“Yes, I know, but the girls believe Edith, and so did I until to-day. But Grace and I have never told a soul what we heard, only Mrs. Morrow. But, oh, Doctor,” she cried impulsively, “can’t I tell Grace about the cockatoo? I will tell her not to tell a living soul,” she ended earnestly.
“No,” returned the doctor decidedly, “Miss Grace is all right, but she might let it out in her sleep. No, you wait, and some time you girls can have the best laugh ever, as my kiddies say.”
So the story of Nathalie’s visit to the princess in the tower was buried deep within her heart, although it came very near being unearthed several times when she was in the company of Grace or Helen, for really, it was hard to keep it a secret when it was such a good joke.
Saturday, the day of the wild-flower hike, was warm and sunshiny, with the balminess of summer in its gently wafting breezes. Every one present was filled with the anticipation that they were going to have a “dandy time.”
“Are we all here?” questioned Mrs. Morrow, as she stood on the veranda steps, craning her neck from one side to the other in the endeavor to see that her bird groups were all there. In her natty khaki suit, with its red-banded sombrero and red tie, she looked as jaunty and young as the Bluebirds, Bob Whites, and Orioles, who, with admiring eyes, watched her as they stood lined up on the path with knapsacks, staffs, and all the paraphernalia needed for the hike.
The several bird calls attested that the band were all on hand, and then they filed up on the veranda before their Director as lunch-baskets were opened for inspection, so that she could see that each one had been properly prepared and was in a “relishy condition,” as Helen explained to Nathalie.
In a few moments the inspection was over and the girls tripped merrily down the walk and out of the gate, making such a hubbub with the clatter of their tongues that the doctor, as he came hurriedly up the path, teasingly put his fingers in his ears in intimation that they were making undue clamor.
The Flower of the Family’s knapsack bulged with a package of Aunt Jemima’s Pancake Flour, suggestive of the flapjacks to be, while the Editor-in-chief, with a reporter-like air, carried a large note-book under her arm so as to feature the affair in the forthcoming “Pioneer.” The Encyclopedia was lumbered with two musty volumes on flower lore, she explained, so as to be able to give all desired information on the various specimens that were to be gathered by the hikers.
The Pot-Boiler’s knapsack was not only stuffed with several mysterious-looking packages, but was glaringly conspicuous, that young lady, true to her name, having pasted a paper advertisement of an iron pot on its cover. The Sport carried a few garden implements: a small shovel, a rake, and a hoe, with which to burrow in the ground for those specimens that grew in a brook or in the mossy hollows in the woods. The Tike, as the privileged fag, carried a basket to fill with wild-flowers to be distributed to the shut-ins of the town hospital on their return.
Each Pioneer, besides her lunch-box, carried a self-made note-book—Nathalie had spent several hours making hers—with a pencil attached for her flower specimens, data, and so forth. Nathalie felt a bit disappointed that she had not been able to buy a uniform, although Helen had said that it made no difference, for she noticed to her dismay that she was the only Pioneer minus that very desirable accessory, dear to the heart of every hiker.