"Company!" warned Bettie, running ahead. "Two young men that drove up in a buckboard to spend the day fishing in our river—Mr. Saunders sent some letters by them. Thought I'd tell you so you could prink a little, Henrietta—my goodness! What's happened?"
"I've been fishing in the river myself," explained Mr. Black, "and this is what I caught—three very much speckled trout."
"My land!" exclaimed Mrs. Crane. "What an awful mess!"
"It's just mud," said Marjory. "A few of us landed head first in several inches of it. It was Mabel, of course, that pulled us in—she fell off the big log on the trail to Barclay's."
"Well, you're certainly a sight," laughed Bettie, turning back with her friends. "I don't know which of you looks worst."
"They all do," groaned Mrs. Crane. "And here was I just telling those two young men that we had with us as pretty a lot of children as they'd find in the state!"
The young men, seated on one of the benches, looked at the "pretty lot of children." Then, throwing back their heads, they laughed uproariously.
"We knew there were fish in the river," said one of the visitors, "but we hadn't been told about your mermaids."
"I've caught two lots this spring," said Mr. Black, "but this is my largest—and, I hope, my last—haul. This sort of fishing is hard on my limited wardrobe."
"Dear me," said Mrs. Crane, "these shivering scarecrows must get out of their wet garments at once. Here, Jean, you and Henrietta may dress in my tent—I'll bring your clothes. And, girls, throw all your wet garments outside—don't drop them on the blankets."