“No!” cried Frank, with a droll twist of her rather homely features. “I’ll wager they’ve laid off one of the hands of the town clock. Business is dreadfully dull. I heard my father say so.”
She was a tall, lanky girl, was Frances Cameron, with a great mass of blue-black hair and flashing black eyes. She was thin, strong, and lacking in those soft curves of budding womanhood which girls of her age usually display. “Straight up and down, my dears,” she often said. “Built upon the most approved clothespin plan, with every bone perfectly–not to say generously–developed.”
“Well,” said Wyn, laughing, “if you girls will give me a chance I will divulge my news.”
“Be still!” commanded Frank. “The oracle speaks.”
“Oh, hurry up, Wyn!” exclaimed Percy, coming nearer the group before the now roaring fire. “I’ve been dying to tell them.”
“Well, girls,” said Wyn, smiling, so that her brown eyes fairly danced. “Mrs. Havel–Percy’s aunt–says she will go.”
“Fine!” exclaimed Frankie.
“You don’t mean it, Wyn?” gasped Mina Everett. “Then we really can go camping?”
“And to Lake Honotonka?” put in Bessie.
“That’s what we aimed to do; wasn’t it?” demanded Wyn, laughing. “And when the Go-Ahead Club starts to do a thing, it usually arrives; doesn’t it?”