was an hour or two before peace and quiet were restored to the camp. The long-delayed dinner had to be eaten; and to Hop Yet’s calm delight, it was a very bad one. Dicky’s small wounds were dressed with sweet oil, and after being fed and bathed he was tucked lovingly into bed, with a hundred kisses or more from the whole party.
A little rest and attention had entirely restored his good-humour; and when Dr. Paul went into the tent to see that all was safe for the night, he found him sitting up in bed with a gleeful countenance, prattling like a little angel.
‘We had an offul funny time ’bout my gittin’ losted, didn’t we, mamma?’ chuckled he, with his gurgling little laugh. ‘Next time I’m goin’ to get losted in annover bran’-new place where no-bud-dy can find me! I fink it was the nicest time ’cept Fourth of July, don’t you, mamma?’ And he patted his mother’s cheek and imprinted an oily kiss thereon.
‘Truth,’ said the Doctor, with mild severity, ‘I know you don’t believe in applying the slipper, but I do think we should arrange some plan for giving that child an idea of the solemnity of life. So far as I can judge, he looks at it as one prolonged picnic.’
‘My sentiments exactly!’ cried Bell, energetically. ‘I can’t stand many more of these trying scenes; I am worn to a “shadder.”’
Dicky tucked his head under his mother’s arm, with a sigh of relief that there was one person, at least, whose sentiments were always favourable and always to be relied upon.
‘I love you the best of anybuddy, mamma,’ whispered he, and fell asleep.
Chapter IV.
Rhyme and Reason
A BUDGET OF LETTERS FROM THE CAMP MAIL-BAG
‘The letter of a friend is a likeness passing true.’
Our friend Polly was seated in a secluded spot whence all but her had fled; her grave demeanour, her discarded sun-bonnet, her corrugated brow, all bespoke more than common fixedness of purpose, the cause of which will be discovered in what follows.
I. From the Countess Paulina Olivera to Her Friend and Confidante, The Lady Elsie Howard1
Scene: A sequestered nook in the Valley of the Flowers.
Camp Chaparral, July 6, 188–.
The countess is discovered at her ommerlu 2 writing-table. A light zephyr 3 plays with her golden locks 4 and caresses her Grecian 5 nose—a nose that carries on its surface a few trifling freckles, which serve but to call attention to its exquisite purity of outline and the height of its ambition. Her eyes reflect the changing shadows of moonlight, and her mouth is one fit for sweet sounds; 6 yet this only gives you a faint idea of the beauteous creature whose fortunes we shall follow in our next number. 7
I have given that style a fair trial, my dear darling, but I cannot stand it another minute, not being familiar with the language of what our cook used to call the ‘fuddal aristocracy’ (feudal, you know).
I, your faithful Polly, am seated in the card-room, writing with a dreadful pen which Phil gave me yesterday. Its internal organs are filled with ink, which it disgorges when pressed to do so, but just now it is ‘too full for utterance,’ as you will see by the blots.
We have decided not to make this a real round-robin letter, like the last, because we want to write what we like, and not have it read by the person who comes next.
I have been badgered to death over my part of the communication sent to you last week, for the young persons connected with this camp have a faculty of making mountains out of mole-hills, as you know, and I have to suffer for every careless little speech. However, as we didn’t wish to bore you with six duplicate letters, we invented a plan for keeping off each other’s ground, and appointed Geoff a committee of one to settle our line of march. It is to be a collective letter, made up of individual notes; and these are Geoff’s sealed orders, which must be obeyed, on pain of dismissal from the camp:
No. 1 (Polly) is to amuse!
No. 2 (Phil) … inform.
No. 3 (Geoff) … edify!!
No. 4 (Madge) … gossip.
No. 5 (Bell) … versify.
No. 6 (Jack) … illustrate.
So, my dear, if you get any ‘information’ or happen to be ‘edified’ by what I write, don’t mention it for worlds! (I just screamed my fears about this matter to Jack, and he says ‘I needn’t fret.’ I shall certainly slap that boy before the summer is over.)
I could just tell you a lovely story about Dicky’s getting lost in the woods the day before yesterday, and our terrible fright about him, and how we all joined in the boy-hunt, until Geoff and Bell found him at the Lone Stump; but I suppose the chronicle belongs to Phil’s province, so I desist. But what can I say? Suppose I tell you that Uncle Doc and the boys have been shooting innocent, tame sheep, skinning and cutting them up on the way home, and making us believe for two days that we were eating venison; and we never should have discovered the imposition had not Dicky dragged home four sheep-skins from the upper pool, and told us that he saw the boys ‘peeling them off a venison.’ Perhaps Phil may call this information, and Margery will vow that it is gossip and belongs to her; any way, they consider it a splendid joke, and chuckle themselves to sleep over it every night; but I think the whole affair is perfectly maddening, and it makes me boil with rage to be taken in so easily. Such a to-do as they make over the matter you never saw; you would think it was the first successful joke since the Deluge. (That wasn’t a dry joke, was it? Ha, ha!)
This is the way they twang on their harp of a thousand strings. At breakfast, this morning, when Jack passed me the corn-bread, I said innocently, ‘Why, what have we here?’ ‘It is manna that fell in the night,’ answered Jack, with an exasperating snicker. ‘You didn’t know mutton, but I thought, being a Sunday-school teacher, you would know something about manna.’ (N.B.—He alludes to that time I took the infant class for Miss Jones, and they all ran out to see a military funeral procession.) ‘I wish you knew something about manners,’ snapped I; and then Aunt Truth had to warn us both, as usual. Oh dear! it’s a weary world. I’d just like to get Jack at a disadvantage once!
We climbed Pico Negro yesterday. Bell, Geoff, Phil, and I had quite an experience in losing
