These silver kings were one-hearted, too, in their benevolent2 purpose in life, which was to unite in casting a brotherly shade over a certain corner of the broad city playground, dotted with children from every clime, and incidentally to fan the flushed cheeks of the two girls directly beneath them, bound together by a girdling rainbow that played about their waists, woven by the sun’s shuttle amid the quivering birch-leaves, fit symbol of their binding3 Camp Fire sisterhood.
Sesooā’s eyes danced, lit by a tiny golden flame that uncurled itself in their demure5 hazel like a firefly alighting on a brown leaf. She caught her lower lip between the pretty incisors that decorated the front of her mouth as she scrutinized6 the semi-distant figure of a sixteen-year-old girl—perhaps nearer to seventeen—clad in a loose lavender smock to her knees, whence to her ankles there was a gleam of white skirt, with the most bewitching, frilled summer “Tam” of lavender, matching her smock, shielding her brown head, sheltering her face, like the hood4 of a flower. This floral figure leaned against the open door of a handsome automobile7 which was standing9 upon the playground avenue.
“I’m sure it’s beyond me to tell why Jessica Holley (Jessica Dee Holley; she always likes to bring the unusual little middle name in, because it was her mother’s, I suppose), why she chose Welatáwesit, which is the only Indian equivalent she could find for Morning-Glory—literally meaning ‘Climbing Plant’ or ‘Pretty Flower’ for her Camp Fire name. But I believe there’s a story attached to the choice, some ‘cunning’ little anecdote10 of her childhood. Wish I could ferret it out! She seems, always, to have been called ‘Glory,’ nearly as much as Jessica,” answered Sesooā racily, she who in every-day life bore no flaming cognomen11, but was plain little, gay little, Sally Davenport, as full of quips and quirks12, of lightning impulses and sudden turns as the wheeling firefly in her eyes.
“Goody! I’d like to hear the anecdote, too. The Morning-Glory name suits her so well that I thought she must have dreamed it—that it came to her in sleep—as I dreamed mine,” laughed the Rainbow, whose rightful name when she was not clad in a leather-fringed robe of khaki, in moccasins and head-band, and seated by a Council Fire, was Arline Champion. “But I call it absurd, meanly absurd, that if there’s any story about her and her name, we should not hear it, we who have named our Camp Fire (and it’s the best in the city, too, though I say it myself!), our whole group or tribe of fourteen girls, after her,” she went on with a stamp of her foot on the playground sod and with rainbowed emphasis; she was the shell-tinted14, demurely15 shining kind of fifteen-year-old girl who unconsciously aims at carrying a rainbow in her pocket, to brighten the dull or tear-wet day.
“Oh! we didn’t exactly ‘name it after her,’” demurred16 Sally. “She happened to come here last winter to visit those rich girls, the Deerings, who are all fluff an’ stuff; that exactly describes them, Olive and Sybil——” There was the least little green tinge17 of the spitfire about Sesooā’s flame now as she shot a glance toward two girls seated in the waiting automobile together with an older woman, evidently chaperon to the band of girls. “Oh! I say, pinch me; I shouldn’t have said that, should I, seeing that they brought us here in their car? But ’twas the first time they ever did it, though my father is head-bookkeeper in their father’s office at the Works; and I’ll engage ’twas Morning-Glory—Jessica—who suggested it, as we all wanted to visit this playground where there are so many foreign children, to see them dance their folk dances,” she ran on, speech flitting away from its starting-point in the wake of her firefly dance, which vivaciously18 hovered19 from one object or group of objects to another.
Arline waited for it to alight again on Jessica, as it presently did.
“Well! as I was saying,” reverted20 Sally, “you remember how she came here last February just when we were beginning to organize our Camp Fire group, when we had secured Miss Darina Dewey as Guardian21 (I think she’s a love of a Guardian and I like her unusual first name, too, though some of the girls don’t!) but before we had applied22 for our Charter, when we were searching for a name for our new Camp Fire circle, raking over Indian names like leaves until—goodness! we seemed half-smothered23 in them.” Sally paused for breath, breathlessly smothered, indeed, by the sunlit torrent24 of her own words, which had a trick of inundating25 a listener.
“It was at our second meeting, I think, at Miss Dewey’s house,” she went on, “that Jessica came in, all snow an’ sparkle from her eyes to her toes, and introduced herself by showing a transfer card signed by the Guardian of a Camp Fire circle in a small town in Pennsylvania to which she had belonged, the Akiyuhapi Camp Fire.”
“The Are-you-happy Camp Fire! Sounds just like that!” put in Arline, rainbowed with mirthful memory. “Jessica told us that she had already been initiated26 as a Wood Gatherer and showed her silver fagot ring. But we were a little flabbergasted, weren’t we, when she sprang her Indian name on us, by which she had chosen to be known among Camp Fire circles: Welatáwesit; it sounded musical as she pronounced it, but it seemed a mouthful! She partly explained it (d’you remember?) by saying that when she was choosing her symbolic27 name—as all Camp Fire Girls do—she wanted, for a special reason which she kept to herself, to take that of a flower, Morning-Glory. And that Penobscot Indian word was the nearest she could get to it, the morning-glory not being originally a native plant.”
“Yes, and it was at that very meeting, after we had welcomed Jessica with open arms as a Camp Fire Sister”—thus Sally again took up the fascinating thread of reminiscence—“that when each girl had told her symbolic name, Indian or otherwise, and how she came to choose it to express some special wish or aim, that we fell back upon digging for one for the new Camp Fire itself, the new circle or tribe. And then, don’t you remember”—Sesooā’s voice rose to a pitch of excitement—“how Betty Ayres, little fair-haired Betty, who’s so enthusiastic and about as big as a minute—she’s just four feet, five inches and a half——”
“My! but your minutes do stretch—like elastic,” put in Arline, with a rallying elbow poke28.
“Humph! Piffle! Betty jumped up suddenly as if she saw a vision, with an idea swelling29 up so big in her that she seemed to grow two inches on the strength of it. ‘Girls!’ she cried, ‘I’m just tired of browsing31 among Indian dictionaries, searching for a novel name for our new Camp Fire circle. Why don’t we call it, right away, the Morning-Glory Camp Fire? There’s a name that will reflect glory on us!’ said little Betty, half sobbing33 and half shining. ‘It suggests so much—so much that I can’t just put into words of——’”
“‘Of the Morning of Life, the Glory of Girlhood—and vice34 versa—isn’t that what you mean, Betty dear?’ said our Guardian, helping35 her out!” This reminiscent contribution came from Arline. “And then Miss Dewey went on to say how she thought herself that it would be a glorious name for us who are Daughters of the Sun, so to speak, having the Sun as our general symbol. So the Morning-Glory Camp Fire we are! And when we camp out this summer upon the Sugarloaf Peninsula where the sand-dunes are white as snow, we’re going to call our great, ramshackle wooden shanty36, with one side quite open to the airs of heaven, Camp Morning-Glory. So much glory that we shan’t know ourselves, eh? But all this”—slowly—“doesn’t bring us one little bit nearer to answering the question which I asked you at first, why our Glory-girl, Jessica, chose her symbolic name at the beginning. Since it put so much into our heads we’ve got a right to know all about it!” with another laughing stamp upon the playground grass. “I can’t bear mystery; if there’s a secret as big as my thumb, even if it’s about nothing or next to nothing, I want to know it.”
“Oh, mystery—I love mystery! Bubbling mystery!” Sesooā rose on tiptoe under the Silver Twins, looking rather like a Baltimore oriole, that vivid flame-bird, for she, too, wore the latest thing in girlish smock frocks of a dainty peach-color very closely related to orange, shirred or smocked with black by her own clever little fingers that had fashioned the garment, too, the which had won her a green honor-bead to string upon the Camp Fire Girl’s necklace that she wore on ceremonial occasions.
Those fingers had draped the little orange Tam O’Shanter, as well, which covered her crisp, dark hair, a masterpiece of head-gear more jaunty37, less hood-like than that of the flower-like figure leaning against the auto8’s side to which the wheeling firefly of her glance now turned.
“Oh, bubbles! I’m going right over now to ask her why she chose her Morning-Glory name and symbol,” she went on, each word a tinted bubble of laughing curiosity painting itself upon the sunshine. “Absurd, but I am! If there’s any foolish little child-story woven in with the choice, this is the very time and place to hear it, here on the public playground, with all those children—such funny, foreign-looking tots most of them!—dancing ‘Pop Goes the Weasel!’ Pouf! I feel like dancing with them.”
And the human oriole flitting forth38 from the friendly shade of the Twins fluttered her shirred plumage in a gleeful pas seul upon the playground grass, where the sun-glare transformed her into an orange flame, while her ears, attuned39 to all merry sounds, drank in the shrill41 music of five-and-thirty children’s voices (the number ought to have been even, but in that gleeful chorus there was one silent throat), six dancing sets, shouting with a strange babel of foreign accents, to the accompaniment of their stamping feet, the old nonsense-rhyme of the sixteenth century:
“Half a pound of twopenny rice,
Half a pound of treacle42,
Stir it up and make it nice
Pop goes the weasel!”
musical score
hummed Sally, in flaming echo, and stood still.
All the while, that versatile43 quirk13 in her nature, corresponding to the flitting firefly in her eyes, which rendered her attention easily diverted when she wasn’t gravely in earnest, changed her all at once from an eager bubble of curiosity, that must burst if it did not penetrate44 a trifling45 secret, into an absorbed spectator. She hung upon the fringe of the playground dances, intent upon every rhythmic46 movement as the leading couple in each juvenile47 set (it happened to be a little earringed, lustrous-eyed Syrian girl footing it with a small Turk for a partner in that nearest) formed an arch with their uplifted arms for a gay little dancer to pass beneath.
“Oh-h! don’t they catch on well and dance prettily48, these playground children?” murmured Sesooā softly to the quivering interest in her own heart. “I’m awfully49 glad that Jessica proposed our visiting this playground to-day where there are so many little foreigners not born in this country or whose parents haven’t been long here. She”—dreamily soliloquizing, with a glance at that lavender-smocked figure—“said that, last year, she and the other members of the Akiyuhapi Camp Fire in that Pennsylvanian milling town, where she became a Camp Fire Girl, did so much voluntary work upon the public playground, largely among the little immigrants, teaching them American songs, American games, telling them stories, settling their squabbles. Well! I guess I’m not going to bother her with questions about her ‘Morning-Glory’ name just now. Over there where she’s standing”—flashing another glance at the gray auto, with two girls in it and one leaning against its silver door-knob—“I’d have to bray50 like a jackass to be heard above the music of that absurd piano, perched upon a low cart. Goody!” with a sudden, excited movement of her vivid shoulders. “I shouldn’t like to be that perched-up pianist. Just suppose the playground horse should take it into his head to pop—to dance—to chase the weasel, too?”
Was it any suddenly restless movement on the part of that four-footed servant of the city which drew the strolling piano upon a low cart from playground to playground to thresh out music for the children’s dances—was it that which flashed the thought backward over his flicking52 tail, over the head of the pounding pianist seated upon a light cane53 chair before the lashed51 piano, flashed it into Sally’s brain? That, or the elfin dance of sunbeams upon his stamping hoofs54 which, together with the popping dance-cries of the children and the louder popping of the musical instrument behind him—deliriously out of tune40, too—must surely infect the staidest horse?
Sally did not know which launched the apprehension55, the tickling56 sunbeams or the restless hoofs and head. But she was used to horses. She found herself mechanically straightening up, controlling the giddy dance-spirit in her own soles, moving nearer—nearer—to the low cart as if she could not help it.
A brilliant orange streak57 in the sunlight she, flecked oriole-like with black, from the velvet58 ribbon that lent tone to that saucy59 little Tam, to the black needlework stars upon the heaving girlish breast.
Then all at once this human flame-bird weaving its way in and out between sets of dancing children was halted by a musical crash, brought up short on tiptoe by a screaming commotion60 through which rang a nightmare of treble chords wildly sustained by the pianist’s right hand blundering among the shrieking61 keys of the elevated piano, while her left arm waved on high, imploring63 help, the whole seeming a premature64, mad finale to the popping music, to which every voice upon the playground, animate65 and inanimate, lent a cry—discordantly at that!
The effect was so feverishly66 funny that Sally, who had the oriole’s gay spirit within her orange-smocked breast, vented67 a shriek62 as loud as any, to swell30 the confusion, automatically clapping her fingers to her ears.
The voices of some fourscore children had popped explosively from song and shout to scare-note and shriek, a conglomerate68 shriek, strengthened by every foreign accent under the sun (any cry ever hurled69 from the crumbling70 Tower of Babel was nothing to it!), a shriek that hung, sustained, in air together with the rasping, squelching71 notes of that unfinished musical measure which seemed to tatter the air itself.
“Ouch! My s-soul!” murmured Sally under her breath. “The horse! It’s the—horse. He is bolting, with the piano lashed to the cart behind him. And the—poor—pianist!”
It needed no more. She saw the girl-musician’s left arm waving, imploring, saw her rock upon the light cane chair before the instrument that was not lashed to the rocking cart; she heard the horse’s mutinous72 snort, heard it strangely echoed in dumb fashion by a pair of parted childish lips near her; crowning all, she caught the terrified shriek of a small boy who clutched at his raven-black hair and what English he could muster73 as he started toward a sand-pile ahead, yelling, “Mine babee—mine babee! Horse he go kill her; she—she go all—deaded!”
And like the flame from the cloud leaped the answering fire in Sesooā—little Camp Fire Girl!
“The driver—the boy driver—he ought to be shot; he’s umpiring a baseball game,” was the first distinct thought that leaped to her mind as, like an oriole on the wing, she sped across the sunlit grass in the wake of the still rocking cart, the fiendishly howling piano, the screaming, swaying pianist. The second lightning conviction was: “It’s up-hill and the horse can’t really run very fast with that absurd piano behind him! He’s dancing all over the place, rather than wildly running, now!... Rolie showed me—has told me so often—how to stop a runaway74!”
Rolie was her Boy Scout75 brother and that gallant76 fourteen-year-old Scout seemed to run neck and neck with her in this crisis, whispering heart into her, advising her movements.
The firefly in her eyes, soaring, golden, above consternation77, has lit now upon the horse’s quivering haunch—on his black mane.
“After all, he’s only a horse; I’ve not alone ridden one, but, as a Camp Fire Girl, have saddled and bridled78 and fed an’ currycombed it, too, every day for the past month!” whizzed thought, darting79 ahead of her as with another springy step or two her right hand has seized the cart’s shaft80 to hold on and prevent herself from falling in the supreme81 effort she is about to make.
Her left hand, attached to a strong little wrist for a girl not yet sixteen, has snatched at the dragging reins82, holding them short, is trying to pull the horse’s head down, turn it toward her!
Only a horse! And a brother-horse was such a friend of hers! The firefly bore that thought upon its wings as it wheeled above doubt, resistance, wrenching83 strain that was tugging84 her soft young arms from their sockets—her feet from the solid earth.
Only a horse! But a maddened horse, distracted by the shrieking ivories behind him!
Her girl’s strength against his!
Yet his rebel-crest was lowering. His lifted forelegs were uncurling, the waving hoofs that cared not what they smashed returning sanely85 to the sod.
And over the tumult86 of his heated horse-play, the inflaming87 echo of the music playing upon his generally patient nerves, rose the voice of the Camp Fire Girl as one who understands, gentling, soothing88:
“Whoa! Whoa-a! old horse. There! there! good boy. Qui-quiet—now! The-ere!”
Her left hand has snatched at the dragging reins.
A snort that shook the earth under her feet, a jolt89 and rattle90 of the low cart and lashed piano, straining at its moorings to the cart, an hysterical91 sob32 from the pianist, and a girl life-saver stood outlined for one flaming minute at the horse’s head, queen of the equine dance, mistress of him and the situation, her hand to her side, her breath coming in great, ragged92 gasps93 that claimed to be sobs94, too, sobs of wonder at how she ever did it!
“Well done, little girl! Good work! Well done, little Oriole in the orange smock!” came from spectators known and unknown. “How on earth did you have the presence of mind to do it—to stop him so quickly?”
“I’m a Camp Fire Girl. I ought to have my wits about me!”
Sesooā threw back her head and let them see the flame in her eyes, the flame kindled95 at that new-born Fire whose divine essence is to “Give Service!”
Suddenly that flame cowered96 and ran to hide in the tremble that swept over her from head to foot, a sick shudder97 that carried with it, also, the heroine’s grateful ecstasy98 as she looked ahead, only six short feet, at a raven-haired small boy flinging himself with a jumble99 of foreign cries and broken English at a playground sand-box, where, amid other tiny tots, a black-haired baby of eighteen months crawled safely like an insect, at the heart of the silvery pile.
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1
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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auto
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| n.(=automobile)(口语)汽车 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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cognomen
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| n.姓；绰号 | |
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quirks
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| n.奇事，巧合( quirk的名词复数 )；怪癖 | |
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quirk
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| n.奇事，巧合；古怪的举动 | |
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14
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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vivaciously
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| adv.快活地；活泼地；愉快地 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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inundating
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| v.淹没( inundate的现在分词 )；（洪水般地）涌来；充满；给予或交予（太多事物）使难以应付 | |
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initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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browsing
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| v.吃草( browse的现在分词 )；随意翻阅；（在商店里）随便看看；（在计算机上）浏览信息 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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41
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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42
treacle
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| n.糖蜜 | |
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43
versatile
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| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
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44
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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46
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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47
juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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50
bray
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| n.驴叫声, 喇叭声；v.驴叫 | |
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51
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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52
flicking
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的现在分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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53
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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54
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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tickling
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| 反馈，回授，自旋挠痒法 | |
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57
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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58
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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59
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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60
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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61
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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62
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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vented
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| 表达，发泄（感情，尤指愤怒）( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conglomerate
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| n.综合商社，多元化集团公司 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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squelching
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| v.发吧唧声，发扑哧声( squelch的现在分词 )；制止；压制；遏制 | |
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mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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bridled
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的过去式和过去分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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83
wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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84
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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sanely
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| ad.神志清楚地 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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87
inflaming
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| v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的现在分词 ) | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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90
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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95
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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96
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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97
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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98
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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99
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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