Blue Robin, the Girl Pioneer

by Rena I. Halsey

A cheery fire of pine knots blazed a greeting from the hearth, while two long boards supported on trestles and covered with a shining damask cloth, represented the table of Pioneer days. Odd bits of old-time ware, such as silver porringers, queer-shaped jugs, or blackjacks, a number of wooden bowls, a high-standing salt-cellar, and a pewter tankard, were distributed about the table. But it was the flowers that lay in bunches here and there—and all May ones, too, from the clusters of white snowballs, lilacs, pink and yellow azaleas, to the big bowls filled with sprigs of arbutus—that held Nathalie’s eyes.

But flags, antiques, and flowers soon became things of the past, as the girls brought forth their lunch-baskets; each one had vied with the other to bring some choice edible and with the help of the modern knights, who declared that they had come for that purpose, the table was loaded with goodies.

Just before the feast was served, Will Ditmas, a fair counterpart of William Brewster, the ruling elder of Plymouth, suddenly stood up and, after much throat-clearing, announced in a droning voice that if those present were willing, for the furtherance of sobriety and seemly behavior, he would read a few rules from “A Pretty Little Pocket Book.”

After stonily staring over a pair of goggles at a few irrepressible gigglers the would-be Elder read: “Speak not until spoken to; break not thy bread, nor bite into a whole slice; take not salt unless with a clean knife, and throw no bones under the table.”

Those who were trying to keep their faces straight wavered in the attempt and joined the irrepressible Tike in a few hysterical titters as he continued: “Hold not thy fork upright, but sloping, lay it down at the right hand of the plate, with the end of the blade on the table plate, and look not earnestly at any person that is eating.”

This last was the final straw for the Tike, and she giggled so unrestrainedly that she threatened hysteria, and Helen had to whack her on the back so that she could get her breathing apparatus in working order again. This ebullition was like a match to fire, and all those who had been smothering their mirth now broke forth into loud laughter, which threatened to become clamorous had not Mrs. Morrow held up her restraining finger.

The signal was too well known not to be obeyed, and the too mirthful ones were recalled to themselves. Then, too, they were all hungry; so forgetting the old-time admonitions of their forebears, they were soon occupied satisfying their hunger.

After the left-over goodies had been gathered into baskets to be delivered to a poor family, and the place was set in order again, the chivalrous knights and the emulating Pioneers swarmed merrily into the dance hall, where they held high court to the light fantastic as Mrs. Morrow, the one-piece orchestra, rattled off ragtime harmony for round and square dances.

Nathalie by this time had met a number of the Scouts, and to her surprise found that some of them danced as well as, and in some cases better than her boy friends in the city. The would-be Elder, who had droned the rules from the pocket book, proved not only a good dancer, but most companionable, and finding that Nathalie was sadly ignorant as to the aims and purposes of the Scout organization, he set forth to enlighten her.

He took off his Scout badge, pointed out the eagle, and the stars and shield, explaining that it was a trefoil badge and represented the three points in the Scout oath. The curl-up at the end of the scroll was a reminder to each Scout that the corners of his mouth should always be turned up in a smile of cheerfulness. The knot in the loop was a “conscience pricker,” as he expressed it, that a Scout was pledged to do some one a good turn every day.