“Was it something special?”
“Rather! Mother wanted to send a basket of fruit to our washwoman’s little boy—he’s sick, you know—over near the dam. But perhaps I can walk.”
“Oh, no; you take it, Ruth. Unless you could get Harold’s car?”
“It’s being oiled this afternoon. But, really, I don’t think I’d better. It’s more important that you practice up for the races!”
“Don’t be foolish, Ruth!” put in Mrs. Wilkinson, who had been listening to the conversation. “Your errand is much more important. Anyway, Jack can probably take Marjorie tomorrow.”
“No I can’t either,” said the boy. “It’s base-ball practice.”
“Well, then some time before Monday. There’s lots of time yet.”
But when Sunday came, Marjorie realized that there had not been a single opportunity for her to carry out her plan. Three days of rain and more base-ball practices had entirely prevented its execution, and Monday morning found her no farther advanced than she had been the preceding week.
“Anyway,” she remarked to Ruth, as they started together on their journey toward the Silver Creek, “we’ve had so much rain these last few days that we oughtn’t to have any during the next two weeks. And that will be a blessing.”
When Ruth and Marjorie reached the boathouse in the woods where they had inspected the canoes the week before, they found the rest of the party had arrived before them. Each scout, including the captain, was dressed in the official uniform of the organization and the contrast of the khaki color against the green back-ground of the woods and the water made a very pleasing picture.