"It _was_ mean to name her that," Helen declared as they went down the lane.

"Maybe it was before there were machine victrolas, and her mother just thought it was pretty," suggested Louise. "The other children have fancy names, too; Alexandra and Lance. Remember Vicky told us there was a boy named Lancelot, the day we went up?"

"To return your orphan?" said Winona. "Oh, yes-we all remember. Never mind, Ishkoodah dear, perhaps next time you'll find a real one."

"Wouldn't it be fine if Camp Karonya _could_ look after some little girl-one of the Children's Aid children, for instance?" said Helen thoughtfully.

"It would take a good deal of money," spoke practical Louise, "if we didn't one of us have it in the family."

"Not such a lot," said Winona. "Oh, it would be lovely! A nice little orphan with blue eyes and curly hair, and we'd name her ourselves--"

"We'd call her Gramophone!" suggested Louise; and, tired as they were, they all began to laugh. But by this time they were nearly at the house the machine's namesake had directed them to, and it was the right one.

The owner had a fairly good victrola and six double-faced records, and she finally consented to let it go for twenty dollars. The girls paid down the money on the spot, and constructed a carrier for it out of two pieces of board which the machine's owner threw in.

There were no adventures whatever connected with this end of the happening. Helen took the front end and Louise the back, and Winona steadied it. Then they set it down, after they had walked awhile, and changed places. It seemed rather a long way home, and they were exceedingly glad when they reached camp-that was all. Their sympathetic comrades attended to their routine duties for them, and all the adventurers had to do was to lie on the gra.s.s and tell about their travels-everything, that is, but Victrola's name and her grief over it.

After supper the whole camp a.s.sembled to enjoy the machine, and danced to everything on its disc, even the s.e.xtette from Lucia, given as a vocal selection. But Louise did not do any folk-dances that night. She was so tired that she curled up on a soft spot and fed the machine till it was time to go to bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"Did you dye that old petticoat and underwaist pink?" demanded Winona, sticking her head into Marie's tent.

"Yes, I did," said Marie promptly, "and it's starched, and ironed with the charcoal-iron."

"And did Adelaide borrow her brother's bathrobe for Louise?"

"No, she didn't, but I did-at least, I sent Frances over for it," said Marie. "It's here, and safe."

"And did Louise sew the hood on it?"

"She did," said Marie resignedly. "Every single property for 'Gentle Alice Brown' and the 'Oysterman' is in a mound in the dressing-tent. Go look, for goodness' sake, or you'll have nervous prostration."

Winona, property-woman and general manager of the performance, pulled back her head with a sigh of relief, and went to find the girl who had promised to straighten out the fishing-tackle necessary to the Ballad of the Oysterman-for they were to present that cla.s.sic of Holmes's in a very few hours.

The performance was to be at eight, and it was a strictly complimentary one. The Scouts were invited, and various special friends from Wampoag, most of them made over dealings in Camp merchandise. A committee had been appointed to see about illuminations, and another to attend to the refreshments. They were ama.s.sing honor beads by doing it. Marie's Blue Birds were busy everywhere. Camp Karonya was dazzlingly clean, and everyone was getting out the one dress-up frock she had brought along, and giving it attention. There was to be an exhibit, also, as the flaring posters Helen had prepared said, of "potteries, embroideries, jellies, hand-carvings, pickles and other objects." It had been going to be "other objects of art," but Winona pointed out that jellies and pickles _weren't_, no matter what the rest might be. So the poster stopped abruptly at "objects," and the s.p.a.ce was filled up by a life-like portrait of a jelly-gla.s.s.

Camp Karonya took a very brief meal of bread and milk and cookies, and the dish-washers hurried through their tasks. For eight o'clock has a way of coming long before you expect it. About seven-thirty the paddles and oars and motor-boats of the audience began to be heard, and the reception committee scurried down to the dock to meet their guests.

First came their friends the Scouts from down the river, about thirty strong. After them, in little groups, came the summer people, including Billy's Aunt Lydia, who never missed a Camp Fire function if she could help it.

The audience was seated, as usual, on planks laid from box to box and nailed. They did not have to sit there long. After a great deal of giggling and rustling behind the big green curtain that had been made of sacks, pieced together and dyed, Winona came out to announce the beginning of the entertainment.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she commenced, "to-night we are going to have, beside several musical selections, some moving pictures with explanatory recitations-some _very_ moving pictures. After the opening song we will have the first one, 'Gentle Alice Brown.'"

The audience applauded, and then the girls sang a Camp Fire song in chorus. After that Louise and Edith played a conscientious mandolin-banjo duet. Then Marie, who was the reader of the evening, came out with a copy of Gilbert's Bab Ballads and very slowly began to read "Gentle Alice Brown."

At the first line the curtain was pulled back, revealing Winona alone against a sheet background. She was in an 1860 costume made from an old, full petticoat and tight underwaist, dyed pink, and helped out with small puffed sleeves and a sash. Her curls were bound with a wreath of artificial roses from the ten-cent store, slightly over one ear. She sat on a chair with her head on her hand, and she was looking mournfully over the chair-back. Marie began,

It was a robber's daughter, and her name was Alice Brown, Her father was the terror of a small Italian town; Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing, But it isn't of her parents that I'm going for to sing.

As Marie went on, across the stage galloped ferociously Helen, who had been given the role of Robber Brown because she was one of the tallest of the girls. A red flannel shirt of Tom Merriam's, topped by a fishing hat and black mustachio, were most convincing. Her short kilt, which gave her rather the look of a Greek than an Italian bandit, was met by a pair of fishing-boots, and she wore three carving-knives and a cartridge belt. She strode ferociously across the stage, looking neither to right nor left.

Edith Hillis, trotting meekly behind her as Mrs. Brown, wore a baggy old long skirt, a bandanna tied around her waist, one around her neck and another on her head. She only had one carving-knife. But the lovely Alice did not deign to look at her parents. She gazed sadly out over the audience, while Marie went on to tell how-

As Alice was sitting at her window-sill one day A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pa.s.s that way, A sorter at the Custom-house, it was his daily road- (The Custom-house was fifteen minutes walk from her abode).

At this point the hero crossed the stage dashingly, with a cane under his arm. It was Adelaide, in a plaid cap, a waxed mustache, and a very precise duster which reached her heels. A pipe (she said afterwards it had a dreadful taste) stuck from one corner of her mouth.

Gentle Alice sighed deeply, and so did her lover, who became aware of her presence with a tragic start. He halted, waved to her, sighed with his hand on his heart, and looked altogether very lovelorn. Gentle Alice did not notice him at first, but she gradually seemed to yield, and finally languished softly at him-and winked. So did he. Then he kissed his hands at her and went off reluctantly to work, while Alice wiped away her tears with a large bandanna such as her parents had worn. (They were the historic bandannas which had served Winona and Louise so well on their peddling trip.)

The ballad went on to relate how presently Alice's conscience bothered her. So she asked the Brown's family confessor about it,

The priest by whom their little crimes were carefully a.s.sessed.

Here Louise appeared, in the brown bathrobe, with its hood pulled up over her head, and sandals on. Alice threw herself at his feet, and waved her hands in grief.

"Oh, father," Gentle Alice said, "'Twould grieve you, would it not, To find that I have been a most disreputable lot?"

Louise a.s.sumed a benign expression and listened while Alice confessed her sins. Marie stopped, while Winona herself spoke:

I a.s.sisted dear mamma in cutting up a little lad, I helped papa to steal a little kiddy from its dad- I planned a little burglary and forged a little check And slew a little baby for the coral on its neck!

But Father Brown seemed inclined to be forgiving, and with a few remarks, ended,

We mustn't be too hard upon these little girlish tricks- Let's see-five crimes at half a crown-exactly twelve and six.

Alice thanked him in a few grateful couplets, and pulled out another bandanna with money tied up in it from which she paid him. The ballad went on to relate how Alice tremblingly confessed her last sin, about the beautiful gentleman, who pa.s.sed every day:

I blush to say, I've winked at him-and he has winked at me!

This shocked Father Paul for, as he explained,

If you should marry anyone respectable at all, Why, you'd reform, and then what would become of Father Paul?

So he pulled up his cowl, the ballad went on to state-and Louise went on to act-and trotted off to tell the news to Robber Brown.

They came on together, while the Father repeated the news, and stood consulting in the corner, while Alice, from her actions, seemed to be thinking still of the sorter.

Robber Brown took it quite calmly. He decided to be quite kind to Alice about it-merely to

Nab that gay young sorter, terrify him into fits, And get his wife to chop him into little bits.

He argued that Alice, after that, would not love him any more. So, while Father Paul exited, Robber Brown lay stealthily in wait, a.s.sisted by his wife. Presently along came the gay young sorter again, waving his hand jauntily to Alice. Robber Brown sprang out, crossed directly in front of the sorter, who appeared not to see him at all, and proceeded to track him up and down the stage two or three times, with Mrs. Brown trailing in the rear. After the three had gone up and down twice (Alice, also, oblivious to her parents' presence, and throwing kisses to the sorter) Robber Brown finally "took a life-preserver" in the shape of a stout-looking stick, and pretended to fell the gay young sorter.

Immediately Mrs. Brown bounded up with a piece of chalk, and proceeded to mark him off in pieces for dissection, for, as Robber Brown remarked: