XIV.
THE OUT-OF-DOOR CLUB.
THE Out-of-Door Club in Tideshead was slow in getting under way, but itwas a great success at last. Its first expedition was to the Picknellfarm, to see the place where there had been a great battle with theFrench and Indians, in old times, and the relics of a beaver-dam were tobe inspected besides. Mr. Picknell came to talk about the plan with MissBarbara Leicester, who was going to drive out to the farm in theafternoon, and then walk back with the club, as besought by Betty. Shewas highly pleased with the eagerness of her young neighbors, who haddiscovered in her an unsuspected sympathy and good-fellowship at thetime of Betty's June tea-party. It had been a pity to make believe oldin all these late years, and to become more and more a stranger to theyoung people. Perhaps, if the club proved a success, it would be a goodthing to have winter meetings too, and read together.
Somehow Miss Barbara had never before known exactly what to do for theyoung folks. She could have a little supper for them in the evening, andask them to come and read with her; or perhaps she might propose to readsome good story to them, and some poetry. They ought to know somethingof the great poets. Miss Mary Leicester was taken up with the importantbusiness of her own invalidism, but it might be a very good thing forher to take some part in such pleasant plans. Under all Aunt Barbara'sshyness and habit of formality Betty had discovered her warm andgenerous heart. They had become fast friends, and, to tell the truth,Aunt Mary was beginning to have an uneasy and wistful consciousness thatshe was causing herself to be left out of many pleasures.
The gloom and general concern at the time of the Fosters' sorrow hadcaused the first club meeting to be postponed until early in August; andthen, though August weather would not seem so good for out-of-doorexpeditions, this one Wednesday dawned like a cool, clear June day, andat three o'clock the fresh easterly wind had not ceased to blow and yethad not brought in any seaward clouds. There were eleven boys and girls,and Miss Barbara Leicester made twelve, while with the two Picknells theclub counted fourteen. The Fosters promised to come later in the summer,but they did not feel in the least hurt because some of their friendsurged them to join in cheerful company this very day. It seemed to Bettyas if Nelly looked brighter and somehow unafraid, now that the firstmiserable weeks had gone. It may have been that poor Nelly waslighter-hearted already than she often had been in her father'slifetime.
Betty and Mary Beck walked together, at first; but George Max asked Maryto walk with him, so they parted. Betty liked Harry Foster better thanany other of the boys, and really missed him to-day. She was brimful ofplans about persuading her father to help Harry to study naturalhistory. While the club was getting ready to walk two by two, Bettysuddenly remembered that she was an odd one, and hastily took her placebetween the Grants, insisting that they three must lead the procession.The timid Grants were full of fun that day, for a wonder, and a merryhead to the procession they were with Betty, walking fast and walkingslowly, and leading the way by short cuts across-country with greatspirit. They called a halt to pick huckleberries, and they dared theclub to cross a wide brook on insecure stepping-stones. Everybody madefun for everybody else whenever they saw an opportunity, and when theyreached the Picknell farm, quite warm and excited, they were announcedpolitely by George Max as "the Out-of-Breath Club." The shy Picknellswore their best white Sunday dresses, and the long white farm-house withits gambrel roof seemed a delightfully shady place as the club sat stilla while to cool and rest itself and drink some lemonade. Mrs. Picknellwas a thin, bright-eyed little woman, who had the reputation of beingthe best housekeeper in town. She was particularly kind to BettyLeicester, who was after all no more a stranger to her than were some ofthe others who came. It was lovely to see that Mrs. Picknell and Juliawere so proud of Mary's gift drawing, and evidently managed that sheshould have time for it. Mary had begun to go to Riverport every weekfor a lesson.
"She heard that Mr. Clinturn, the famous artist, was spending the summerthere, and started out by herself one day to ask him to give herlessons," Mrs. Picknell told Betty proudly. "He said at first that hecouldn't spare the time; but I had asked Mary to take two or three ofher sketches with her, and when he saw them he said that it would be apleasure to help her all that he could."
"I do think this picture of the old packet-boat coming up the river isthe prettiest of all. Oh, here's Aunt Barbara; do come and see this,Aunty!" said Betty, with great enthusiasm. "It makes me think of theafternoon I came to you."
Miss Leicester took out her eyeglasses and looked as she was bidden. "Itis a charming little water-color," she said, with delighted surprise."Did you really teach yourself until this summer?"
"I only had my play paint-box until last winter," said Mary Picknell. "Iam so glad you like it, Miss Leicester;" for Miss Leicester had manyreally beautiful pictures of her own, and her praise was worth having.
Then Mr. Picknell took his stick from behind the door, and led thecompany of guests out across the fields to a sloping rough piece ofpasture land, with a noisy brook at the bottom, where a terrible battlehad been fought in the old French and Indian war. He read them anaccount of it from Mr. Parkman's history, and told all the neighborhoodtraditions of the frightened settlers, and burnt houses, and murderedchildren and very old people, and the terrible march of a few captivesthrough the winter woods to Canada. How his own great-great grandfatherand grandmother were driven away from home, and each believed the otherdead for three years, until the man escaped, and then went, hearing thathis wife was alive, to buy her freedom. They came to the farm again, andwere buried in the old burying-lot, side by side.
"There was a part of the story which you left out," Mrs. Picknell said."When they killed the little baby, the Indians told its poor mother notto cry about it or they would kill her too; and when her tears wouldfall, a kind-hearted squaw was quick enough to throw some water in thepoor woman's face, so that the men only laughed and thought it was ataunt, and not done to hide tears at all."
"I have not heard these old town stories for years. We ought to thankyou heartily," said Miss Barbara, when the battle-ground had been shownand the club had heard all the interesting things that were known aboutthe great fight. Then they came back by way of the old familyburying-place and read the quaint epitaphs, which Mr. Picknell himselfhad cut deeper and kept from wearing away. It seemed that they nevercould forget the old farm's history.
"I maintain that every old place in town ought to have its historykept," said Mr. Picknell. "Now, you boys and girls, what do you knowabout the places where you live? Why don't you make town clerks ofyourselves? Take the edges of almanacs, if you can't get courage tobegin a blank-book, and make notes of things, so that dates will be keptfor those who come after you. Most of you live where yourgreat-grandfathers did, and you ought to know about the old folks. Mostof what I've kept alive about this old farm I learned from mygreat-grandmother, who lived to be a very old woman, and liked to tellme stories in the long winter evenings, when I was a boy. Now we'll goand see where the beavers used to build, down here where the salt watermakes up into the outlet of the brook. Plenty of their logs lay theremoss-covered, when I was a grown man."
Somehow the getting acquainted with each other in a new way was the bestpart of the club, after all. It was quite another thing from evensitting side by side in school, to walk these two or three milestogether. Betty Leicester had taught her Tideshead cronies something ofher own lucky secret of taking and making the pleasures that were closeat hand. It was great good fortune to get hold of a common wealth ofinterest and association by means of the club; and as Mr. Picknell andMiss Leicester talked about the founders and pioneers of the earliestTideshead farms, there was not a boy nor girl who did not have a senseof pride in belonging to so valiant an old town. They could plan a dozenexpeditions to places of historic interest. There had been even witchesin Tideshead, and soldiers and scholars to find out about and remember.There was no better way of learning American history (as Miss Leicestersaid) than to study thoroughly t
he history of a single New Englandvillage. As for newer towns in the West, they were all children of someearlier settlements, and nobody could tell how far back a little carefulstudy would lead.
There was time for a good game of tennis after the stories were told,and the play was watched with great excitement, but some of the clubgirls strayed about the old house, part of which had been agarrison-house. The doors stood open, and the sunshine fell pleasantlyacross the floors of the old rooms. Usually they meant to go picnicking,but to-day the Picknells had asked their friends to tea, and a deliciouscountry supper it was. Then they all sang, and Mary Beck's clear voice,as usual, led all the rest. It was seven o'clock before the party wasover. The evening was cooler than August evenings usually are, and aftermany leave-takings the club set off afoot toward the town.
"What a good time!" said Betty to the Grants and Aunt Barbara, for shehad claimed one Grant and let Aunt Barbara walk with the other; andeverybody said "What a good time!" at least twice, as they walked downthe lane to the road. There they stopped for a minute to sing anotherverse of "Good-night, ladies," and indeed went away singing along theroad, until at last the steepness of the hill made them quiet. ThePicknells, in their doorway, listened as long as they could.
At the top of the long hill the club stopped for a minute, and kept verystill to hear the hermit-thrushes singing, and did not notice at firstthat three persons were coming toward them, a tall man and a boy andgirl. Suddenly Betty's heart gave a great beat. The taller figure wasswinging a stick to and fro, in a way that she knew well; the boy wasHarry Foster, and the girl was Nelly. Surely--but the other? Oh, _yes_,it was papa! "Oh, _papa_!" and Betty gave a strange little laugh andflew before the rest of the club, who were still walking slowly andsedately, and threw herself into her father's arms. Then Miss Leicesterhurried, too, and the rest of the club broke ranks, and felt for aminute as if their peace of mind was troubled.
But Betty's papa was equal to this emergency. "This must be Becky, buthow grown!" he said to Mary Beck, holding out his hand cordially; "andGeorge Max, and the Grants, and--Frank Crane, is it? I used to play withyour father;" and so Mr. Leicester, pioneered by Betty, shook hands witheverybody and was made most welcome.
"You see that I know you all very well through Betty! So nobody believedthat I could come on the next train after my letter, and get here almostas soon?" he said, holding Betty's hand tighter than ever, and lookingat her as if he wished to kiss her again. He did kiss her again, itbeing his own Betty. They were very fond of each other, these two; butsome of their friends agreed with Aunt Barbara, who always said that hernephew was much too young to have the responsibility of so tall a girlas Betty Leicester.
Nobody noticed that Harry and Nelly Foster were there too, in the firstmoment of excitement, and so the first awkwardness of taking upevery-day life again with their friends was passed over easily. As forour Betty, she fairly danced along the road as they went homeward, andcould not bear to let go her hold of her father's hand. It was even moredear and delightful than she had dreamed to have him back again.