First she hunted up the girls. “Combs, girls,” she cried, “two or three. Get the call-bell from the dining-room. Run, Jack, quick. Mary Lee, where is that little bell you bought at the shop the other day? Get it. I am going to see if I can borrow two or three tin pans. We are going to meet Dr. Paul with the band and escort him into camp.”
“What larks!” cried Jo. “Are they coming?”
“They are nearly here. We shall have to hurry if we want to surprise them. Some of you tell the boys and meet me here right away.” And Nan hastened off to the kitchen to secure the tin pans and spoons.
Therefore as the two visitors approached the camp they were suddenly surprised by the apparition of a body of young people, popping out of the darkness, who set up a clatter of shrilling combs, tinkling bells, and clamoring tin pans. Nan’s wits had been equal to a gathering of the clans.
“What a delightfully quiet spot,” were the first words the party lying in ambush heard, and Jack’s giggle was drowned in the sudden signal Hartley gave, as heading the band, he sprang out with an Indian war-whoop. Then the noise began amid laughter, exclamations and prayers to stop.
“You don’t appreciate the honors thrust upon you, Dr. Paul,” cried Jo. “You are far too modest a hero. We have come to escort you to camp.”
“I am not the discoverer of the North Pole. I assert that firmly and distinctly,” he began.
“But you have come as far north as you could,” retorted Jo. “We don’t ask to see your charts. We are trusting to circumstantial evidence. See the conquering hero comes, girls. Start it up.”
“But why hero?” inquired the doctor, trying to make his voice heard above the din.
“Any one is a hero who is willing to trust himself to the tender mercies of this crowd,” explained Jo.