“All right,” she agreed listlessly. “Let’s eat—and go.”
“Hike too much for you, too, Miss Wilkinson?” inquired Queenie.
“I guess so,” murmured Marjorie, beginning to unpack her basket.
The supper was a dismal affair, in no way resembling the happy campfire meals of her old troop. The girls ate little of Marjorie’s food and talked not at all. But they all consumed their bag of sweets.
“Oh, for a drink!” exclaimed Queenie, a few minutes later.
“Let’s go and get one,” suggested Marjorie. “There’s a spring back there on the drive.”
“You stay here, Miss Wilkinson, and we’ll bring you one. Tell us which way.”
Marjorie indicated the direction and began to pack the remains of the food into a basket, to leave for some wanderer less fortunately supplied. Then she gave her attention to picking up the papers which the girls had carelessly scattered, for she was too discouraged to insist upon their doing it. Finally she sat down to wait for their return.
Half an hour passed and they did not come; finally an hour. She began to be very cold. Could they be lost? A feeling of uneasiness took possession of her and she resolved to go in search of them. She hurried along the road which led back to the main driveway and found her way to the spring. But they were nowhere in sight.
“I’ll go ask the park guard,” she decided. “They’re always so noisy, one couldn’t miss them.”