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Updated: August 20, 2024
We have no right to keep the birds out of bed any longer, demoralizing the feathered world." But the Lightning had recovered its morale, its memory, prompted by a Morse code-card excitedly snatched from a green breast pocket and explored by the light of the dwindling torch. "Invite your friends to our d-a-n-c-e," slowly spelled out Tomoke, giving back diamond for diamond.
"Oh! you'll soon warm up. Come, hurry and dress! It's no end of fun studying water-snails and egg-boats gnats' funny egg-boats under a microscope, with the Scoutmaster," encouraged Tomoke, in everyday life Ina Atwood, blue as her lightning namesake, and rather hankering after the warmth of her pine-knot torch.
That inflammable knot was not hard to find. Split with the toy axe which the girl who had won an honor bead for signaling carried at her belt a modern Maid Marion, at home in all woodcraft it blazed, transplendent, a foot-long flambeau, searching the Pinnacle's darkest nooks, winning sleepy birds from their slumbers, calling upon them to follow too, as Tomoke, nimble of foot as her aërial namesake, presently dashed up the hill, with it held high!
The first real swim of the season, too," murmured Tomoke, the signaling maiden, nestling coaxingly near to the presiding Guardian. "Yes, if you think the water will be warm enough." "Oh! it was quite warm yesterday when we paddled out around the float the floating pier."
And all that color why! it paints the landscape," came flutteringly from Aponi, the White Birch Butterfly, least Priscilla-like in her tastes of the Group, when she was not in Camp Fire green, or soft-toned ceremonial dress. "Maybe 'twill paint the blues in old Tory Cave, if we run across them there," put in Tomoke, maiden of the flambeau and the fire-talk.
"Now! what we need, girls, is a good r-rich pine-knot, with a juicy, resinous knot in it, that will burn ten minutes, anyway, for signaling purposes," said Tomoke, the personified Lightning, as the "C. F. G." proclamation over, the magic moment came for the flashing of the light of this particular camp fire in speaking fire from mountain to mountain across the mile and a half of intervening valley.
Well! we mustn't give them any occasion to turn the chase against us, air their wit in our direction, by failing in our demonstration presently the signaling practice to which we challenged them; eh, Tomoke?" "No, indeed!" A sixteen-year-old girl, gray-eyed, vibrant with energy, mobile as the Lightning, the mettlesome Lightning, from which she took her Camp Fire name, spoke up spiritedly.
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