow. It is one of the traditions of this camp, fellows, that every boy while here shall learn something of the joy of unselfish service. Why, just look at those second degree tests. Any live fellow can pass eight of these twelve without so very much effort. Let me read them to you: • To catch a one-pound fish. "What are the first degree tests?" asked both the Twins in the same breath. "O, yes," replied the "chief." "I forgot you fellows were new arrivals. You see, it is this way. Just being a member of the camp for one week is the first degree, and carries with it the right to wear the camp emblem. Then these tests I have just read are the requirements for the second degree and form a good foundation for the next degree, which gives you the Brown Rag." "I confess the third and fourth degrees are a little more strenuous than the second, but that is what makes us grow; going after something that is a little harder and just a little bigger than we are. Why, you know the whole joy of fishing is to be always fishing for a fish just a little larger than the largest one we ever caught." "Read the third and fourth degree tests, too," shouted half a dozen. "Number one: "I've been in lots of fire-drills at school," suggested the official umpire. "Duck him!" shouted Durbin. "Into the drink!" came shouts from every direction, but before they could get to their feet Johnie had disappeared into the darkness. The "chief" continued: • To be able to start a fire with a fire-drill, the fuel and material used to be found in the woods." "Now for the fourth degree: • To catch a three-pound fish. "Now, fellows, just one more word," said the "chief" patiently. "Mr. Blaine and Mr. Cooper will help any fellow who desires it, with the physical tests. The 'dean' will give you all the help you want in identifying your twenty-five trees or birds or flowers, and I will help anywhere I can. Now let us get busy." Mr. Cooper jumped to his feet, and the noisy chatter that had begun on all sides as the "chief" finished speaking ceased instantly, for when Mr. Cooper spoke, everybody listened. "Boys, I'm going to be the first fellow in this camp to win a Brown Rag for this season. I am going after it hard for three reasons: First, because I believe it is the biggest thing I can do while here; and second, because I am absolutely ignorant about all this great out-of-doors. I want to know every tree and every flower and every bird in sight. I want to know how to build fires and cook in the woods Indian fashion. And I want to be able to do everything well that is worth doing at all out here in this camp. But most of all, I am going after that Rag because I want to help the other fellow, and those tests are going to teach me how." When he sat down there was a roar of approval, and "Three cheers for Cooper," and "Me, too; me for a Brown Rag." Then, finally, the good old camp-yell, with Durbin leading: "Eberhart, Eberhart! Eberhart! That's what they all say! What do they all say? Eberhart!" There could be no doubt as to the purpose of the crowd after that, for if Cooper thought it was the thing to do, there would be no further question. They would all try for a Rag. Mr. Blaine then offered a few suggestions concerning the swimming and athletics, and Mr. Verne briefly outlined the nature study work. "In the library of the lodge, fellows, we have on the walls a colored plate of every tree, flower, bird, insect, and animal common to this region. Just as fast as the living specimens are actually seen by any one of you, we will mark the colored plate. Keep your eyes and ears open, and don't forget to report what you see." "Dean, I smell a skunk. Can you count that?" shouted Johnie. "I saw the king of the order of beetles, didn't I? Giggled "Love." "And-a, Mr. Verne," called Bill Ruthford, "are bullfrogs the husbands of cowfrogs? I've seen them already." "I should think you'd call those long, slender cat-tails polecats, Mr. Verne," shouted "Shrimp." Vincent and Harold were busy making appointments with Mr. Cooper to run their one-hundred-yard dash and to pass their boat test, for no boy was allowed out in a boat who had not passed the rowing test. "I don't know a cowslip from a Canada thistle," complained Dale. "How do you expect me to find twenty-five wild flowers? I couldn't do it if I had all summer." "O, fiddle," replied Harold. "I'll teach you some. I don't know so very many myself but I bet I can find twenty-five. Use your head, boy. There are three kinds of clover, three kinds of daisies, two different water lilies, and lots of others. I'll show you to-morrow." "O, that's too much like work, go chasing around all day for a little bunch of wild flowers," continued Dale. Then a happy thought struck him and he beckoned Harold to him again and whispered: "Say, kid, let's work a stunt. I'll get what ones I can find around here, and I'll give you two cents each for all I need to make up my twenty-five. That will be easy money. I can jump my six feet and start my fires all right, and I can bluff through those First Aid stunts easy enough. What do you say? Will you do it? Harold had drawn himself up to his full height, and a scornful look came into his clean-cut, manly face. He made no reply for a few seconds, then: "You go jump in the lake." He fairly hurled the words at Dale. Then he went back to the fire and sat down by "Love" Collins. "Love' was scribbling down the names of the birds he had seen that day. He had thirteen, and together they decided to find the rest on the morrow. The fire had burned low now, and it was nearly time for taps. Mr. Blaine led the brief Evening Devotion, bringing home a simple, helpful thought; then thanked the Great Father for the happy day with all its experiences; and then off to camp. As they strolled carelessly down the beach in a dozen little groups toward the tents, Harold felt someone nudge him in the back, and turning, he saw "Love" and "Shrimp" beckoning him. When they had slipped off in the darkness, "Love began the conversation in a mysterious whisper: "You kids want to keep your eye peeled to-night, 'cause Dale is trying to fix up a game on you. You better leave off your pajamas awhile after you go to bed." "Duck us? Dale duck us?" cried Harold. He was just about to tell of Dale's suggestion concerning the flowers, but checked himself. What was the use? "Now don't make any fuss about it," cautioned "Shrimp," "cause everybody likes to help initiate the new fellows. Take your medicine and be game, only pull Dale in with you." "There's lots of funny things happens nights," chuckled "Love." "Bill Ruthford would rather see a kid pulled out of bed and ducked in the drink than go to a three-ringed circus any day." Lanterns were soon lighted, and there was a general disrobing. Before long every fellow was comfortably stretched out in his roomy bunk, while here and there a leader could be heard giving orders to be quiet while one by one the lights went out. As always happens, each tent possessed at least one humorist, who found it very difficult to sleep as long as a single funny saying remained unsaid. So for the next few minutes there was much whispering, with every now and then a suppressed giggle. Mr. Verne, who was a night captain of the tent street, came along, lantern in hand, to make his last inspection before retiring. "Hi, Diogenes! Hunting for an honest man?" came from one tent. "Gee, take a peep at the size of that fire-fly," from another. "Jigger the 'dean'" came from a third, and so on down the entire street. At exactly nine o'clock the stillness of the night air and the monotonous buzz of hungry mosquitoes were broken by the clear, round notes of the bugle. The remaining lights were put out, and quiet reigned, for Taps had been sounded. The days were so full of activity that when night came there was not much difficulty in securing quiet. Of course there were occasions, such as when a friendly skunk came to visit, or when the pigs got out of the farmyard and held a grunting practice down by the locker house, or when "Red" Goodwin told long, incoherent stories in his sleep - when sleep and quiet were temporarily banished. The Twins, fortunately, had arranged their bunks so that their heads were together. They had laid their plans very carefully, and were sure, in case of trouble, that they would be able to take care of themselves. They lay in their beds, wide awake, suppressing their excitement as best they could, their eyes and ears straining out into the darkness to catch the first glimpse of a ghastly shadow or the first sound of approaching footsteps. It seemed that they had waited an hour at least, when suddenly there was the faintest whisper just outside the tent. Then there was a suppressed giggle. They were really coming, then! Vincent could hardly keep quiet. "And-a I'll catch, 'Portage'" Bill Ruthford was saying, between chattering teeth. "You go in at the other end," they heard Dale say to some one who moved between the tents toward the back opening. "They won't be suspecting," reassured Bill. "There hasn't been a soul leave - " The Twins couldn't quite catch the rest. They heard Mr. Verne's heavy breathing above them, and Stellner's gentle snore in the other upper. From somewhere up the tent street there came three quick, short, whistled notes. The Twins knew their time had come. Like a flash they rolled out of bed and under the bunks, Vincent bumping his head on awful crack on one of the bed uprights. When they were safely underneath, Harold reached up and gave Vincent's arm a squeeze that told volumes. The tent flaps lifted slowly, and in came the gang, as noiselessly as a troup of ghosts. They carefully raised the mosquito netting on the Twins' beds. There was a surprised exclamation, "They're gone!" "Gone?" questioned the others, in amazement. "Gone where?" The excited whispers were interrupted by wild shouts of "Help!" from Tent Four. The Twins fairly hugged themselves in their delight. Leonard was on his way to the lake in the hands of a desperate gang of outlaws, and they were safe. There was a splash, an awful yell, and several merry laughs; then pajama forms scurried in every direction, and by the time the 'dean' got his lantern lighted, and got to the scene of action, the fun was all over. The Twins took advantage of his absence and slid back into bed and held very hurried little council of war before going to sleep. Dale Worth and Bill Ruthford were slated from that time forth for a series of mysterious punishments. The moon came slowly up out of Kaiser Lake, and the rippling water danced in the moonlight, while Camp Eberhart was lost in a calm, sweet sleep. |
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THE TWINS PROVE TOO MUCH FOR THE CROWD