[CHAPTER XI—TOO MUCH TEASING]
Swept off her foolish feet of fancy and landed safely on the more practical ground of girls’ life, Nora presently found herself in the canvas tent, actually donning a Scout uniform.
No ivory dressing comb nor shell-back mirror, instead a wooden box for a dressing table, and a bowl of cool, clear water fresh from the velvet-rimmed pool, and a glass—the piece that fell from a wagon and was splintered up so no one would touch its “bad luck,” so Pell rescued it and painted a four-leaf clover on its jagged edge! That was a Scout mirror.
It was a revelation to the pampered child. And like so many others who are blamed for their circumstances, Nora was fascinated with the glimpse given of a real world. Here girls lived as human beings privileged to invent their own tools which would be used in modelling the skilled game of a happy life.
“Of course,” explained Pell, “we go through quite some formality before we really become Scouts, but necessity knows no law, and this is necessity.”
“It’s just wonderful,” admitted the stranger, all the while fighting down a sense of guilt that she should ever have disliked the Scouts and their standards.
“Now we want you to meet Alma,” announced Wyn. “She’s one of our little Tenderfoots, and so romantic? She will be sure to want to adopt you, for just wait until you see if Betta doesn’t say we found you in the lake!” she predicted.
Alma came from the leader’s tent. She had been studying—those tests were soon to be held.
“Just see our little pond-lily,” began Thistle, while Nora, now somewhat accustomed to the girls’ jokes, managed not to blush too furiously.
“Oh!” began Alma, then she stopped.