“At camp I never remembered anybody at Burleigh except Mother and Dad and Phil,” said Lucile. “It seemed like a different world.”
“A rather nice kind of world it was, too, wasn’t it?” said her guardian, with a reminiscent smile.
“Nice?” cried Lucile. “It was glorious! I only wish we could do it all over again. It does seem as if one good thing comes crowding right on the heels of another ever since we decided to form a camp-fire.”
“It has meant happiness for all of us,” said Mrs. Wescott, with a far-away look that Lucile knew how to interpret.
“I know,” she said. “Here we are,” she added, a moment later. “Oh, it’s good to have you here at last.”
For answer, her guardian put her arm about Lucile and ran lightly up the steps, saying, joyfully, “And it’s good to be here, Lucy, dear; but where are the girls?”
“Oh, they’re coming,” Lucile answered, vaguely. “Come on upstairs and get your things off,” she added, guiding her guest past the living-room adroitly. 37
When Lucile ushered her into the great, airy, upstairs sitting-room, she dropped into an easy chair with a sigh of content.
“Oh, Lucy, it is good to be here,” she added. Then, for the first time, Lucile had a chance to get “a really good look at her,” as she expressed it.
The wind had loosened her guardian’s dark hair and it clung in little ringlets about her face. Her eyes, those deep, comprehending, gray eyes, sparkled with delight as she took in the familiar objects about her. The merry dimples that had always fascinated the girls, and others besides, were ever in evidence as she talked and laughed happily.