CHAPTER VIII

GLOW OF THE CAMPFIRE'S GLEAM

"And so the mystery of the 'Pocket In Black Rock' was finally cleared up," ended the story teller, as the big smoldering log fell into the blaze and sent up a "fire-works" of spluttering embers.

The Bobbies hugged the line of waists that sat squat in front of the campfire. Peg had been accorded a seat of honor directly in front of the biggest blaze, and it was not possible to escape her sighs and gasps of rapt attention, as the thrills of the story were unwound, and she jumped up now and smiled so frankly into the face of the director that no shadow of doubt remained as to this strange girl's sincerity.

"I have never had such a lovely time!" she declared with something of the social habit, "and I'm ever--so thankful to you and the girls."

The Bobbies were all delighted. Somehow this little woods-girl was so picturesque and fitted in the scene so perfectly now, when the blaze lit up her entire form, as she stood outlined against the night--it was hard to imagine she was in any way queer!

But the next moment she had flung her cape over her shoulders, thrust her fingers into her mouth to make shriller the whistle she emitted, and when Shag leaped "into the ring" she said good-night, repeated it to each section of the group, and then was off with her dog, before the others could offer "to go with her over the hill" or even to ask her to come again.

Her abrupt departure left a sort of "hole in the group." While she was there the others felt a fascination, that usually accorded to mystery, and perhaps she as much as Miss Mackin's thrilling story had furnished the evening's interest. But during all the time she exchanged no word even of comment, and some of the girls suspected that the "kidnapping" perpetrated by Grace and Cleo had been more real than imagined.

"What joy!" enthused Margaret, looking up to see if she could find the stars blinking after having her eyes glare-shot by the fire. "To think we are going to sleep out here in the woods!"

"And we must make our inspection now," announced the careful director. "Corene, you are leader; get the lantern, please."

Willingly the Scout mentioned sprang to obey, when the "plink-plink-plink" of Ukes, and a soft hum of voices stole down to their grounds.

"A serenade!" exclaimed Louise.

"Oh, goody! We will have more campfire!"

Presently the music filled the clearance, and, as suspected, the serenaders were upon the scene.

"The girls from Norm!" cried Julia. "Isn't this just too lovely!"

Then sang the singers:

"There are girls that make us happy, There are girls who make us sad, There are girls who never can stop gig'ling And they're girls who make you awful mad! But the girls we serenade this evening With this ukeleled sing-a-song, Are the Bobbies with our stolen Mackey, In the lovely new Camp Comalong!'

The tune was borrowed from "Smiles" and the words, though a little rough on the edges, fitted in pretty well. And this was the beginning of the campfire concert. Two ukes and two mandolins, besides a real melodious banjo, composed the orchestra, and the Norms sang everything campy and collegiate, until Mackey declared she would simply have to put her Bobbies to bed.

Regret as real and keen as that usually expressed in a nursery at the same order, answered the summons, but the director was inexorable, and the Norms finally left in a path of complimentary protestations.

The inspection finished (nothing was found out of order on this, the very first night), the little campers presently found themselves in their "bunks."

Such tittering, giggling and whispering!

Someone's bed "sagged like a hammock" while another someone's "humped like a hill."

"I'm going to try to grow tall," whispered Louise to Julia, her nearest neighbor. "Do you suppose the pines and tamaracks can stretch one out?" and she thrust her feet beyond the blanket confines.

Julia didn't care if she shrank, and she whispered that secret; and so it went around from cot to cot until Miss Mackin called a final warning. Then things settled down at last, and only the trusty lantern that hung behind a screen in a sheltered spot outside the door, stood sentinel over the sleepers.

And they slept. Little gasps and sighs told of girlish dreams, and if Louise kicked her feet down too decidedly perhaps she was trying to grow; also when Julia humped up her knees and spoiled the entire effect of her pretty blanket, perhaps she was trying to shrink.

Then the inevitable happened. As it couldn't be avoided it has to be told, in spite of the usual first night scare banality.

Cleo had just said something unintelligible and Corene answered with an alto groan, when there was a scream! It came from the end cot where Margaret slept.

Every one sat up as if a spring had been touched.

"Oh, mercy, look!" yelled a chorus.

They looked, and between the curtain blazed two immense eyes! Also there was a snorting sound!

"A bear!" cried Madaline. "See how tall he is!"

"Yes, look!" exclaimed Cleo, "his head is in--the trees!"

Miss Mackin's flashlight had slipped from her hand, and it was while she fumbled in the dark for it that this dialogue was snapped off.

"Just wait a minute, and don't get excited," she begged so inadequately that Corene repeated:

"Excited!"

Her light recovered, she quickly turned the flash on the thing that was somehow fixed in the joining of the rear flaps of the tent.

"Oh, h-h-h!" screamed the chorus again.

"Nothing--but--a----" Miss Mackin stopped.

She was not sure just what it was, for an immense animal head was framed in the curtains it had poked itself between.

There was a continued volley of subdued shrieks from everyone until Cleo took aim with her shoe. She proved a first rate shot, for the animal blinked once and promptly withdrew.

"A cow! I heard him chew!" declared the little fat Madaline.

"But he has no horns," argued Julia, trembling still, and trying to talk with a head covered in the blankets.

"It is a cow," declared Miss Mackin. She was on her feet now, and had the tent flaps open. She had taken down the pole light from the front door, and now swung the lantern through the curtains in the rear. "See, there she goes! Poor Bossy just wanted to pay us a call. I didn't know we had any cows around here."

"All right there?" called a man's voice, next.

"The officer!" declared Cleo not without a little squeak of joy. "That's Dick Porter's voice."

"Yes, that's the watchman," agreed Miss Mackin, who had slipped on her heavy robe.

"All right, officer!" she called back. "But please drive the cow away."

"Certainly," came the reply through the night's silence. "That cow has a habit of walking in her sleep," and he laughed so good-naturedly that the Bobbies took the cue and laughed heartily themselves.

The director feared she would not get them quiet again in time to have even a reasonable amount of sleep, for what one didn't think of the other suggested, until night was turned into a medley of utter nonsense, set off by such laughter as can only be enjoyed when she who laughs knows it's against the rules to do so.

"Now, girls, no campfire to-morrow night if you do not stop within five minutes," threatened Miss Mackin in desperation.

"All right, Mackey dear," replied Cleo. "I'll throw my other shoe at the first one that laughs."

Then she yelled again. It was such a sudden outburst no one could question the humor that provoked it.

"Oh, Mackey dear," she gulped between her spasms. "Do you think Bossie swallowed my new shoe?"

"We'll chip in and buy you a new pair if you only will go to sleep, Bobbie dear," begged the distracted director, and this time her appeal bore results.

But over the bend on Tamarack Hill another girl slept fitfully. Peg had broken her resolution to remain alone, and for that one beautiful evening she had been just like the others--a girl among girls!

And how overjoyed Aunt Carrie was! To have Peg run off and spend a happy evening with the Girl Scouts. Upon her return to the cabin no little queen could have received more loving attention.

"Now at last, Peggie dear, you have found friends," the white-haired woman had declared. But Peg shook her bobbed head and refused to promise that she would keep up the friendship so auspiciously begun.

"You know, Carrie dear, I must not bring folks here yet," Peg had protested, "and I shall never accept things nor friendship that I cannot fully return."

So now Peg slept, dreaming of that magic campfire: hearing the story again of the pocket in the big black rock: now she felt Grace grasp her hands in delight and ecstasy with a little squeal of joy, and after it all she was alone again, with Shag sleeping at her door, with Aunt Carrie's faithful night lamp making a little shaded starlight beneath the beam ceiling.

And she had cried a little and laughed a little, but at last it was all over, and now she would take Whirlwind out over the hills in the early morning and forget, if she could, the Bobbies and their magic campfire.