Lillian Roy - The Woodcraft Girls at Camp

"Ooo-ooh! Oo-ooh! Nita!" called Suzanne Baker, as she skipped across the small square of green grass that individualised the brownstone house where Anita Brampton lived.

No answer came, so Zan – as she was always called for short – impatiently repeated the call, adding after a moment's pause, "Where are you – come on out!"

Still no reply, but the pretty face of Mrs. Brampton appeared at the glass door inside the vestibule. She smiled as she recognised the caller and nodded for her to come in.

Zan ran up the steps and said, "How'd do, Mrs. Brampton – where's Nita?"

"Looking for you, most likely," laughed the lady of the house. Then, as her smile changed to a petulant look with the changing of her thought, she added, "Dear me! Nita is a sore trial. Did you ever know her to accomplish anything without confusion to others?"

Zan knew from experience that that aggrieved tone meant a long harangue on Nita's shortcomings, so she hurriedly changed the subject.

"Well, as long as Nita isn't here I guess I'll run along to Miss Miller's. They'll all be there waiting, I s'pose."

"All right, dearie; I have a little bridge party in the library, or I would give more time to you," replied Mrs. Brampton, daintily patting down a few stray wisps of blonde hair that fluttered in the breeze from the open door.

"Oh, I'm in a great hurry, anyway," returned Zan, starting out of the doorway.

At that moment, a maid summoned Mrs. Brampton to the telephone saying that her daughter wished to speak with her.

"Wait a moment, Zan – Nita's on the 'phone and you can speak to her after I see what she wants," said Mrs. Brampton, turning back.

Zan followed to the small nook where the telephone was kept and stood waiting. Laughter and the sound of coins drew her attention to the bridge players in the large library.

Mrs. Brampton finished speaking with her daughter, saying, "Zan is here – wait a second and I'll put her on the wire."

Turning to hand Zan the receiver, she whispered, "When you are through here run to the dining-room and have a glass of wine and cake – it is all ready for my friends."

"Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Brampton! You know Daddy doesn't approve of us having wine. We always drink water at home," replied Zan, flushing uncomfortably.

"Dear me, I forgot! The doctor is such a radical on these little things!" laughed the lady merrily, patting the girl consolingly on the shoulder with much-beringed hands.

She hastened back to her guests while Zan called, "Hello, Nita! Where are you, anyway?"

"Ha, ha ha! We're all at Miss Miller's? Why don't you hurry over, too," came a musical voice over the wire.

"Just because you didn't do as I said! I told you distinctly to wait for me at the school-gates. You knew I'd be a few minutes late on account of seeing my Latin teacher after school. I asked Bob if he had seen you – he was waiting for some boys in front of the gate – but he said you had hurried away with the girls. So I stopped in here thinking you may have gone home."

There was a moment's silence, then a petulant voice, so like Mrs. Brampton's that Zan smiled, said, "Dear me! I'm sure it isn't my fault if you didn't meet us! Why all of the girls should bother to hang around waiting for you, is more than I can tell!"

"Well, seeing that the whole plan is mine, and not one of you girls would have been in on it if I hadn't asked you, it seems mighty ungrateful to act so, that's all I have to say!" and Zan jabbed up the receiver on its hook.

She threw a glance of disapproval at the card players who were quarrelling over the stakes, and hurried out, leaving the maid to close the doors.

A few moments later she was on a cross-town car. Thinking of the house she had just left, with its mistress dressed in silks and sparkling with jewels, she murmured to herself, "Huh! I'd a heap rather have our comfy home with all the boys' marks and scratches on the mission wood than all of the gorgeous damask and gilt of Nita's home! We enjoy our life at home, but gracious! at Nita's it's always, 'Don't touch that, dearie!' or 'Be careful, that vase cost a fortune;' a girl can't even skip over the floor without having Mrs. Brampton cry, 'Oh, mercy! That velour carpet will all be worn out!'"

The conductor, in passing down the aisle heard the girl mutter and stopped to ask her if she spoke to him.

Zan laughed amiably as she looked up at him and said, "No, I was just thinking out loud!"

The man smiled too, and returned to his post while Zan looked out of the window to see what street they were near. Finding that the next corner was the one she wished to reach, she signalled to stop the car.

As she stood on the platform waiting for the car to come to a stop, the kind old conductor said, "Not many young folks think at all, but it is best to do your thinking quiet-like so others don't get a chance to hear your plans. S'pose every inventor did his thinking aloud, what chance would he have to get his patent?"

Zan nodded thoughtfully and thanked the wise old man for the advice. He assisted her to jump down and smiled as he watched her hurry down the side street.

As she went, Zan thought, "That man is a philosopher! I must be careful and not think out loud after this. Thinking is good practice but I guess it all depends on what kind of thinking you do – good – bad – or indifferent!"

With this sage conclusion Zan reached Miss Miller's home. She asked the elevator boy to take her up to Apartment 9, and, as soon as the floor was reached, she bounded out and rang the bell at the side of the door.

Of the five girls about to meet for the forming of a Clan of Woodcraft Indians, no two were alike in character or physique. Zan was of the tom-boy type, fond of athletics and all out-door sport with her two brothers, who were near her own age. Her hands and feet, although being well-shaped, were large and tanned. The finely poised head was crowned with a mass of bronze-red hair that had no hint of wave in its long strands. Energy, endurance, and impatience were expressed in her every movement and expression while sympathy, generosity, and frankness were the attributes that go hand in hand with such a temperament as Zan's. Her parents were most sensible and clothed the girl in comfortable, well-made things of first-class material, but ignored ridiculous styles or customs which might distract an expanding thought from practical affairs and limit it to fashion and self-contemplation. Of course, Zan had never worn stays, tight shoes, or cramping gloves, and was given wholesome food with no indulgence in the kind that impedes digestion or causes fermentation to blood and brain. As a result, the girl possessed a normal, perfectly healthy body, clear eyes, wonderful skin, and looked like fourteen years of age instead of twelve, the last birthday having been celebrated a few weeks previously to the opening of this story. In school, she was in the class of girls where each one registered thirteen and a half to fourteen years of age. And she was generally at the head of her class, at that.

Anita Brampton was the most decided contrast to Zan of all the school-mates. She was just past fourteen but so under-sized and slender that she looked like twelve, albeit, she was most sophisticated in life, and made the most of her dainty prettiness. Her great eyes of blue, so like a wax-doll's, were used to their best advantage, while her graceful little body generally posed effectively. Her pale yellow hair was artificially curled about a pink and white face, not altogether free from some of her mother's powder and rouge. Her hands and feet were too small and the rose-bud mouth too petulant for beauty. But Nita had absolute faith in her perfection. She was most indolent and over-fond of sweets and dancing; in fact, the latter art was indulged to such an extent that it became a crime. She attended every party she could secure an invitation to and, being a graceful dancer always dressed in the latest mode, she never lacked partners. These youths, several years her senior, vied with each other for her daring words and suggestive glances, yet not one of them would care to have her for an intimate friend of his sister's. As a result of wasting the night hours, Nita was delicate, nervous and prematurely blasé, when she should have been most vital and abounding with fine health.