“Oh, dear, yes, I suppose it is near dinner time,” Jack responded. “Can you tell me if I am on the right road to Miss Marshall’s camp?”
“You will be if you turn right about face.”
“Oh, then the Indian was right after all.”
“The Indian? Old John? He’s a pretty good sort. Lives in a tent back there and makes baskets. Has some queer sort of herb medicine he sells, a panacea for all ills; has ointments, too. If he told you the way you could rely upon its being right, for he knows the place like a book. Comes up and pitches his tent every summer, sells his baskets and things.”
“Have you seen any of the girls come up the lake?” Jack asked after a moment.
“I saw some going down a while ago, toward the camp, you know. They paddle pretty well, those girls.”
“My sister, Nan, paddles very well, so does Daniella Scott.”
“Are you staying at the camp?”
“Yes, all of us are.”
“And you expect to get back for dinner? Why, it’s three or four miles.”