The Camp Fire Girls in the Woods

The Camp Fire Girls in the Woods
or Bessie King's First Council Fire.
By Jane L. Stewart
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Chicago Akron, Ohio New York
MADE IN U.S.A.
Copyright 1914
by The Saalfield Publishing Company
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS SERIES
1. THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE WOODS
2. THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ON THE FARM
3. THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT LONG LAKE
4. THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE MOUNTAINS
5. THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ON THE MARCH
6. THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT THE SEASHORE

CHAPTER I
THE ESCAPE

"Now then, you, Bessie, quit your loafin' and get them dishes washed!
An' then you can go out and chop me some wood for the kitchen fire!"
The voice was that of a slatternly woman of middle age, thin and
complaining. She had come suddenly into the kitchen of the Hoover
farmhouse and surprised Bessie King as the girl sat resting for a
moment and reading.
Bessie jumped up alertly at the sound of the voice she knew so well,
and started nervously toward the sink.
"Yes, ma'am," she said. "I was awful tired -- an' I wanted to rest a few
minutes."
"Tired!" scolded the woman. "Land knows you ain't got nothin' to carry
on so about! Ain't you got a good home? Don't we board you and give
you a good bed to sleep in? Didn't Paw Hoover give you a nickel for
yourself only last week?"
"Yes -- an' you took it away from me soon's you found it out," Bessie
flashed back. There were tears in her eyes, but she went at her dishes,
and Mrs. Hoover, after a minute in which she glared at Bessie, turned
and left the kitchen, muttering something about ingratitude as she went.
As she worked, Bessie wondered why it was that she must always do
the work about the house when other girls were at school or free to play.
But it had been that way for a long time, and she could think of no way
of escaping to happier conditions. Mrs. Hoover was no relation to her at
all. Bessie had a father and mother, but they had left her with Mrs.
Hoover a long time before, and she could scarcely remember them, but
she heard about them, her father especially, whenever she did
something that Mrs. Hoover didn't like.
"Take after your paw -- that's what you do, good-for-nothin' little
hussy!" the farmer's wife would say. "Leavin' you here on our hands
when he went away -- an' promisin' to send board money for you. Did,
too, for 'bout a year -- an' since then never a cent! I've a mind to send
you to the county farm, that I have!"

"Now, maw," Paw Hoover, a kindly, toil-hardened farmer, would say
when he happened to overhear one of these outbursts, "Bessie's a good
girl, an' I reckon she earns her keep, don't she, helpin' you like, round
the place?"
"Earn her keep?" Mrs. Hoover would shrill. "She's so lazy she'd never
do anythin' at all if I didn't stand over her. All she's good fer is to eat an'
sleep -- an' to hide off som'ere's so's she can read them trashy books
when she ought to be reddin' up or doin' her chores!"
And Paw Hoover would sigh and retire, beaten in the argument. He
knew his wife too well to argue with her. But he liked Bessie, and he
did his best to comfort her when he had the chance, and thought there
was no danger of starting a dispute with his wife.
Bessie finished her dishes, and then she went out obediently to the
wood pile, and set to work to chop kindling. She had been up since
daylight -- and the sun rose early on those summer mornings. Every
bone and muscle in her tired little body ached, but she knew well that
Mrs. Hoover had been listening to the work of washing the dishes, and
she dared not rest lest her taskmistress descend upon her again when
the noise ceased.
Mrs. Hoover came out after she had been chopping wood for a few
minutes and eyed her crossly.
"'Pears to me like you're mighty slow," she said, complainingly. "When
you get that done there's butter to be made. So don't be all day about it."
But the wood was hard, and though Bessie worked diligently enough,
her progress was slow. She was still at it when Mrs. Hoover, dressed in
her black silk dress and with her best bonnet on her head, appeared
again.
"I'm goin' to drive into town," she said. "An' if that butter ain't done
when I get back, I"ll -- "
She didn't finish her threat in words, but Bessie had plenty of memories

of former punishments.