The Camp Fire Girls; Or, The Secret of an Old Mill — John Shaqi
The Camp Fire Girls; Or, The Secret of an Old MillGaris, Howard Roger
Philosophy
The Camp Fire Girls; Or, The Secret of an Old Mill
Garis, Howard Roger
Camp Fire Girls -- Juvenile fiction; Haunted places -- Juvenile fiction; Mystery and detective stories
“Oh, disappointed in love when he was young—same as I’ve been half a
dozen times,” put in Blake. “His sweetheart died, or ran away with some
one else I believe. He lives all alone in a haunted mill not far away,
and——”
“Rats!” cried Jack. “Nothing of the sort.”
“It’s getting shivery,” murmured Alice. “Haunted mills—and hermits——”
“Do tell us about it!” begged Natalie.
“Blake has it all twisted,” declared Phil. “Old Hanson does live in a
deserted mill somewhere back of here, but it was his daughter who ran
away—not his sweetheart. And it was years ago. He’s a little crazy I
guess, and sometimes he imagines strangers do look like her. But he’s
harmless.”
“Perfectly so,” chimed in Jack. “He often helps us around camp, when
we’re too lazy to work. And he’s the best fisherman for miles around.
Knows where all the big bass are.”
“But is the mill really haunted?” demanded Natalie.
“Stop, Nat!” commanded Alice. “Do you want us all to have bad dreams
to-night?”
“It looks old enough, and deserted enough, to be haunted,” went on
Blake, “though of course it isn’t. We’ll go over and see it sometime.”
“In broad daylight,” stipulated Marie, and the boys laughed.
Then the girls told of how they had been helped by the aged man, and how
they had made camp after a fashion. In turn the boys related how they
had gone to the end of the lake, where the trains came in, to meet their
sisters, but had evidently made a mistake in the time.
“But we’re all here now, and ready for glorious fun,” added Mrs.
Bonnell. “We expect you young gentlemen to give whatever aid is needed
in time of trouble.”
“Call on us whenever you need us,” urged Blake. “Give your camp cry, or
fire three shots from a revolver——”
“Oh!” screamed Marie. “Don’t mention those horrid pistols again!”
“What! Haven’t you a gun?” asked Blake, and he seemed in earnest.
“Look!” cried Mrs. Bonnell dramatically, and she held out something on
which the firelight gleamed.
“Put it away! Put it away!” murmured Alice, covering her face with her
hands.
“It’s only an ammonia squirt-gun,” explained the Guardian, with a merry
laugh. “I saw them advertised and bought one. They are good for man or
beast, the paper said. It’s just a rubber bulb on a sort of hollow lead
tube. You press the bulb and the ammonia spurts out.”
“Good!” exclaimed Jack. “I don’t know that you could have anything
better. Still, if you do need us, a loud call will carry to our camp,
and we can get here in three minutes coming by the lake-shore path.”
Then they sat about the fire, talking of many things, until the blaze
died down for lack of fuel. And when Natalie would have replenished it,
the other girls voted against it.
“Let’s go to bed,” proposed Alice. “Boys, we don’t want to be
inhospitable, but really you must go. We are very tired.”
“Will you go for a trip on the lake to-morrow?” asked Blake. “We have
hired a little launch.”
“Will it run?” asked practical Marie.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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