Up she popped, stepping lightly over the cold grass so as not to arouse her mates and Mrs. Havel, and reached the opening. She peered through. To the east the horizon was aglow with melting shades of pink, amber, turquoise and rose. The sun was coming!
Wyn snapped open the flap and ran out to welcome His Majesty. Then, however, she remembered that she was in pajamas, and glanced around swiftly to see if she was observed.
Not a soul was in sight. At that moment the first chorus of the feathered choir that welcomes the day in the wilds, had ceased. Silence had fallen upon the forest and upon the lake.
Only the lap, lap, lap of the little waves upon the shore was audible. The wind did not stir the tree branches. There was a little chill in the air after the storm, and the ground was saturated.
Wyn was doubtful about that “early morning plunge” in the lake that she had heard the boys talk about, and which she had secretly determined to emulate. But the boys’ camp was at the far end of Gannet Island and she could not see it at all. She wondered if Dave and his friends would plunge into that awfully cold-looking water on this chilly morning?
To assure herself that the water was cold she ran down to where the canoes lay and poked one big toe into the edge of the pool. Ouch! it was just like ice!
“No, no!” whispered Wyn, and scuttled up the bank again, hugging herself tight in both arms to counteract the chill.
But she couldn’t go back to bed. It was too beautiful a morning. And all the others were sleeping soundly.
Wyn decided that she would not awaken them. But she slipped inside, selected her own clothing, and in ten minutes was dressed. Then she ran down to the pool again, palmed the water all over her face, rubbing her cheeks and forehead and ears till they tingled, and then wiped dry upon the towel she had brought with her.
Another five minutes and her hair was braided Indian fashion, and tied neatly. Then the sun popped up–broadly agrin and with the promise in his red countenance of a very warm day.