The visitors declined an invitation to dinner, as they had brought an ample lunch; but before departing they helped Mrs. Crane stretch a long clothesline between two trees in the clearing.
"These things should be washed," said Mrs. Crane, fastening the garments to the line with all the safety pins the camp afforded, "but we can't use the lake just now and it's a little too far to a place that is just the right depth in the river."
"Perhaps," suggested Bettie, helpfully, "most of the mud will brush off when the things are dry."
"The sand will, anyway. I hope those girls can find enough clothes to put on."
"They have the ones they came in," said Bettie, "and Jean's bundle was extra large."
The active castaways, clothed in dry garments, spent a busy if not particularly exciting afternoon exploring the trails that led from the clearing. They gathered flowers, mushrooms, firewood, birch bark, moss, ferns, and even a few wild strawberries. Dave, who was mysterious in his comings and goings, taught them how to make willow whistles and promised to show them some day how to catch chipmunks.
"I think," said Jean, when the campers had assembled for supper, "that this camp should have a name. We might call it 'Camp Comfort.'"
"Everybody that has a camp," objected Mr. Black, "calls it that. Let's have something truly poetic."
"We might," suggested Henrietta, "name it the Black Basin."
"That," demurred Bettie, "seems awfully pirate-y. Bob has a book about pirates that used to hide in a cave called the 'Black Basin'—I'd be afraid to go to bed nights in a Black Basin."