“So she said. She said I only b’lieved I b’lieved I was poisoned. She’s a brick.” The Astronomer blinked at Penelope now.
“I’m a star,” she informed him. “That’s my Camp Fire name; as you’re an Astronomer you can look up to me all you want to!” Nobody blamed Pen for her giggle then. “You see, that dead chewink and the wild canary might have pecked at some more poisoned stuff besides the blackberries,” she sagely suggested. “Maybe the sprayed poison wasn’t on the berries at all.”
“That’s so!” assented Captain Andy. “You come over to my tent at the foot o’ the dunes”—he pushed Tommy along by the shoulder. “I know the signs of that poison, for I’ve used it myself; I’ll examine you an’ dose you, if necessary; if not, you can have some supper. It’s all ready down there on the beach. Great guns! I was feelin’ scared about you and so was the Guardian, Miss Dewey.” He looked at the two tired girls. “I thought, maybe, you were never coming back to play that Kullibígan game to-night, after my whittling out the witchtop for you!”
CHAPTER XI
KULLIBÍGAN
The Indian game of Kullibígan was in full swing.
Supper was over, a wonderful outdoor banquet, for which the high tide furnished the orchestra, the white sands the table linen, with the last rays of the dying sun showering bouquets upon its damask.
As if in answer to Captain Andy’s question earlier in the evening when he beheld the bevy of maidens in Indian dress upon the beach, there were two unexpected “braves” at the feast and hungry guests they were; Kenjo, who was entered upon the school-roll of his native town as Kenneth Jordan, bearing in mind that “A Scout is courteous,” the fifth point of the Scout Law, insisted on toasting fresh relays of bacon for the hungry girls and for the Astronomer, who ate enormously.
Captain Andy, in the absence of any severe symptoms of lead poisoning, had come to the conclusion that the tenderfoot was not going to share the fate of the chewink, that he, apparently, did not stand in need, even, of an antidote; still, as a precautionary measure, he flooded him inwardly with strong tea, beneficial in any case of poisoning, until the fat Astronomer declared that he could hear his final mouthfuls of cake splash as they went down.
The after-banquet songs were furnished by the hostesses who chanted their “Wohelo!” cheer, greatly to the edification of the Scouts, followed by their song, “Mystic Fire,” gracefully dramatized by the waving of fringed arms, the swaying of girlish forms around the camp fire upon the twilight sands, lending the final touch of romance to the white wildness of the Sugarloaf, moving the flame of admiration in Kenjo to flicker up into: