As she made her way back to her seat, a pale, studious-looking young girl with a head that looked almost top-heavy with its black braids, and who wore glasses, presented herself before Nathalie. She smiled nervously as Helen began, “Oh, this owl-like individual is Barbara Worth; she is very learned—she knows it all.”
“Oh, Helen!” came in pained expostulation from the girl, as her eyes turned distressfully upon her hostess in shamed embarrassment.
“Oh, Barbara, don’t mind,” spoke up Lillie Bell kindly, “Helen is only in fun.”
Barbara looked somewhat relieved at this brace to her injured feelings, and then stood nervously clasping and unclasping her hands together.
“Yes,” went on Helen relentlessly, “we call her the Encyclopedia for short. Wait until you want to know something in a hurry, she will help you out, for she has the best heart in the world.” With a little ripple of laughter Helen leaned forward and looking up at Barbara cried, “There, did I say anything so dreadful?”
Barbara smiled gratefully and then said quietly, “Yes, Miss Page, I have a fine library, it is grandfather’s, and I shall—” she drew a deep breath—“always be glad to live up to my name.”
There was loud clapping at this brave remark and then she was gone, but in her place stood a little lass who smiled bewitchingly at the girl in the chair, showing a coy little dimple in one cheek, and then with a slight frown waited for her executioner to behead her.
“This little damsel is Louise Gaynor,” introduced Helen; “she is the Flower of the family—spelt both ways. We call her flower, because she resembles one,” Louise bowed prettily with a surprised glance, “and then because she is an expert manipulator of the flour bag; she makes most edible flapjacks when we go on a hike. It is needless to say that we always have indigestion afterwards.” There was a laugh at this, and then as the Flower disappeared, Helen drew to her side a diminutive girl who wore her flaxen hair in two large braids down her back. With her broad, good-natured face and cornflower blue eyes she was a miniature Gretchen.
“This is Carol Tyke—we spell it T-i-k-e, because she is a tike and the fag of the group as well.” The little girl, who was about eleven, but small for her age, grinned at Nathalie and ducked her head. “She is a Junior Pioneer, not yet twelve. But we have her in training and she is taking tests daily, which doesn’t give her much leisure time, does it, Tike?”
At last, much to Nathalie’s relief, the introductions were over, and then she listened intently as the girls began to tell her of a hike they had taken the week before, when one of their number had found a hundred different leaf specimens.