Blue Robin, the Girl Pioneer Part 5

"But the hardest-that was for me-" exclaimed Grace (Nathalie bent forward eagerly, for somehow she did like Grace), "was to earn or to save fifty cents and put it in the bank." There was a general shout at this, for, as Helen explained in an aside to Nathalie, Grace was the richest girl in the Pioneer group. She had a beautiful home, her own automobile, her own allowance, and yet she was always hard up.

"She's awfully generous, you know, and doesn't know how to count her pennies," she added wisely, "the way we girls do, because we have to.

But she's learning."

But Helen's whispered comments about her friend were not all heard by Nathalie, who suddenly stiffened, and with a quick exclamation leaned forward and stared curiously at a gray figure that was walking past the house with strained, averted eyes, as if fearful that she might see the group of merry girls on the veranda.

"Who is that lady all in gray?" she demanded, abruptly clutching Helen's arm as her eyes followed the gliding figure of the strange-appearing woman whose library card she had found the day of her accident in the woods.

Helen looked up quickly in response to Nathalie's question, but before she could answer, Kitty Corwin cried hastily, "Girls, look! there goes 'The Mystic'!"

CHAPTER IV-NATHALIE IS ASKED TO BECOME A BLUE ROBIN

"The Mystic!" echoed Nathalie in mild amazement, while one or two of the group turned and gazed curiously at the gray-shrouded figure hurrying by.

"You needn't ask me to look at her," a.s.serted the Sport with a scowl, "after s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up my courage as I did to ask her if we could use her terraced lawn for one of our drills; why, the glance she gave me almost froze me stiff!"

The girls laughed at Edith's tragic tone, while Lillie Bell retorted teasingly, "Well, she must be a chill-raiser, Edith, if she could freeze the marrow in your spine."

"Girls, you should not speak as you do about Mrs. Van Vorst," admonished Helen, "you know Mrs. Morrow says that she has suffered a great sorrow."

"Pshaw, we all know that," returned the Sport unfeelingly, "but that is no reason why she should make every one else suffer, too."

"Granted," rejoined Helen, "but she has grown to look at things through morbid eyes."

"I should think the gray gown she wears would make any one morbid,"

suggested Lillie. "But what is the use of discussing her? I believe she is just a crank with a fad," she added.

"Who is she, and why does she go about in that queer gray gown?"

inquired Nathalie, insistently.

"She is Mrs. Van Vorst, the richest woman in town," explained Grace.

"She lives in that big, gray house surrounded by the stone wall. Haven't you noticed it? It's on Willow Street, up on the hill. You must have seen it."

"Oh, the big house with the beautiful Dutch garden," exclaimed Nathalie, "and the queer little house at one side of it?"

"Yes," nodded Helen, "but that queer little house is an ancient landmark-a Dutch homestead-built on a grant of land given by Governor Stuyvesant to Janse Van Vorst way back in 1667. The Van Vorsts, or their descendants, have lived on that place for hundreds of years. Billy Van Vorst, the last of the line, married Betty Walton, a rich New York girl.

He died some years ago, and-well, I don't know the exact story-" Helen hesitated, "but they say Mrs. Van Vorst has an awful temper-oh, I hate to tell it-and then it may not be true."

"But it is true," a.s.serted Jessie Ford, "for Mother used to know Billy and Betty, too. She said shortly after Billy's death Mrs. Van Vorst became angry with her little child-I don't know whether it is a boy or girl-and-"

"Whatever it is," broke in Edith, "it is all distorted and twisted, looks like a monster, for I saw it one day in the garden, the day I was there. It is always m.u.f.fled up so people can't see it."

"Well, anyway," went on Jessie, "Mrs. Van Vorst got into a temper with the child and shut it up in a dark room, and then went off to a reception or something, and forgot all about it."

"Oh, how could she?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Nathalie with a shudder.

"Well, when she came home and remembered it-it wasn't in the room-"

"And they found it all in a heap on the pavement in the yard," again interrupted Edith, anxious to forestall the climax; "I have heard all about it, they say it was an awful sight."

"Dead?" cried Nathalie in a shocked tone.

"No, not dead," returned Jessie, "but it might as well have been. It had become frightened in the dark, said some one was chasing it, and in trying to escape climbed out on a shed and fell to the ground. Mrs. Van Vorst was ill for a long time, almost lost her mind. Then she gave up society and came down here and built this big house beside the homestead. She has lived in it ever since, but keeps to herself; she doesn't seem to want to know people."

"Oh, I don't wonder she mourns in gray then!" exclaimed Nathalie. "I feel sorry for her!"

"And so do I!" chimed Helen squeezing her new friend's hand responsively, "for she will have to suffer remorse all her life. Mother says she is to be pitied."

"Well, I should have more pity for her if she would let us have the lawn back of her house for our flag drill," remarked Lillie Bell, "or for one of our demonstrations."

"You can be sure I'll never ask her again," declared the Sport, vehemently; "I believe she hates us just because we are young, and can enjoy life when her child can't."

At this moment Grace arose and handed Nathalie a peculiar-looking envelope of rough brown paper. "No, it won't explode," she giggled, as she saw Nathalie handling the quaintly-folded envelope rather gingerly.

"You needn't think it is the butcher's bill, either," laughed Helen, "for it isn't. It is simply an invitation to one of our group meetings, or Pioneer Rallies, as we call them. We always use that kind of paper when we invite guests, for it was the kind used in pioneer times."

Rea.s.sured by Helen's explanation, Nathalie opened the envelope, noting the old-style script printed by hand in scarlet letters, evidently the work of one of the Pioneers. Then she slowly read aloud:

"They knew they were Pilgrims, and looked not much on those things, but lifted up their eyes to Heaven, their dearest country, and quieted their spirits within."

- Bradford.

Ye presence of ye young maide, Mistress Nathalie Page is enjoined to appear on ye 23rd of this month at ye Common House (Seton Hall) on ye corner of ye cross roades to Bergen Town, to join with ye maides of ye colony of Westport in a seemly diversion and Mayflower Feast.

Postscript: Kindly come apparelled in ye meeting-house cloathes and behave as a young maide should so do.

From the Girl Pioneers of America, ye Many-greated-grand-daughters of ye Mothers of ye Pilgrim Colony, who came to this new world in ye good sloop MAYFLOWER in 1620.

The expression of wonderment in Nathalie's eyes changed to one of amus.e.m.e.nt as she laughingly cried, "My, but you are the real article!"

"Yes, the scribe did that," said Helen proudly; "I think it ought to be put in a gla.s.s case."

"Thank you!" promptly returned Jessie; "I accept your praise, but suggest, as industry is one of the laws of the Pioneers, that I should receive a special badge of merit, for if you could have seen me poking into those musty doc.u.ments at the library to get the thing right, you would say I deserved it."

"But what does it mean?" demanded Nathalie curiously. "What have you to do with the Pilgrims?"

"Why, it means," explained Helen, "that we girls, to freshen up our minds on pioneer history, so that we may learn more about the women we emulate, name each of our rallies after some one group of pioneers, or some special pioneer woman, in memory of their service to us. Then we all talk about them, each one telling what she knows."

"Or what she doesn't know, generally," broke in Lillie, dryly.

"I guess you are about right, Lillie," added Grace, "for we are awfully rusty on pioneer history. It always seemed so stupid at school, but we have learned a lot since we started naming our rallies after pioneer things, and trying to see what we can cram. Why, girls," she cried suddenly, as if impelled by inspiration to tell the latest thing she had learned, "do you know that there were almost thirty children who came over with the Pilgrims in the _Mayflower_?"

"Well, I for one did not," remarked Jessie candidly; "I didn't know that the Pilgrims had any children; supposed they were just a lot of blue-nosed men who wore high ruffs and tall, round hats, and who went about with long faces, telling people they would go to the devil if they dared to smile."