“No braves around this camp except you, Capt’n Andy!” One or two of the answering voices sounded the least trifle disconsolate—or wistful.
So far as supplying the male element went, Captain Andy was massive, but not a mass!
His admiration4, however, of the sunset picture upon the beach before him could hardly have been outdone by any male mass, juvenile5 or adult.
“My! but you Camp Fire Girls do make the world look ‘gallus,’” he burst forth6 in seaman’s phraseology.
“What does that mean?” Ten voices rose together in asking this question.
“Royal-looking.”
“Oh! goody! he says we look royal; we’re princesses, Indian princesses, for this evening.” Morning-Glory strutted7 along the flushed sands in all her fringed and beaded bravery of ceremonial attire8, beaming like the purple and white morning-glory in her head-band as if she had never known a lonely moment.
“But where are the bows an’ arrows, maidens? Why! you haven’t even got a harpoon9 among you, in case a school of blackfish should come in,” bantered10 Menokigábo, named for his stature11 “Standing12 Tall,” named by the maidens, in jest, as they told him, so that he might fit in with the general atmosphere of their camp.
“We’ll bring the bows and arrows next time we come,” answered Gheezies, the Guardian13 of the Camp Fire tribe, with the yellow sun embroidered14 on her bosom15, this being the meaning of her name and her own particular symbol as it was the general emblem16 of all Camp Fire tribes.
She was standing by a budding camp fire which had just begun to blossom in a nest of rocks upon the beach, eclipsed by the sun’s fading splendors17.
Scattered18 around her were her maidens, all in ceremonial dress, with their long braids hanging, head-bands gleaming, moccasined feet spurning19 the sands in an evening ecstasy20 of dressing21 up. Daughters of the Sun! Children of Camp Morning-Glory! What wonder that the old sea-dog said they made the world look “royal.”
“Hullo! see, I’ve got the Kullibígan all ready.” He pointed22 to a foot-long top of spinning dimensions and silvery lustre23 in his hand. “’Tain’t painted yet, but I guess that won’t lessen24 the magic—’twill answer all your questions by an’ by just as well.”
“I’m going to paint it all over with symbols to-morrow,” burst forth Jessica, touching25 the carefully polished wood. “I’m going to paint the emblem of our Morning-Glory Camp Fire which is an ocean sunrise—the dawn coming up like a foam-chicken, as Captain Andy—I mean Menokigábo—says, and my own symbol, a morning-glory flower and all the symbols of my Camp Fire Sisters that I can crowd on to it.”
“Great guns! ’twill surely be ‘some top’ then,” ejaculated old “Standing Tall,” looming26 massive against the waning27 sunlight. “Why! Kitty.”
Some one had come sliding pell-mell down the nearest sand-peak and reaching him in a rush, flung her arms around him, or tried to. Well might he exclaim!
Kitty, not in Indian dress, although her hair hung in two chestnut28 braids down her back! But a Kitty in olive-green bloomers silvered with sand! Kitty in a middy blouse too large for her—her sleeves rolled up—with the brightest dancing eyes and a delicate pink flush burnishing29 the gold of the freckles30 on her cheeks!
“Don’t tell Mary-Jane Peg,” implored31 Kitty, quaintly32, looking down at her bloomers; “she’d be shocked.”
“Oh, land!” The captain simply roared.
“Sybil lent me these—wasn’t it good of her?” The Doomed33 One thrust forward one bloomered leg, into whose bagginess34 her orchard35 scares had evidently run to hide and had lost themselves. “Sally lent me the blouse,” glancing at her companion, in ceremonial dress, who had slid down the sand-hill with her, and whose arms were full of fuel gathered among the dunes36, dead, silvery limbs of juniper, with driftwood and wreckwood. “Oh, Uncle Andy, I’m having such a good time! I’ve made up my mind that I want to be a Camp Fire Girl; you can order the dress an’—an’ fixin’s for me any time you want to!” saucily37.
“Good life! can I? You jumped to it pretty quickly, didn’t you?” as if he were addressing the dancing minnow in Kitty’s eyes.
“It’s not surprising that she should swallow the new bait so quickly,” he muttered in an aside to the Guardian of the Camp Fire whose tender eyes rested upon this new recruit’s transformed face. “There are no children in the two families living nearest to her father’s old-fashioned farmhouse38 with the gambrel roof and T-shaped chimney. And those that she went to school with she didn’t take to—though she ought to have been forced to do so—these girls have made her take to them; they’ve burned up her shyness, somehow.”
“Kitty is learning that ‘it is the discovery of ourselves outside ourselves which makes us glad,’” quoted Gheezies the gracious Guardian, with the little feathery rings of grey hair, light as thistle-fluff among her dark locks, playing about her pearly head-band. “She sees herself reflected in each one of these girls with whom she has come in contact under circumstances novel enough to open her eyes to the reflection and already she’s a new Kitty. Already she’s sharing the team spirit, the joy of doing things together!” looking down on the slender, withered40 arms of juniper which Kitty had been gathering41, too, among the sand-hills and had flung down in her rush upon her great-uncle.
Not one frowning face left a mote42 on that shining mirror of girlhood in which Kitty saw her own heart, its natural aims and desires, not Penelope’s even; Penelope had been rather quiet ever since she hid her laugh, her graceless tongue and flaming cheeks in the water.
“I’m going up among the dunes to gather some more wood,” she announced now. “We haven’t nearly enough to make a good fire to cook our supper and have it burn on and on in a jolly Council Fire afterward,” looking at the wigwam-like heap of fuel already piled upon the sands.
“Lovely!” responded Olive, meaning the idea, not the setter-forth thereof, although Penelope looked a very different Pen from the gaudy43 tomboy of the gate; no human hurricane could be a hurricane in ceremonial dress; there was a poetry about the leather fringes, the soft hue44 of the brown khaki, the shimmering45 head-band and embroidered moccasins which chastened the commonness of Penny’s speech.
To-night her clothes did not “talk” to you afar off; they thrilled you with a sense of some romance recovered which the world had lost a while.
And no setting for them could have been more perfect than the white beach and sand-hills, gleaming like lesser46 Alps, of the Sugarloaf Peninsula, flushed pink by the sunset.
“Oh! isn’t it all too beautiful?” breathed Olive who had a chord in her heart that vibrated with a joy as of heaven to Nature’s beauty, as she linked her fringed arm through Penelope’s, feeling a twinge of regret for the silent rebuff which the latter’s rude tongue had brought upon her earlier in the day; this feeling it was which prompted Olive to be her wood-gathering companion now, in collecting juniper and driftage from among the burnished47 dunes.
She might have had a worse companion than Penelope, for the tingling48 Penny, though her junior, was much the better climber of the two, and it was toilsome work, ploughing up well-nigh perpendicular49 sand-peaks, sometimes, through a jungle of vegetation that snared50 one’s every step.
“Don’t get into that thatch51-grass, Cask!” warned Penelope; “I did the other day and was bitten by a thatch-spider; it poisoned me something aw-ful!”
“Spiders! Thatch-spiders! Ugh-h.” Olive shuddered52 at the rank dull-green thatch of one sand-hill, whose ungainliness seemed to have something in common with Penelope’s speech. “You don’t pronounce my Camp Fire name properly,” she said after a minute during which she had given the spider-breeding thatch-grass a wide berth53. “You call me ‘Cask’: the a ought to be longer and softer in Kask; that’s the Indian for Blue Heron, the Penobscot Indian.”
“I think it’s a star name, Cask,” murmured Penelope, giving the title exactly the same intonation54 as before. “And you’ve got your symbolic55 name nailed onto you all right, Olive, because you’ve already been initiated56 as a Wood Gatherer and taken rank among the Camp Fire Girls,” glancing at the fagot ring on Olive’s little finger. “I haven’t; I’m only on probation57, although they don’t ‘stump’ from wearing the ceremonial dress and being called by the Indian name that I’ve chosen: Awatawéssu; that’s Penobscot, too.”
The poetry of the name which even Pen’s pronunciation could not mar3 was so at variance58 with Penelope’s slangy speech that the Blue Heron, poised59 on a white sand-peak, her fringed arms outspread in their loose sleeves, as if she were about to take wing through the joy-filled universe, had to laugh.
“Oh! Penny, you’re too funny,” she said. “Yours is really a star name,” dreamily, “for it means ‘a star,’ doesn’t it?”
“Yes, getting down to bed-rock, as the boys say, it means ‘A creature far above!’” Suddenly the younger girl’s mood changed. Her moccasined foot kicked the fine sand into the air as if she were starting it off on a rainbowed quest to find the Star, her namesake, along a climbing trail where she knew she would find it hard to follow. “A—Creature—Far—Above!” she repeated slowly. “I guess that’s what I need to be! Since—since I’ve taken that name”—scarcely above a whisper—“I feel, somehow, low-down, because I’m always ‘putting my foot in it’; I did this morning, laughing at that little orchard Kitty directly she got here. An’ I’m too slangy. Mother doesn’t hear me, you know, or she’d correct me.... And there’s so much to be done for the boys, where a girl has three brothers younger than herself, that it didn’t seem to matter how I spoke—or much what I wore—so long’s I could get things—done.”
A silvery star peeping out as the sun declined, peering down at the sand-hills, saw her namesake’s eyes full of sore tears.
Olive stared a minute. Then her arms went round Penelope.
“Oh! you dear,” she gasped60. “Oh! you dear!” wetly, too.
They had come out to gather dead juniper; they found the living fire-wood, the magic fuel of deep sympathy, mutual61 girlish comprehension.
It doubled their joy in a minute or two. For Penelope’s pangs62 were evanescent. They danced in the snowy sand-valleys, gathering up the khaki skirts of their ceremonial dresses into puckered63 bags for their driftwood fagots—brine-whitened chunks64, some of them easily splintered and rendered portable, which had been swept in by the garnering65 tide from many a distant shore—together with withered limbs of basswood and juniper, native to the dunes.
They tried vainly to drag along in their train a very ancient captive, a bleached66, branching cedar67-stump, driftwood, too, which gleamed like a white marble monument amid the sands that had alternately covered and uncovered it for many hundreds of years.
Olive scraped its surface with her Camp Fire Girl’s pocket-knife and was delighted that she could tell by the flesh-pink of the wood underneath68 that it was cedar; one of the first flights which Blue Heron had made about the camp into the fairy-land of unacquired knowledge was the learning from Captain Andy to tell one kind of wood from another, whether it was alive and growing or merely dead driftage.
“It makes one love trees all the more when you can tell how they differ in their wood as well as in their branches and leaves,” she murmured, now, as the girls wandered on, picking here a wild rose, there a lacy blossom of thoroughwort or of the everlasting69 white—blossoming spirit of these white dunes—which Olive stuck into her black braid of hair.
“Well, we’ve got about all the wood we want, now; don’t you think so?” suggested Penelope, at last. “And it’s time we got back to the beach and our camp fire; Sesooā and M?nkw?n, Sally and Arline, will be cooking supper; they’re cooks to-day, you know; they’re going to toast bacon on twigs70 and Arline has made a blackberry shortcake with those blackberries that we found yesterday in the woods up the river.”
“Here’s hoping that ’twill taste better than my apple-shortcake, which Captain Andy said was ‘chunky’ when I took a piece over to his tent! But I’ll do better next time. See if I don’t!” laughed Blue Heron, dropping her fuel and flapping her winged sleeves as if for a new flight. “Oh! Pen, I simply can’t go back—yet,” she quavered; “not if they begin supper without us. I don’t believe we’ll ever have another evening—another sunset—quite so lovely as this. I want to climb that tall peak and see the view; I will, too, if I never taste another mouthful!”
They capered71 up the lower, easy slope of the hill, fringes waving, just in that mood when feet would wither39 if they didn’t dance and the heart must burst if it couldn’t worship.
“Oh! how near it brings one to—to Things—like the altar rails at Confirmation,” whispered Olive, half to herself, her gasping72 breath a shrine73 for panting feeling when, with slower steps, she had mastered the summit of this hundred-feet snow-peak and looked down upon lesser dunes, creamily piled, sown with sunset roses, upon a crystalline hollow like a mimic74 glacier75 where fairies skated and away at the sundown glories crowning the snow-drift dunes of the opposite shore beyond the tidal river’s blue.
There all heaven seemed let loose, the heaven that lives in color; the elder girl’s soul was steeped in it; with cords woven of every hue in the spectrum76 it linked each holy moment of her life and wove it into the present minute: again, across the gulf77 of a year, she felt the touch of consecrating78 hands upon her head, heard the prayer: “Defend, oh, Lord, this Thy child with Thy Heavenly grace...!”
It was no far-away Lord of grace and glory now; the sunset made a highway to His Presence.
“That she may daily increase in Thy Holy Spirit more and more...!”
What better translation of that than the Camp Fire spirit: the quest of beauty, truth, service, health, happiness, love?
Olive’s lips quivered as, with a loving, expanding desire for human contact, she again put an arm around Penelope. Penelope nestled close to her. They clung together upon the white apex79 of that peak, the apex of girlish feeling, in such a moment as should ever prevent outward differences from separating them again.
Penelope stirred uneasily. “I’ve got the dune-fever,” she said. “You set me going, Olive! I just can’t go back to camp with our fagots until I climb that other peak, just beyond this one, to see how the sunset looks from there!”
“All right! Let’s!” responded Olive recklessly. “Our Guardian or Captain Andy will be coming out to look for us, though! Well! it won’t take very long. We really will go back then. Oh! wait for me, Pen!” as Penelope, scarlet80 of cheek, sturdy of foot, panting in breath, ploughed up that still farther peak, like a brown goat, her braids and fringes waving.
“Stay, Sweetheart, stay!
Stay, till I ketch thee!”
panted Olive, as she neared the top, making the sand-dunes ring with the merry hail of an old song.
“Hey ding a ding a ding!
This ketching is a pretty thing!”
“Is it, though?” sarcastically81 inquired a voice. “I don’t think it’s a ‘very pretty thing!’” in the sourest of masculine voices that ever planted a sting in a girlish paradise. “Oh, jiggaroo! I don’t think ‘ketching’s’ pretty: I’m caught—an’ I don’t like it!”
Both girls jumped. The grumbling82 shout came from a sandy shoulder of the peak on which they were standing, a peak whose shoulder-blade stood out, clad in dark, olive-green basswood. Was it a goblin voice?
Beneath one glossy83 shrub84 showed a yellow-brown mound—a huddled85, abject86 mound—a shade lighter87 in hue than their own ceremonial dresses.
Under the waning gold of the sunset it looked jaundiced. Jaundiced, truly, yellow-green with despair, if tones suggest color, and surly—the surliest ever—was the renewed shout that came from it, flung up from the olive-green clump88 of basswood into the teeth of the girls, the lips that launched the grumble89 being hidden.
“Oh, guree!” so it sullenly90 ran. “If that isn’t like girls! If they must sing on a trail, why can’t they sing something sensible! ‘Ketching!’ ‘Sweetheart!’ Stuff to make a fellow sick—sicker’n he is already! Oh-h-h! Ouch!”
The despondent91 groan92 in which the complaint ended seemed to rock the very sand-hill to its shifty foundations.
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收听单词发音
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1
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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glamor
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| n.魅力，吸引力 | |
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mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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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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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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strutted
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| 趾高气扬地走，高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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harpoon
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| n.鱼叉；vt.用鱼叉叉，用鱼叉捕获 | |
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10
bantered
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| v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的过去式和过去分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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11
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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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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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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splendors
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| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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18
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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19
spurning
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| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的现在分词 ) | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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24
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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27
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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burnishing
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| n.磨光，抛光，擦亮v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的现在分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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30
freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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bagginess
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| n.多臭虫 | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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dunes
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| 沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
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saucily
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| adv.傲慢地，莽撞地 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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39
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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40
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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41
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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42
mote
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| n.微粒；斑点 | |
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43
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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44
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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45
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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46
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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47
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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48
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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49
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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50
snared
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| v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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52
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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53
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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54
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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55
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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56
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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57
probation
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| n.缓刑(期)，(以观后效的)察看；试用(期) | |
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58
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chunks
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| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
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garnering
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| v.收集并（通常）贮藏（某物），取得，获得( garner的现在分词 ) | |
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bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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capered
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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spectrum
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| n.谱，光谱，频谱；范围，幅度，系列 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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consecrating
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| v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的现在分词 )；奉献 | |
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apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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