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                          The Camp Fire Girls'
                            Larks and Pranks


                                   OR
                       The House of the Open Door
                          By HILDEGARD G. FREY

                               AUTHOR OF
                       The Camp Fire Girls Series

                           A. L. BURT COMPANY
                     Publishers           New York




                                  THE
                         Camp Fire Girls Series

          A Series of Stories for Camp Fire Girls Endorsed by
           the Officials of the Camp Fire Girls Organization


                          By HILDEGARD G. FREY


  The Camp Fire Girls in the Maine Woods
      or, The Winnebago's Go Camping

  The Camp Fire Girls at School
      or, The Wohelo Weavers

  The Camp Fire Girls at Onoway House
      or, The Magic Garden

  The Camp Fire Girls Go Motoring
      or, Along the Road That Leads the Way

  The Camp Fire Girls' Larks and Pranks
      or, The House of the Open Door

  The Camp Fire Girls on Ellen's Isle
      or, the Trail of the Seven Cedars

  The Camp Fire Girls on the Open Road
      or, Glorify Work

  The Camp Fire Girls Do Their Bit
      or, Over The Top With the Winnebago's

  The Camp Fire Girls Solve a Mystery
      or, The Christmas Adventures at Carver House

  The Camp Fire Girls at Camp Keewaydin
      or, Down Paddles


                            Copyright, 1917
                         By A. L. Burt Company


                 THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS' LARKS AND PRANKS




                          THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS'
                            LARKS AND PRANKS




                               CHAPTER I
                       THE HOUSE OF THE OPEN DOOR


It was the crisp chill of an early October evening; in the still air the
dead leaves came rustling down with a soft sound like whispers, while the
crickets chirped a cheery welcome from the waiting earth. Over the
treetops a big yellow hunter's moon was rising; its comical face grinning
good-naturedly. It looked down on the dark outlines of a large barn
standing in the shadow of a tall tree and the grin widened perceptibly.
Evidently something was happening on earth.

A dark form stole softly up the long drive leading to the barn and paused
before the door. Through the silence there rose the whistling wail of the
whippoorwill, repeated three times, and ending abruptly in the squall of
a catbird. From within the blackness of the barn came an echo of the
whippoorwill's call, followed by a much more cheerful note--the carol of
the bluebird. Then a clear voice called from inside, "Who goes there?"

"A friend," came the reply.

"Stand and give the countersign," commanded the voice inside.

"Other Council Fires were here before," responded the newcomer.

"Advance and give the Inner Password," said the invisible sentinel.

The figure passed through the dark entrance and came to a halt just
inside, crying, "Kolah Olowan!"

"Mount!" commanded the voice above, and the stranger lost no time in
obeying the invitation. Scrambling up the ladder fastened to the wall
which did duty as a staircase, she thrust aside the curtain at the top
and stepped out into the lighted upper chamber.

Anyone seeing that dark and deserted looking building from the outside
would never guess how bright and cheerful was that upper room within. A
wood fire roared in a cobblestone fireplace, its gleam lighting up walls
hung with leather skins and gay Indian blankets and festooned with sprays
of bittersweet. Several more Indian blankets were spread out on the floor
in lieu of rugs, while from the rafters were suspended woven baskets and
pieces of pottery. Ranged around the sides of the chamber, where the
sloping roof met the floor, were four beds, all different, and only one
indicating that the dwellers in that secret lodge were civilized persons.
The first was a neat cot bed with blankets tucked in smoothly all around,
and a dust cover folded up at the foot; the second was an "Indian bed"
made of pine branches, dried ferns and sweet grasses, piled several feet
high and ingeniously confined by woven reeds and pliant twigs. The scent
of the sweet grasses, mingled with the aromatic odor of the pine, filled
the room with a dreamy fragrance that seemed like a charm to lure down
the Sleep Manitou. The third was a pile of bearskins and the fourth was
another kind of Indian bed, made of smooth round willow rods tied
together with ropes and laid across