A SUMMER IN A CAÑON & POLLY OLIVER'S PROBLEM (Illustrated). Kate Douglas Wiggin
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Название: A SUMMER IN A CAÑON & POLLY OLIVER'S PROBLEM (Illustrated)
Автор: Kate Douglas Wiggin
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 9788075832665
isbn:
The hammocks did not prove the easiest of nests, as the girls had imagined. In fact, to be perfectly candid about the matter, the wicked flea of California, which man pursueth but seldom catcheth, is apt, on many a summer night, to interfere shamelessly with slumber. On this particular night he was fairly rampant, perhaps because sweet humanity on which to feed was very scarce in that cañon.
‘Good-night, girls!’ called Jack, when matters seemed to be finally settled for sleep. ‘Bell, you must keep one eye open, for the coyotes will be stealing down the mountain in a jiffy, and yours is the first hammock in the path.’
‘Of course,’ moaned Bell,—‘that’s why the girls gave me this one; they knew very well that one victim always slakes the animals’ thirst for blood. Well, let them come on. I shiver with terror, but my only hope is that I may be eaten in my sleep, if at all.’
‘There was a young party named Bell,
Who slept out of doors for a spell;
When asked how she fared,
She said she was scared,
But otherwise doing quite well.
‘How’s that?’ asked Jack. ‘I shall be able to drive Bell off her own field, with a little practice.’
‘Go to sleep!’ roared Dr. Paul. ‘In your present condition of mind and body you are not fit for poetry!’
‘That’s just the point, sir,’ retorted Jack, slyly, ‘for, you remember, poets are not fit, but nascitur,—don’t you know?’ and he retired under his blanket for protection.
But quiet seemed to be impossible: there were all sorts of strange sounds; and the moon, too, was so splendid that they almost felt as if they were lying beneath the radiance of a calcium light; while in the dark places, midst the branches of thick foliage, the owls hooted gloomily. If you had happened to be an owl in that vicinity, you might have heard not only the feverish tossing to and fro of the girls in the hammocks, but many dismal sighs and groans from Dr. Winship and the boys; for the bare ground is, after all, more rheumatic than romantic, and they too tumbled from side to side, seeking comfort.
But at midnight quiet slumber had descended upon them, and they presented a funny spectacle enough to one open-eyed watcher. A long slender sycamore log was extended before the fire, and constituted their pillow; on this their heads reposed, each decorated with a tightly fitting silk handkerchief; then came a compact, papoose-like roll of grey blanket, terminated by a pair of erect feet, whose generous proportions soared to different heights. There was a little snoring, too; perhaps the log was hollow.
At midnight you might have seen a quaintly despondent little figure, whose curly head issued from a hooded cloak, staggering hopelessly from a hammock, and seating herself on a mossy stump. From the limpness of her attitude and the pathetic expression of her eyes, I fear Polly was reviewing former happy nights spent on spring-beds; and at this particular moment the realities of camping-out hardly equalled her anticipations. Whatever may have been her feelings, however, they were promptly stifled when a certain insolent head reared itself from its blanket-roll, and a hoarse voice cackled, ‘Pretty Polly! Polly want a cañon?’ At this insult Miss Oliver wrapped her drapery about her and strode to her hammock with the air of a tragedy queen.
Chapter III.
Life in the Cañon—The Heir Apparent Loses Himself
‘Know’st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom,
Where the gold orange glows in the green thicket’s gloom;
Where the wind, ever soft, from the blue heaven blows,
And groves are of myrtle, and olive, and rose?’
On the next morning, as we have seen, they named their summer home Camp Chaparral, and for a week or more they were the very busiest colony of people under the sun; for it takes a deal of hard work and ingenuity to make a comfortable and beautiful dwelling-place in the forest.
The best way of showing you how they accomplished this is to describe the camp after it was nearly finished.
The two largest bedroom tents were made of bright awning cloth, one of red and white, the other of blue and white, both gaily decorated with braid. They were pitched under the same giant oak, and yet were nearly forty feet apart; that of the girls having a canvas floor. They were not quite willing to sleep on the ground, so they had brought empty bed-sacks with them, and Pancho’s first duty after his arrival had been to drive to a neighbouring ranch for a great load of straw.
In a glorious tree near by was a ‘sky parlour,’ arranged by a few boards nailed high up in the leafy branches, and reached from below by a primitive ladder. This was the favourite sitting-room of the girls by day, and served for Pancho’s bedroom at night. It was beautiful enough to be fit shelter for all the woodland nymphs, with its festoons of mistletoe and wild grape-vines; but Pancho was rather an unappreciative tenant, even going so far as to snore in the sacred place!
Just beyond was a card-room,—imagine it—in which a square board, nailed on a low stump, served for a table, where Dr. Paul and the boys played many a game of crib, backgammon, and checkers. Here, too, all Elsie’s letters were written and Bell’s nonsense verses, and here was the identical spot where Jack Howard, that mischievous knight of the brush, perpetrated those modern travesties on the ‘William Henry pictures,’ for Elsie’s delectation.
The dressing-room was reached by a path cut through bushes to a charming little pool. Here were unmistakable evidences of feminine art: looking-glasses hanging to trees, snowy wash-cloths, each bearing its owner’s initials, adorning the shrubs, while numerous towels waved in the breeze. Between two trees a thin board was nailed, which appeared to be used, as nearly as the woodpeckers could make out, as a toothbrush rack. In this, Philip, the skilful carpenter, had bored the necessary number of holes, and each one contained a toothbrush tied with a gorgeous ribbon.
In this secluded spot Bell was wont to marshal every morning the entire force of ‘the toothbrush brigade’; and, conducting the drill with much ingenuity, she would take her victims through a long series of military manœuvres arranged for the toothbrush. Oh, the gaspings, the chokings and stranglings, which occurred when she mounted a rock by the edge of the pool, and after calling in tones of thunder,
‘Brush, brothers, brush with care!
Brush in the presence of the commandaire!’
ordered her unwilling privates to polish their innocent molars to the tune of ‘Hail, Columbia,’ or ‘Auld Lang Syne’! And if they became mutinous, it was Geoffrey who reduced them to submission, and ordered them to brush for three mornings to the tune of ‘Bluebells of Scotland’ as a sign of loyalty to their commander.
As for the furnishing of the camp, there were impromptu stools and tables made of packing-boxes and trunks, all covered with bright Turkey-red cotton; there were no less than three rustic lounges and two arm-chairs made from manzanita branches, and a Queen Anne bedstead was being slowly constructed, day by day, by the ambitious boys for their beloved Elsie.
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