“And we have such a bright idea for getting up something novel in the way of entertainments,” spoke up Helen interestedly. “Each girl is to put on her thinking-cap and get to work on an idea; it has to be original, nothing borrowed, or that has been used before, and then turn it in to our Director in proper shape to be carried out. All of these novel ideas are to be kept secret until we have had all of the entertainments, and then we shall vote for the one we think the best. The winners will receive merit badges for their efficiency.”
“Oh, that will be great!” cried Nathalie, “but tell me, where are you going camping?” she questioned animatedly, for her thoughts had instantly reverted to a summer or so before when she and a party of school girls had camped up in the woods of Maine.
“We don’t know yet,” was Helen’s practical rejoinder, “for we have got to know how much money we shall have to spend. But come, girls, be serious and tell Nathalie some of our sports and activities. We want to show her that we can do things worth while, you know.”
“Oh, get Lillie Bell to tell us one of her stories!” cried the Sport, who was a warm admirer of the story-teller.
“Oh, I can’t think of any now!” replied Lillie lazily. And then as a chorus of voices seconded this plea, she cried, “Really girls, I can’t. I was up half the night studying for exam. But,” her face brightened, “I will tell you about the picked chicken if you like. As it has something to do with our pioneer law, it will come in all right.”
“Oh, yes, do!” pleaded her hostess, who had been wishing that she might hear one of the story-teller’s thrillers.
“It isn’t a blood-curdler this time, Miss Page,” apologized Lillie, “so I cannot give you an exhibition of my reputed talent as a fictionizer. It is simply that Mother had a headache, Father was going to bring home a swell friend to dine with us, and as it happened, the butcher sent a feathered fowl, and our little Dutch maid was ill.”
“Oh, it was maddening,” she sighed in dolorous reminiscence, “but there was no way out of it, for we had to have that chick for dinner. So I set to work; some people say that when you try to do right everything rises up against you. So it proved to me, but I remembered our Pioneer motto, ‘I Can,’ and glued myself to that job. Verily, I thought that chicken must be a relative to the goose that laid the golden egg, for every feather I pulled, a dozen at least came to the funeral. But I won out, and went to bed with a clear conscience, and that fowl—inside of me!”
“Hooray for the Pioneer laws!” called several voices hilariously, and then at one and the same time, in their eagerness to give proof of well-doing, each one started to relate some personal experience. The effect of several story-tellers spinning yarns at the same time was so ludicrously funny that all the stories ended in merry laughter.
“Oh, let’s vary the entertainment,” suggested Grace, “and sing our Pioneer song for Miss Page.”