“Those are not the kind of girls who are helping in France,” said Ruth soberly.
“You said it!” agreed Tom. “That sort are so busy riding hobbies over here that they have no interest in what is going on in Europe unless it may be in Russia. Well, thank heaven, there are comparatively few nuts compared with us sane folks.”
Such thoughts as these, however, did not occupy their minds for long. Just as Tom had declared, they were out for fun, and the fun could be found almost anywhere by these blithe young folk.
Ruth’s face actually changed as they journeyed on. She was both “pink and pretty,” Helen declared, before they camped at the wayside for luncheon.
The hampers on the big car were crammed with all the necessities of food and service for several meals. There were, too, twin alcohol lamps, a coffee boiler and a teapot.
Altogether they were making a very satisfactory meal and were having a jolly time at the edge of a piece of wood when a big, black wood-ant dropped down Jennie Stone’s back.
At first they did not know what the matter was with her. Her mouth was full, the food in that state of mastication that she could not immediately swallow it.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” choked the plump girl, trying to get both hands at once down the neck of her shirt-waist.
“What is the matter, Heavy?” gasped Helen.
“Jennie, dear!” murmured Ruth. “Don’t!”