They were obliged, next morning, to forego the pleasure of washing their faces in the lake; but the river, with some help from the bright new dishpan, served as well. Dave's ice-cold spring provided them with excellent drinking water.
"This storm," said Mr. Black, arranging a temporary shelter for the fire, "will bring us plenty of driftwood. We can have benches under the trees and an extra table or two—I expect to get thin, building things."
"Well, it won't hurt you," returned Mrs. Crane. "You can begin by building that fire—I'm ready to cook."
Previously to this time, the days had been warm and comparatively quiet; but to-day it was decidedly cold. The wind, sweeping through the clearing, carried off all the bits of paper and string that the eager girls had torn from their parcels the night before and thoughtlessly scattered about. It was necessary to fasten things down to keep them from swirling out of sight. The big waves still thundered in and their white spray dashed high above the edge of the battered bank.
But, for all that, it proved a delightful day, because the clear air was wonderfully bracing, the campers were really camping, and one could escape the buffeting of the wind and the continuous roar of the waves by taking long walks in the sheltered trails and roads.
"This," said Mr. Black, when the morning's work was done, "would be a good time to walk to Barclay's Point to see the waves. These are just tiny wavelets beside what we'll see over there—they'll be perfectly terrific on the north side of that peninsula. I was going to fish in the river with those nice angleworms that Saunders sent; but I can take you there first and do my fishing afterwards."
There were two ways of getting to Barclay's Point. In ordinary weather, one walked up the beach. In stormy weather, there was a very roundabout way by the road and a more direct route by a woodsy trail that wasn't exactly visible—one felt rather than saw it. Some persons have an instinct for following trails. Jean had it, Marjory had it to a lesser degree; but Mabel and Henrietta were without it; while Dave, Indian that he was, could see trails where none existed for any one else. Since Jean possessed the trail-instinct, she walked ahead, while Mr. Black, in order to keep Mabel and Henrietta from straying from the path, marched behind. Mrs. Crane remained in camp with Bettie, who was not yet permitted to take long walks.
To reach Barclay's, one crossed the river twice. The first crossing was easy, for there was a rude bridge built of heavy timber. But the second was a different matter. Nature had provided a bridge by conveniently dropping a huge tree across the stream, which was wide and about three feet deep at this point. The log—the branches had long ago been chopped away—was very wide at one end but tapered somewhat toward the other. When the water was low, there was room for a canoe to pass under this log. Jean walked steadily across it, Marjory flitted over it like a bird, Henrietta, with fancy steps that would have been impossible for the others even on solid ground, danced across; but Mabel, wavering and wabbling, had to be assisted by Mr. Black, who stretched forth a helping hand the moment she began to falter.
"I guess," declared Mabel, indignantly, "that old tree was a slippery elm."
"No," returned Mr. Black, "it was pine, and a big fellow at that. It's been here for many years."