“It’s not perfect but I guess it will do. I wish we could get a big kettle,” Lois said, as she stood off with her head on one side to get the effect.
“Well, can’t we,” questioned Polly. “There’s sure to be one in the kitchen.”
Angela, who was busy with the finishing touches, remarked hopefully:
“The lights will be dim tonight and that ought to help.”
Lois walked to the edge of the platform and asked some of the Seniors who were still busy at the other end of the room, to come and see if the tent was all right.
After they had eyed it critically, and suggested one or two unimportant changes—thereby asserting their superiority—they pronounced it perfect. The three girls sat down for a well merited rest.
In the mean time, Florence and Louise, in the latter’s room, were racking their brains over the fortunes.
Before the lemon was used up, Betty appeared with a half a glass of milk, but she absolutely refused to tell where she had found it.
“Well, it doesn’t much matter anyway, as long as it wasn’t the cat’s,” Louise laughed, giving up trying to discover. “But now that you’re here you may as well stay and help us with these things.”
“My massive brain is at your service,” Betty replied, flopping on the bed, and preparing to make herself thoroughly comfortable.