Blanchard From Tenderfoot to Golden Eaglet

A Girl Scout story
1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-3-8187-6880-5
Verlag: epubli
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 246 Seiten

JOANNE was leaning on the deck's rail watching the loading of freight. The black, perspiring men made much ado about it, and Joanne did not much wonder, for it seemed heavy work. She was not particularly interested in the boxes and bales, but presently she did see something which specially attracted her attention, and she leaned far over the rail to catch a last glimpse of a little black pony which came along with a dash once he gained his footing. 'Take care, Joanne,' her grandmother called from her steamer chair in which she was already established, 'don't lean over too far.'

Amy Ella Blanchard (June 28, 1854 - July 4, 1926) was a prolific American writer of children's literature. Amy Ella Blanchard. Amy Ella Blanchard ca. 1900.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Blanchard, Amy Ella

Leseproben

CHAPTER II
THE LOVELY LADY
T HE news of a stowaway had reached the upper deck before Joanne arrived there. She had quite recovered her composure by this time, and, as usual after one of her excitable outbursts, she was turning her dark cloud to show the silver lining. It was fortunate, she told herself, that there were some days before the vessel could reach New York, and in that time, probably she could coax her grandfather into keeping both Pablo and Chico. She remembered that Dr. Selden had said that Paulino Lopez had a swarm of children, so why should he not be pleased to have one of them provided for? This pleasant thought caused her to flash a sudden smile at the friendly boy now standing by his mother’s side. This time the boy did more than smile; he spoke. “Say,” he began, “have you heard about the stowaway? Is there really one?” “Oh, yes, there is,” Joanne halted in her walk. “He is ours. I have just been down to see him.” The boy turned to his mother. “Well, what do you think of that?” he said. Then, to Joanne, “Tell us about him, won’t you?” Joanne moved over to where he stood. “This is my mother,” he said. “My name is Bob Marriott. What’s yours?” “Joanne Selden,” was the reply. “Sit down, won’t you?” The lady indicated a vacant chair by her side. “My son has been telling me about the little pony you have below.” “He isn’t exactly mine,” responded Joanne; “he is Grad’s—that’s what I call my grandfather. I couldn’t say grandfather when I was little, so I always called him Grad. He is a dear, the pony, I mean, though my grandfather is, too, for that matter.” Bob laughed. “I’ve seen him and I think he is fine—the pony, I mean,” then coloring up, “of course your grandfather is, too.” Then they all laughed and felt very well acquainted. “So the fine pony is your fine grandfather’s,” began Bob’s mother. “However, I suppose that is the same as if he belonged to you, isn’t it?” “Well,” answered Joanne rather doubtfully, “perhaps so, if Grad decides to keep him. You see he came most unexpectedly, as if he’d dropped from the skies. I’ll tell you about it.” So she launched forth into the story of Chico which, of course, included that of Pablo, ending up by saying: “So you see poor Grad is in quite a pickle. He has two things on his hands that he doesn’t know what to do with, three if you count me.” “But why you?” asked Mrs. Marriott interestedly. “Because you see my father died when I was a baby and my mother when I was four years old, so I have lived with my grandparents most of my life. I’m rather delicate and have to go south in the winter or to California or somewhere like that. This year we went to Bermuda first, then off to other places in the West Indies and to some queer little ports. Now that Grad has retired from the navy he can go along, too, which is rather fortunate for Gradda and me, for we have had to go wandering off alone. We usually don’t, however, for there are always some navy people going along at the same time.” “Don’t you go to school?” “Yes, at least I’ve had a governess. I had a French nursery governess first, then an English governess, but now I have none at all. I should like to go to school. Maybe I shall if we are to live in Washington. I don’t know; that is one of the makings up of his mind that Grad is bothered about. There he comes now. I must go and find out what he has to say about Pablo.” This was the first of many talks which Joanne had with these two. She had never known boys very well, and Bob was a revelation to her. He was a Boy Scout, in the first place, he played the violin in the second and in the third he had a number of girl cousins of whose doings he told Joanne, making her sigh enviously as she wished she could do some of the things they did. She expressed this wish to Bob one day when the two were leaning on the rail watching the churning of the water in the wake of the steamer. “How I’d love to play outdoor games and go camping and do all those things your cousins do,” she said. “Well, what’s the matter with your getting out and doing them?” “How could I?” “That’s an easy one. Join the Girl Scouts.” “Oh, tell me about them.” “They’re Scouts as near like Boy Scouts as girls can be. Our organization was started in England by Sir Baden Powell, and his sister started the Girl Scouts, then Mrs. Juliette Low got the idea and brought it over to the United States. The movement has spread so that now there are hundreds and hundreds of Girl Scouts all over the country, and I tell you they are just fine. My mother was captain of a troop, but she had to give it up.” “I’m going to ask her to tell me about her troop, do you call it? I love that. My father was a navy man, you know, and it does appeal to me, troops and captains and things. My father was only a lieutenant for he was very young when he died.” “Of course mother will tell you about her troop. She’d love to, for if there is anything mum’s daffy about it is the Girl Scout idea.” So Joanne sought out Mrs. Marriott and listened attentively while she was being informed of the Girl Scout activities. “I think it must be the finest thing to be one,” she commented at last. “It certainly is fine and dandy to be a Boy Scout,” Bob put in, “so it must be just as fine for a girl.” Joanne was very thoughtful for a moment before she said: “I’m afraid my grandparents wouldn’t like the idea.” “Pooh! Why not?” queried Bob. “Oh, because they don’t like me to do conspicuous things; they’d object to my marching in a parade, for instance.” “Pooh!” exclaimed Bob again. “You’d be just one of a bunch, all dressed alike and no one would notice you particularly any more than if you were one potato in a bushel.” Joanne laughed but immediately looked serious again, then she went on: “They’d be scared to death for fear I’d overtax my strength. Gradda is always talking about me overtaxing my strength, and charging me not to take cold and all that sort of thing.” She turned to Mrs. Marriott. “I wish you’d get acquainted with Gradda; she’s Mrs. Gregory Selden, you know. You could get to talking about how interesting and fine it is to be a Girl Scout and get her used to the idea gradually. It would never do to spring it on her suddenly; she’d get all ruffled up like a hen with one chick.” “I’d like very much to meet your grandmother,” returned Mrs. Marriott. “Won’t you present me?” Joanne looked up from under her dark lashes. She wasn’t quite sure whether her grandmother, being a very particular lady, would like the idea of meeting a perfectly strange person of whom Joanne could tell her nothing except that she had made the acquaintance in a very unconventional way. However, she reflected, that she did very often pick up acquaintances in travelling, and her grandmother had followed them up or dropped them as she felt disposed. So she replied politely: “If Gradda admires you as much as I do she’ll be delighted. I picked you out that first day as the dearest-faced person on board.” Mrs. Marriott smiled. “Thank you for that very nice compliment,” she said quietly. Joanne fidgeted around for a few minutes. “Let’s go now,” she said at last. “Go where?” asked Bob. “Over to Gradda; we may as well get it over.” Mrs. Marriott laughed, but she gave Joanne’s hand a squeeze. “You are simply delicious,” she exclaimed. Joanne wondered why, but jumped up, settled her cap upon her curly head and led the way to the other side of the deck where her grandmother sat. Dr. Selden was pacing up and down in company of another man. Joanne paused in front of Mrs. Selden saying: “Gradda, dear, I want you to know my friend, Mrs. Marriott, and this is Bob, her son.” Mrs. Selden removed her eye-glasses and looked up with faint suspicion at the tall, handsome woman before her. “Oh, Mrs. Marriott,” she said, “I have heard Joanne speak of you. Won’t you sit down? Joanne, take that rug of your grandfather’s out of the way, and—Robert, is it? I’m afraid there is not another vacant chair for you.” “Oh, never mind, Mrs. Selden,” returned Bob, quickly lifting the rug from the steamer chair and tucking it around his mother when she sat down. “Joanne and I will just walk while you and mother talk, that is, if you don’t object.” “Not in the least,” replied Mrs. Selden graciously, pleased with the boy’s courteous manner. “I’m glad you said that,” remarked Joanne as she and Bob turned away. “Now Gradda will talk about me, which she wouldn’t do before my face.” That is precisely what did happen, for Mrs. Marriott tactfully led the way to the subject. “I was attracted to your little granddaughter when I first saw her,” she began. “She has such a bright interesting face, rather intense at times.” “Yes, she is too intense, I’m afraid,” responded Mrs. Selden. “She is not strong but is nervously active, and I find it difficult to curb her nervous energies which outweigh her physical powers.” “Then,” returned Mrs. Marriott, “it would seem a good thing to build up her physical strength.” “That is what my husband advises. He advocates an outdoor life, but how is the child to be properly educated if we were to live in the country? I could not endure the isolation...