Blue Robin, the Girl Pioneer — Part 88

A half-hour later a group of girls straggled wearily along the main street of the village, animatedly discussing first one and then another detail of the morning’s hunt. As they were all tired, it was unanimously decided to postpone the bird hike to another day.

When this decision was reached, Nathalie’s bright face clouded as she exclaimed contritely, “Oh, girls, I’m awfully sorry I broke up the hike, but I was so anxious to find Rosy.”

“Well, I for one am glad we gave it up,” asserted Kitty Corwin, “for girls, it paid for the disappointment to see that poor mother’s joy when she saw her child.”

“And the old black mammy—huh—she is a regular plantation coon,” chimed in Edith; “did you hear her shout ‘Praise de Lord! Hallelujah!’? Oh, but how her eyes did shine!”

“She was a black sunbeam, all right,” observed Helen, “and it’s all owing to Nathalie!” putting her arm about her friend and giving her an enthusiastic squeeze; “she ought to have a white star.”

“A white star,” ejaculated Nathalie, “what does that mean?”

“Why, it means that you should receive a badge of merit, but as a Pioneer can’t receive a badge until she is a first-class member, Mrs. Morrow gives white stars instead to the girls who deserve badges but are not yet old enough to receive them,” explained Helen. “We keep our stars and then sew them on a big United States flag we are making for our new Pioneer room.”

“Oh, I should be pleased to have one!” cried Nathalie, “but it gives me more pleasure to know that you do not think I spoiled your fun, and have been so nice about it. I should just hate to have you think me officious!”

“But we didn’t think that, Nathalie,” assured Lillie quickly. “In fact, I guess we just didn’t think at all, we were so intent on having our own selfish ways. We are all friends of yours, and as Pioneers and personally,” she spoke warmly, “we are glad you won the victory over our naughty, wicked selves.”

Several days later, Nathalie, who was still the maid of all work, stood washing the breakfast dishes. Somehow, helping Mother seemed to have lost its charm. She felt as if she and Miss I Can were not as good friends as they were at the beginning of her kitchen campaign. O dear, she did wish Rosy would get better so Felia could come back. She sighed heavily, and then hastily wiped away a stray tear that was meandering down her cheek—she had heard a step on the back stoop.