She smiled in a way that made Nathalie, whose intuitions were keen, exclaim hastily, “Oh, indeed, Mrs. Morrow, we did not imagine it at all. I am sure if you could have heard that terrible shriek—and that laugh! Oh, I can hear it still!” Her brown eyes emphasized her words as they darkened with the haunting terror that caused her to rush pell-mell after Grace.
“But I do hope,” remarked Mrs. Morrow, “that Mrs. Van Vorst will never know that the young girls who took such sudden flight from her house were Pioneers, as Pioneers are supposed to be very courageous.” There was a twinkle in her eyes as she spoke that partly atoned for the implication as to the girls’ lack of courage.
They made no reply for a moment, and then Grace, as if to atone for her delinquency, exclaimed contritely, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Morrow, I was frightened—but if you want me to—” her voice faltered, “I will take it to her again.”
“No, indeed,” quickly rejoined that lady, “I could not be so cruel as to send you there again, for no matter if the shriek was nothing, you were really frightened. I did not mean to rebuke you; I only wanted to seize this opportunity to show you what an important thing courage is—and how we should cultivate it, even in small things. As for the note, I will get the doctor to take it or send it by post. I will have to confess, however, that I am disappointed, for I was so anxious to have Mrs. Van Vorst see what well-behaved and pleasing young girls belonged to the organization.”
“And you sent me!” wailed Grace. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Morrow, but what an arrant coward I have proved—and Nathalie of course would not have run if I had not!” The tears welled up piteously in her blue eyes.
“Oh, no, Grace,” interposed Nathalie loyally, “I was just on the verge of running away myself!” And then she told them about the mandarin with the grinning mouth, and sinister, bead-like eyes, that she was sure had blinked at her. This caused a laugh and cleared the atmosphere of the unpleasantness that had been created by the morning’s adventure.
The Saturday of the Pilgrim Rally—the day that was to make Nathalie a Pioneer—arrived. At an early hour of the morning the Pioneers of the three bird groups—each one with a package—began to file into Seton Hall, the little stone building used by the town for important meetings and often for social functions. Out of deference to Nathalie the girls had decided to bring their Pilgrim costumes with them—hence the mysterious packages—and not don them until she had been admitted to the organization.
With interested eyes Nathalie heard the Pioneers recite their pledge, give the sign, the salute,—the three movements of the closed hand, signifying a brave heart, an honest mind, and a resourceful hand,—and give the rousing Girl Pioneer cheer. She felt a trifle shaky, she confided to Helen who was seated next to her, dreading the ordeal of being made prominent as most girls do, but she regained her nerve somewhat as the Director arose and with a smiling nod of welcome began to call the names.
Certainly it was a pretty fancy to have each member respond to her name by giving the bird call of her group. The quick clear note of Bob White, the “Chip! chip!” of the meadow sparrow, and the oriole’s greeting were all inspiring, but it was the melodious “Tru-al-lee!” of the bluebird group that held her with its sweet, low trill.
As Nathalie heard her name called when it came time to perform the initiative ceremony of making her a Pioneer, her head began to whirl, but setting her teeth determinedly, with squared shoulders and head erect, she walked down the aisle, faced the Director, and in a clear voice repeated her pledge. In answer to the question, would she remember that the honor of a world-wide organization had been placed in her hands, and that henceforth whatever she said or did was not done simply as Nathalie Page, but as a Girl Pioneer, she answered gravely, “I will!”