EARLY MORNING IN CAMP
But it was not in their nature to be sad for very long, so ten minutes later their laughter was ringing out once more, and they set their faces towards the unknown with the cheerful determination to make the best of things which always marked their doings.
Rumple had retired to the rack at the back of the wagon, because he wished for quiet in which to write a poem to celebrate the occasion, and the others forgot all about him until they drew under the shade of a grove of trees for the noonday halt, when, to their extreme consternation, it was found that Rumple was missing.
CHAPTER IX
In a Strange Place
Rumple opened his eyes and stared about him in amazement. He was lying in a room which had big pink vases on the mantelpiece, a blue firescreen, and a green paper on the walls. There was a centre table, too, which was piled with books and strewn with photographs. There was one—the portrait of a man—which had a silver-gilt frame, and stood in the place of honour, and Rumple gazed at it in amazement, wondering where he had seen it before.
"Why, I do believe it is Mr. Melrose!" he cried in a shrill voice.