Next morning every one of the girls got up long before Daisybank’s breakfast hour to have a look at the weather. At least it wasn’t raining, and the sun might come out by eleven.
“Besides, who cares for the weather?” inquired Babe calmly, lacing up her heaviest shoes. “We can’t waste another day moping around indoors.”
“We’d better take the ‘last resorts’ though,” said Betty. “The wood will all be wet.”
“Lucky mother insisted on bringing two of them,” said Babbie. “Now we can have one for the bacon and one for the coffee.”
The sun wasn’t shining at eleven; indeed the sky was very gray, and John and Mr. Dwight looked dubious as they turned in at Daisybank Villa. But they were pleasantly disappointed at finding the four girls arrayed in sweaters and tam-o’-shanters, all ready to start.
“We’ve bought the lunch, too,” explained Babe, thrusting a bulky parcel into John’s arms. “We thought we shouldn’t have any too much time to get well out into the country before it was time to eat.”
When they had gone about two miles across the moors, John, who was ahead with Betty, stopped short. “Did you make it a bacon-bat?” he demanded anxiously.
“Yes,” answered Betty.
“Weren’t we elected to make it that?” asked Madeline.
“Then we shall starve,” declared John tragically. “Look at your skirts. How are we going to make a fire with everything dripping wet like this?”