The four had climbed the wall and were walking demurely through the wood, politely keeping as far as possible from the tent, when Babbie happened to catch sight of Babe’s and Madeline’s Dutchmen, who had been lying comfortably on the ground in front of their tent, and now were sitting up, apparently quite absorbed in the books they were reading.
“Dutchmen indeed!” said Babbie coolly. “Why, it’s John Morton. Oh, Jackie Morton!” she raised her voice. “What are you doing camping out in the enchanted wood of my castle?”
At this one of the campers dropped his book, stared in the direction from which Babbie’s voice had come, and jumping up came quickly toward her.
“Well, this is funny,” he declared, wringing her hand, “because I was just thinking about the jolly summer we had up at Sunset Lake and wishing the same old crowd was here to tramp over the moors and picnic and sail and have bully times together.”
Babbie laughed and introduced him to Babe, Betty, and Madeline, and he, in his turn, called to his companion to come and meet everybody.
“It’s my tutor—Max Dwight,” he explained hastily in an aside to Babbie. “He’s just out of college himself, and he’s a mighty good sort, if he does try to keep me everlastingly plugging. I say, Babbie, are you through school yet?”
“Through college,” Babbie corrected him with dignity. “We’re all Harding 19—’s.”
“Gee!” John’s face expressed deep concern. “I’m scared. Girls frighten me to death anyhow, and four B. A.’s! Let’s stroll off somewhere by ourselves and talk.”
“Nonsense!” laughed Babbie. “College girls aren’t blue-stockings nowadays. Why aren’t you a B. A. yourself, John? You were going to be a junior the year after that summer in the mountains.”
John nodded. “I got flunked out of my class,” he explained carelessly. “I suppose girls never get into that fix, but plenty of fellows do,—bright ones at that.”