The Camp Fire Girls Do Their Bit

Camp Fire Girls Do Their Bit, by
Hildegard G. Frey

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Title: The Camp Fire Girls Do Their Bit Or, Over the Top with the
Winnebagos
Author: Hildegard G. Frey
Release Date: March 22, 2004 [EBook #11664]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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FIRE GIRLS DO THEIR BIT ***

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THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS DO THEIR BIT
OR, OVER THE TOP WITH THE WINNEBAGOS

By HILDEGARD G. FREY
AUTHOR OF The Camp Fire Girls Series
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
1919

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS SERIES
A Series of Stories for Camp Fire Girls Endorsed by the Officials of the
Camp Fire Girls Organization
By HILDEGARD G. FREY
The Camp Fire Girls in the Maine Woods or, The Winnebago's Go
Camping
The Camp Fire Girls at School or, The Wohelo Weavers
The Camp Fire Girls at Onoway House or, The Magic Garden
The Camp Fire Girls Go Motoring or, Along the Road That Leads the
Way
The Camp Fire Girls Larks and Pranks or, The House of the Open Door
The Camp Fire Girls on Ellen's Isle or, the Trail of the Seven Cedars
The Camp Fire Girls on the Open Road or, Glorify Work
The Camp Fire Girls Do Their Bit or, Over The Top With the
Winnebago's

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS DO THEIR BIT
CHAPTER I
A DREAM COMES TRUE
The long train, which for nearly an hour had been gliding smoothly
forward with a soothing, cradling motion of its heavy trucked Pullmans,
and a crooning, lullaby sound of its droning wheels, came to a jarring
stop at one of the mountain stations, and Lieutenant Allison wakened
with a start. The echo of the laugh that he had heard in his dream still
sounded in his ears, a tantalizing, compelling note, elusive as the Pipes
of Pan, luring as a will-o'-the-wisp. Above the bustle of departing and
incoming passengers, the confusion of the station and the grinding of
the wheels as the train started again that haunting peal of laughter still
rang in his ears, still held him in its thrall, calling him back into the
dream from which he had just awakened. Still heavy with sleep and
also somewhat light-headed--for he had been traveling for two days and
the strain was beginning to tell on him, although the doctors had at last
pronounced him able to make the journey home for a month's
furlough--he leaned his head against the cool green plush back-rest and
stared idly through half-closed eyelids down the long vista of the
Pullman aisle. Then his pulses gave a leap and the blood began to
pound in his ears and he thought he was back in the base hospital again
and the fever was playing tricks on him. For down in the shadowy end
of the aisle there moved a figure which his sleep-heavy eyes recognized
as the Maiden, the one who had flitted through his weeks of delirium,
luring him, beckoning him, calling him, eluding him, vanishing from
his touch with a peal of silvery laughter that echoed in his ears with a
haunting sweetness long after she and the fever had fled away together
in the night, not to return. And now, weeks afterward, here she stood, in
the shadowy end of a Pullman aisle, watching him from afar, just as she
had stood watching in those other days when he and the fever were
wrestling in mortal combat.
He had known her years before he had the fever. Somewhere in his
dreamy, imaginative boyhood he had read the Song of Hiawatha, and

his glowing fancy had immediately fastened upon the lines which
described the Indian girl, Minnehaha, Laughing Water, daughter of the
old arrow-maker in the land of the Dacotahs:
"With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter, Wayward as the Minnehaha,
With her moods of shade and sunshine, Eyes that smiled and frowned
alternate, Feet as rapid as the river, Tresses flowing like the water, And
as musical a laughter; And he named her from the river, From the
waterfall he named her, Minnehaha, Laughing Water."
The image thus conjured up remained in his mind, a tantalizing vision,
until at last he found himself filled with a desire to find a maiden like
the storied daughter of the ancient arrow-maker in the land of the
Dacotahs, dark-eyed, slender as an arrow, sparkling like the sunlight on