Blue Robin, the Girl Pioneer

by Rena I. Halsey

When the novelty of the wigwam had worn off, every girl declared herself famished for something to eat, and the dinner committee hustled about picking up small dry twigs, which were placed in a heap, lightly, so as to draw the air. These were then covered with the heavier sticks until the desired height for a campfire was reached. Several fires were to be started, as no time was to be wasted in cooking the edibles.

When all was in readiness, there was a general call for Nathalie, who, as the new Pioneer, was to take her first lesson in lighting a fire with only one match. Every Pioneer, of course, was eager to show her how to do this feat, but Mrs. Morrow silenced the clamor by assigning the task to Helen.

“Oh, Mrs. Morrow—I think—” Nathalie stopped, a sudden roguish expression flittered over her face, and then she meekly followed Helen to the wood-pile and stood silent as she watched that young lady scratch her match, hold it in the hollow of her hand, and then, with a soft puff, kneel, and apply it to a twig.

The twig was obstinate, however, and Helen’s one match attempt was a decided failure. The Sport now offered her services as instructor, but Nathalie, feeling sorry for Helen, who with a crestfallen air had retired to the ranks of onlookers, cried, “Oh, no, Mrs. Morrow, can’t I try by myself?”

As the Director nodded an assent, while the doctor laughingly declared she would have beginner’s luck, Nathalie took her match, examined it carefully, and then scratched it on the box. A tiny blue flame quivered in the air, which she carefully sheltered with her hand as she knelt before the heap of twigs, and blew, oh, so softly. It must have been a magic blow, for as she bent down and held it to the smallest twig she could find, almost a wisp of straw, it spread itself to the air, caught the twig in its flame, and in another moment drifting spurts of smoke showed that Nathalie had lighted the fire with one match!

The doctor whistled softly as he saw that Nathalie had succeeded, but before she could regain an upright position, the Pioneers had broken forth into loud clapping, somewhat to her confusion as she stood with the blackened match still in her hand.

Should she tell, she pondered, as her glance swept from face to face of the applauding girls; then as she saw the amused look in the doctor’s eyes, as he stood with folded arms leaning against a tree watching her, she gave a little laugh. She opened her lips to speak, but when the clapping continued, as if each Pioneer was bent on seeing who could clap the loudest, she raised her hand as she had seen Mrs. Morrow and Helen do sometimes.

This appeal had the desired effect, and as the clapping dwindled, Nathalie, with a nervous laugh, cried, “Girls, please don’t clap me any more, for I do not deserve it. This is not the first time I have lighted a fire with a single match. A few summers ago I camped up in the Maine woods. The second day at camp some one upset a pail of water on the box with our match supply, and as only one dry box was left, and it was some miles to the nearest settlement, we were compelled to economize, and were allowed only one match to light a fire. I was going to tell you,” she gave a little ripple of laughter, “but you were all so anxious to show me I did not want to spoil your fun, and then as I have not attempted the feat since that summer, I did not know whether I could do it again or not.”

A circle of stones was now placed around the fires so as to prevent them from spreading in case of a strong wind, and then the lunch-boxes were opened. It was not long before the savory fumes of frying frankfurters, boiling cocoa, and flapjacks signified that a camp dinner was in progress.

The girls found a level rock on which they spread a cloth and small board, and then the bread was cut and buttered in a way that showed that they were experts at the task. Nathalie made the cocoa, counting noses as she put in a teaspoonful of cocoa to every cup of boiling water, letting it boil three minutes by the watch of the doctor, who had kindly offered to help his little hike-mate, as he called her.