“I don’t care!” retorted Marjorie defiantly. “There are worse fates!”
“Marjorie,” asked her mother seriously, “have you made up your mind yet what you are going to do next year?”
“Stay home with her old daddy, aren’t you, dear?” put in Mr. Wilkinson hopefully.
“No, papa—I’m sorry I can’t. I’ve made up my mind to do scout work.”
“That’s a great idea!” he exclaimed joyfully. “Start a troop right here, in your own home town!”
But Marjorie shook her head.
“No, papa, not a troop. I mean to become a scout director. I have enrolled for a six weeks’ training course this summer.”
“Marjorie!”
“And we won’t even have you this vacation, then?” questioned her mother wistfully.
“Part of the time I’ll be with you. The camp doesn’t open until July first, and closes the fifteenth of August. Even if I get a position I wouldn’t begin before the first of September.”