The Liberty Girl

by Rena I. Halsey

Sometimes they would pause to listen to the mountain-wind as it swayed the tops of long rows of trees, that, with the daring recklessness of new life, stretched their bare-limbed trunks upward to catch the golden sunlight on their glossy leaves. But the sweetest melody, perhaps, was the wind that swept in solemn-toned harmony through the twisted boughs of the old mountain-guard.

But the wind was not the only musician that sunny morning up there in the stilled hush of the green wood, for sometimes it was the soft note of a belated bird’s warble, coming with a haunting sweetness from the dim recesses of the shadowed gloom, or the hammer of a woodpecker as he plied his tool of trade.

But feathered songsters and musical wind were forgotten when the children struck the Red Trail,—splashes of red paint smeared at intervals on the bark of the trees to keep travelers in the path. The boys, as they scurried ahead, soon discovered a Yellow Trail, and then a Blue Trail, sign-posts to the lone woodchopper, perhaps, as he comes down the woodland path in the deep snows of winter. The Yellow Trail, they discovered, led down the mountain, coming out on the road near Lovers’ Lane, the wooded path opposite Seven Pillars. Nathalie now showed them how to blaze a trail that belonged exclusively to the Girl Pioneers, and their interest became tense with excitement as she became their leader and deftly bent the twigs in the shapes that meant so many things to the Pioneers.

A little log cabin nestling beneath a clump of pine trees, on the edge of a slope, just below Agassiz’s Rock, tempted the children to wander from the beaten path. But they soon returned, and, in wide-eyed wonder, declared that they had seen a pair of shoes by the door. Sheila was quite insistent that some fairy godmother lived there, whereupon she was rudely told by the boys that fairies never wore shoes. The children, however, were loth to leave the spot, curiously wondering as to who lived in the log hut.

But as no one was to be seen, either within or without the cabin, they followed Nathalie, and were soon standing on a jagged rock on Garnet’s top, in a wonderland of views that made them feel that they were indeed birds of the air, skimming swiftly through a dim, mystical atmosphere. With hushed breath and wide-seeing eyes they gazed down upon low-lying valleys,—dabs of green between craggy rocks and lofty steeps, gemmed with silver water, yellow corn-fields, and brown pasture-land. And above all, in picturesque grandeur, towered a rim of battlemented crests and ridges, silhouetted against curtains of crystalline blue, where sweeps of white cloud drifted in gossamer veils.

On the wide green slopes surrounding the farmhouse the children reveled in a summer-land of daisies and buttercups, that jeweled the softly creeping grass. While Sheila wove a wreath of mountain posies Nathalie told how, some years before, a bag of gold had been found in a log of wood in the old farmhouse. This added a new glory to the scene, and there were many surmises in regard to this find, while the Girl Pioneer plied her craft and showed them how to make leaf-impressions in their little note-books, as each one had gathered a leaf from many trees on their way up the mountain.

After Danny had made a camp-fire and they had had a hike lunch of frankfurters, roasted potatoes, and many toothsome edibles found in their lunchboxes, they hurried back to the old farmhouse, and while the children peeped into the old-fashioned brick ovens in search of another pot of gold, Janet played on the yellow-keyed piano. Then came a stroll to a weather-beaten barn, where an old coach was stored, which had once been the mountain’s only method of conveyance, some decades ago, and on which was the name “Goodnow House.” Of course they all had to mount the rickety steps and crawl inside on the wide leather-cushioned seat, large enough to hold almost a dozen children. Danny and Tony, however, soon clambered out and mounted still higher, up to the two-step-driver’s seat, where they pretended they were driving a tally-ho, with Sheila and Jean sitting back, within the railed top, as outside passengers, while Nathalie and Janet, on the wide old seat within, acted the part of tourists traveling to the top of Mount Washington.

Wearying of these childish sports, Nathalie and Janet hied themselves back to the farmhouse, where, after resisting the inclination to drowse, induced by the lulling hum of the bees as they darted busily about in the sweet-scented, sunny air, they sat down on the little porch and took out their knitting.

Suddenly the deep silence that they had drifted into, lured to thought by their active fingers, was broken by loud squeals, mingled with boyish shouts of laughter. And then a thrill came, as Nathalie suddenly perceived the old stage-coach, drawn by Danny and Tony as horses, while Jean, as the driver, was exultantly happy, perched up in the driver’s high seat. Sheila, meanwhile, bewreathed and betwined with wild posies, sat within the coach, posing as a beautiful white princess who had been captured by bandits.

Nathalie’s heart swung in wild leaps as she saw the one-armed boy’s perilous position, as the ramshackle, clumsy coach rocked like a cradle, and realized what it would mean if anything happened to it, as it was a most valuable relic to the proprietor of the hotel.