CHAPTER IV.
THE day before they left for camp, Dora received a letter from hermother, telling something of their surroundings and of the beauties ofthe Western land. As the others were keenly interested, she read themmany extracts, which even Jackie enjoyed.
"We are now," her mother wrote, after describing the journey by thegreat Canadian Pacific Railway, and speaking encouragingly of theinvalid's condition, "comfortably settled in Victoria--which, as ofcourse you know, dear, is the capital city of British Columbia. It is atruly beautiful spot, and the climate is delightful. There are greatvarieties of climate, we hear, in this maritime province of the West;Victoria is supposed to enjoy a very mild and even one, with roses andgeraniums blooming outdoors in December, and the cold weather confinedalmost entirely to parts of January and February. There is anotherdelightful part of the country which we may visit later; it is in one ofthe valleys which cut across the Coast Range of mountains. These deepvalleys are entirely shut off from the north winds, and freely admit thewarm breezes from the coast, while the rays of the sun are concentratedon their steep sides, helping to make, at times, almost tropicalweather. We may spend part of next winter there, as it is even drierthan Victoria, and that is very important for your father. Some of ournew acquaintances have recommended the southern part of Alberta, wherethe winter is shortened and made almost balmy by the wonderful chinookwinds--so named from the Chinook Indians, who used to occupy that partof the country from which they blow. These west winds, coming from themountains across the plains, are warm and particularly drying. When theymelt the light and infrequent snowfalls of the winter, they also dry theground almost immediately, so that even the hollows and ravines are freefrom dampness. Your father is greatly interested in these 'warmchinooks,' and we are almost sure to try their effect later. Anotherpleasure to which we look forward, when he grows a little stronger, is atrip by boat along the coast. The fiords of British Columbia are said toresemble those of Norway, and the whole coast, with its wooded shores,snowy mountain-peaks, and flashing cataracts, is marvellouslybeautiful."
Dora went to sleep that night with her mother's letter under her pillow,and dreamt that they were camping out on the shore of a BritishColumbian fiord, when a warm wind came and blew all the tents intolittle boats, in which they went sailing away to some wonderful country,where no one would ever be sick, and where no winds blew but balmy westones. She had nearly reached the land, when a soft touch woke her, andshe found Marjorie's happy face bending over her.
"Hurry up, dear! Hurrah for camp! We want to start by ten at the latest,and it is seven now, and such a perfect day. Mother says we can takeKitty with us; won't that be fun?"
And Marjorie was off without waiting for an answer. Dora heard hersinging, laughing, chatting, as she flashed here and there, helping andhindering in about equal proportions.
The whole house was filled with the pleasant bustle of preparation. Mr.Merrithew was as much of a boy, in the matter of high spirits, as theyoungest of the party. Mrs. Merrithew, blithe and serene, hadeverything perfectly planned, and engineered the carrying out of theplans with quiet skill. It was she who remembered where everything was,thought of everything that ought to be taken, and saw that every one ofthe party was properly clad. The party, by the way, was quite a largeone, consisting of another whole family (the Greys) besides theMerrithews, Will Graham, a young collegian who was a friend of Mr.Merrithew's, and Miss Covert, a rather delicate and very quiet littleschool-teacher whom Mrs. Merrithew had taken under her wing from sheerkindness, but who proved a charming addition to the party. The Greyswere six in number: Doctor Grey, a grave professor; Mrs. Grey, a tiny,vivacious brunette, who had been Mrs. Merrithew's "chum" since theirschoolgirl days; Carl and Hugh, twin boys of fourteen; and two girls,Edith, just Jackie's age, and Alice, so much older than the rest thatshe was "almost grown-up," and Marjorie and Dora looked upon her withadmiring awe.
Doctor Grey, both mammas, Susan (who was to do the cooking, as Debby didnot dare venture on anything so wild as sleeping out-of-doors), Jackie,little Edith Grey, and all the provisions, tents, and bedding, were togo by stage, while Mr. Merrithew, Will Graham, and the twins were todivide the charge of three canoes and the four girls.
At ten o'clock the big lumbering stage rattled up to the door, and thecanoeists saw the others properly packed and waved them a cheerfuladieu. Then they gathered up paddles, wraps, and lunch-baskets, andhastened gaily off to the boat-house on the river-bank. Here the work ofembarking was quickly accomplished, and the four slender birches shotout into the stream, turned, and swept upward, propelled against thecurrent by vigorous arms.
"Please sing, Daddy," Marjorie begged, and Mr. Merrithew promptly beganan old favourite, but could get no further than the first verse.
"In the days when we went gypsying, A long time ago, The lads and lasses in their best Were dressed from top to toe--"
So far he sang, and then declared that both memory and breath had givenout, and that the ladies, who had no work to do, must forthwith providethe music. After a little hesitation and some coaxing from Marjorie,Dora sang, in a clear, sweet treble, the well-known and much-loved "EnRoulant ma Boule" ("Rolling My Ball"). Then some one started "Tenting onthe Old Camp Ground," and all, even the paddlers, joined in, the littleschool-teacher providing a rich alto that took them all by surprise.
"THE TREE-CLAD SHORES WORE A FAIRY GLAMOUR"]
The river was deep-blue, reflecting the little clouds that floated inthe azure overhead. Near the town the river was very broad; as theyforged upward, it gradually narrowed, and was thickly studded withislands. They passed Government House, left the ruined Hermitage behind,and then began to feel that they were at last out of civilization, andnearing the goal of summer quiet that they sought. It was slow work,this paddling against the current, but the time went in a sort ofenchanted way; the tree-clad shores wore a fairy glamour, and theislands, where masses of grape-vine and clematis were tangled over thebushes, might have been each the home of an enchanted princess, a dryad,or any of the many "fair forms of old romance." When about five mileshad been covered, they heard the rush of water hurrying over shallowsand nagging at the rocks. This was what the children delighted to call"The Rapids," but old canoemen simply dubbed it "a stretch of swiftwater." But by whichever name it went, it called for strong and skilfulpaddling, and Mr. Merrithew proposed that, before they undertook it,they should land and fortify themselves with lunch. This suggestion metwith great favour; the canoes were swiftly beached, and soon a merrylittle picnic party sat under a clump of gray shore-willows, whilesandwiches, tarts, and cakes of many kinds, vanished as if by magic.Success to the camp was drunk in lemonade--_not_ ice-cold--and speecheswere made that proved the good spirits, if not the oratorical gifts, ofthe group.
They rested here for an hour, for one of the camp mottoes was, "Time wasmade for slaves," and they knew that the ones who had gone on by stagewere resting comfortably in a farmhouse, just opposite theirdestination, till the canoeing party should come to ferry them over. Thefarmhouse was owned by old friends with whom Mrs. Merrithew and Mrs.Grey would be glad to spend a little time, and for Jack and Edith thewhole place would be full of wonders.
When it came to actually facing the rapids, Dora's heart failed her; hercheeks paled, and her eyes grew very large and dark; but she held ontight to both sides of the canoe, fixed her eyes on Marjorie's back, andsaid not a word. She tried hard not to see the swirling water and thescowling rocks, but no effort could shut out the confused seethingnoises that made her feel as if nothing in the world was stable orsolid. When at last the rush was over, the sounds grew softer, and thetriumphant canoemen drew their good craft in to shore, and paused torest their tired muscles, Dora gave a deep sigh of relief.
Marjorie turned a beaming face to see what ever was the matter.
"_Frightened_, dear?" she said. "I forgot that you have not had muchcanoeing. It's too bad."
But Dora laughed, and the colour came back to her f
ace.
"I ought not to mind," she said, "for I have shot the Lachine Rapids.But I think being in a large boat gives one a feeling of safety. I knowI wasn't half so afraid then as I was to-day. It seemed to me there wasnothing between me and the dreadful confusion."
"Shooting the Lachine Rapids is a great experience," Mr. Merrithew said."I must confess I would not like to try those in a canoe, as Champlaindid! But now, boys, let us set off briskly, or we won't get thingscomfortable before night."
And they did hurry, but for all their speed it was nearly dusk by thetime the five white tents were pitched on Saunder's Island. This was afairly large island, ringed by a sandy beach from which the ground rosesteeply to a green bank on which elms, white birches, and maples stood,with a tangle of raspberry-bushes, and flowering shrubs among them.Inside the belt of trees was a broad sweep of rich meadow-land, withhere and there a row of feathery elms or a cluster of choke-cherry-trees.Toward the upper end of the island stood an old stone house, empty andalmost a ruin; not far from this house were two barns, kept in goodrepair for the storing of the sweet island hay.
The tents were pitched about a hundred yards from the house, just insidethe tall bordering trees, so that part of the day they would be in theshade. These trees, too, would make ideal places for slinging thenumerous hammocks which Mrs. Merrithew and Mrs. Grey had brought.
Dora and Marjorie greatly enjoyed watching the speed with which thetent-poles--two stout uprights and a horizontal ridge-pole--were gotinto position, and the skill with which the white canvas was spreadover them and stretched and pegged down and made into a cosy shelter.There was a tiny "A tent" tucked away in the shadiest spot for theprovisions, and a large tent in a central position which Mr. Grey named"Rainy-Day House," and which was to be used as dining-room and parlourin case of severe rains; then the other three were called respectively,"The Chaperons' Tent," "The Boys' Tent," and "The Girls' Tent."
The chaperons' abode was inhabited by Mrs. Merrithew, Mrs. Grey, Susan,Jackie, Edith, and the kitten; "The Boys' Tent" was well filled by Mr.Merrithew and Doctor Grey (who insisted on being boys for the occasion),Will Graham, and the twins; and "The Girls' Tent" sheltered MissKatherine Covert, Alice Grey, Marjorie, and Dora. The beds were of hay,liberally provided by the friendly farmer,--the owner, by the way, ofisland, house, and barns. Under each bed was spread either a rubbersheet or a piece of table oilcloth, then over the hay a thick grayblanket was laid. There was another thick blanket to wrap around eachperson, and still another to put over him, or her, as the case might be.In the chaperons' tent only were they more luxurious; there, two largemattresses took the place of the hay, and made a delightfullycomfortable couch for three grown-ups and two children.
While the tents and beds were being attended to, Susan, with a littlehelp from Mrs. Merrithew, had succeeded in getting tea without waitingfor any sort of a fireplace to be constructed.
She was rather anxious about the reception of this first meal, as it hadbeen cooked under difficulties. But when she saw the speed with whichher fried beans disappeared, and found Mrs. Grey taking a third cup oftea, her spirits rose, and she decided that campers were thoroughlysatisfactory people for whom to cook!
After tea was over, and all the dishes were washed, one of the oldcampers proposed the usual big bonfire, whereby to sit and sing, butevery one was too sleepy, and it was unanimously resolved that just thisonce the delightful evening of song and story must be omitted. Hearty"good-nights" were exchanged, and soon each tent for a brief whileshone, like that in the "Princess," "lamp-lit from the inner,"--to bemore absolutely accurate, lantern-lit; but what is a trifle of one word,that it should be allowed to spoil a quotation?
Then gently, sweetly, silence settled down over the little encampment;silence, save for the soft murmur of the river in its sleep, andsometimes the drowsy chirping of a bird among the branches.