Early after breakfast on Sunday morning Marjorie sat down to write her letter to Miss Winthrop. She intended to tell her all about the hike, and the girls’ desertion, and to conclude by saying that she would not be present at the next meeting, but would wait until she heard from the girls.
Yet somehow, as she tried to write, she found her desire diminishing. It seemed like a mean trick to run to Miss Winthrop with tales; after all, would it not be better to write to Queenie herself? Yet she was thoroughly disgusted with the latter; she held a position of responsibility in the troop, and she had failed at the crucial moment.
After fifteen minutes of fruitless effort, she put down her pen in disgust.
“I’m simply at sea, Lil!” she announced. “I don’t know what I want to do, or how I ought to go about it.”
Her roommate laid her book aside to give the matter her consideration.
“Do you know what I think would be best—if Daisy will do it, I mean? Not write either to Miss Winthrop or Queenie, but just send Daisy next week, with the instructions that she teach scouting if the girls want it, but that she disband the troop if they are not going into it for all they’re worth. That ought to wake ’em up, if anything will!”
“Pretty hard on Daisy!” commented Marjorie.
“But after all, Daisy’s at the bottom of the whole thing—it was she who sent you in the first place.”
“Very true—I guess you’re right, Lil. I’ll go ask Daisy to go walking with me this afternoon, and tell her the story then, and put it up to her.”
“That would be a good idea, if you didn’t have an engagement with John Hadley. You remember he and Dick are coming out on that two o’clock train.”