Though, once in a while, besetting sins would crop out and Lucile would cry, despairingly, “Oh, why did I do it; I knew I shouldn’t,” and Jessie would stop, when plunging nobly through a box of candies, to cry penitently, “Oh, I’ve eaten too many,” and Evelyn would often be tempted to read too long and neglect her work, still, on the whole, they were infinitely helped by the wholesome teaching and precepts of the campfire.
“Oh, he’s got a letter,” cried Lucile, as Phil took a flying leap into their midst.
“Say,” said Phil, eyeing them pityingly, “don’t you fellows know it’s time to eat?”
“It’s never dinner-time yet,” said Jessie in dismay.
“Yes it is, too,” Evelyn contradicted. “Just look where the sun is.”
“Where is it?” cried Phil, and then, as his gaze wandered to the sky, he added, with an air of relief, “Oh, it’s still there; how you frightened me!”
“Goose!” his sister commented, and then, looking at the envelope he still held in his hand, she added, “Who’s the letter from? Be sensible and tell us about it.”
“Oh, that?” said Phil. “That’s a letter from Jim. Seems to be getting along first rate.”
“What does he say?” asked Jessie, all interest.
Phil eyed her speculatively. “I tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it on the way home.”