The first faint gray of dawn saw a flotilla of three canoes, burdened with a weary but contented crew, gliding away from “Disaster Island,” as Frances had lugubriously named it, shortly after Ruth and Blanche had disappeared. Seated in the last canoe, Jane shook a vindictive fist at the fast receding object of her grudge. “Good-bye, hateful old thing,” she jeered. “You thought you’d cheat us, but we cheated you.”
The echo of her mocking taunt was flung back at her across the hush of dawn, precisely as though Disaster Island had heard and had been stirred to retaliation. A bend in the lake and it was lost to view, left behind to brood in the solitary grandeur that had pervaded its forest depths before the unlucky invasion of the Camp Fire Girls.
CHAPTER XXII
“UNITED WE FLOURISH”
The friendly moon peered inquisitively down through the trees at a circle of veritable Indian maidens gathered about a blazing camp fire. It was in distinct contrast to the group of weary-eyed watchers that less than two weeks before, had huddled round another camp fire, heartsick and discouraged. To-night every face wore a smile of pleasant anticipation. Neither were there any vacant places in that fire-lit circle. Clad in full ceremonial dress, they had gathered to see one of their number honored. Blanche Shirly was at last to become a Wood Gatherer.
As Miss Drexal rose and began the short but impressive ceremony by asking the candidate to rise also, a sigh of pure satisfaction fluttered up from those seated. Wearing the ceremonial robe she had worked so hard to complete since that eventful trip to Disaster Island, her auburn hair hanging far below her waist in two heavy braids, Blanche had never appeared more attractive. The arrogant, self-satisfied expression of old had entirely disappeared from her face, leaving it girlishly wistful as she listened to the words of the Guardian, and made the necessary replies. It was indeed a proud moment for her when Miss Drexal stepped over to her, saying:
“As Guardian of the Fire, and in token of your having fulfilled the requirements necessary for the rank of Wood Gatherer, I place on the little finger of your left hand this ring with its design of seven fagots symbolic of the seven points of the Law of the Fire, which you have expressed your desire to follow, and of the three circles on either side symbolic of the three watch-words of this organization, Work, Health and Love.”
Familiar as they all were with this particular ceremony, the Equitable Eight had never felt more impressed than when, at the Guardian’s request, they rose and repeated:
“As fagots are brought from the forest
Firmly held by the sinews which bind them,