GUIDES TO THE RESCUE

Dominion, Volume 26, Issue 124, 18 February 1933, Page 19

GUIDES TO THE RESCUE

A HOLIDAY ADVENTURE (First Prize, Senior Section.) i “It was just hateful of Peter,” said Bryda passionately, “to get measles when we were going away.” She gazed moodily down from her airy seat in the forked-boughs of a gum tree, disconsolately swinging, a brown bare leg backwards and forwards. “Cheer up,” said a voice among the leaves higher up, “it really wasn’t Peter’s fault, you know.” The voice belonged to Peggie, Bryda’s sister. Now, Peggie was really just as disappointed as Bryda was, for yesterday they were to have gone into camp with their Guide company. But valiant Peggie remembered the eighth law, and bravely began whistling a few bars of “Taps,” but the big lump in her throat made the tune such a peculiar one that the sisters burst into a rueful laugh. . Then Peggie,’ too, gave herself up, to contemplation and gazed meditatively away across the hills. Suddenly, she sat up, with such an alarming jerk that Bryda almost toppled off the-branch. “Why,” she said, “there’s 'someone signalling in Morse from the top of the range. Look! Look!'!” Bryda gave a squeal of excitement. “Peggie, it’s an S.O.S. message. Look! Fire, fire!” With one accord they sprang down the tree. “Lucky we saw it,” panted Peggie as they raced along. “Must be a big blaze if they are short of men,” Bryda said between breaths. “Wonder why they didn’t ’phone for help from the look-out station?” she queried. Late that evening, when their father returned, tired and dusty, they knew the answers to all their questions. It was a “big blaze,” and had taken a firm hold in the second bush range before it was noticed. The telephone lines were badly burnt in several places, but the prompt action Of the girls had enabled the men to save a vast tract of valuable timber.

There was a big account of the fire in the morning paper, in which the girls’ names had a prominent place. Bryda said, “Pooh, what a fuss about nothing at all,” and Peggie finished laughingly, “It’s an ill wind that blows no one any good. —“Madam Pompadour,” aged 15, Atea. <