Corona moved slowly away, and as she walked her nature suggested that she would better eat something, so she repaired to the scene of Mrs. Perkenpine’s ordinary operations. There she found that good woman stretched flat on her back on the ground, fast asleep. Her face and body were shaded by some overhanging branches, but her great feet were illumined and gilded by the blazing sun. On a camp table near by were the remains of the breakfast. It had been there for two or three hours. Arthur Raybold had taken what he wanted and had gone, and before composing herself for her nap Mrs. Perkenpine had thrown over it a piece of mosquito-netting.
Corona smiled. “Their natures are coming out beautifully,” she said. “It really does me good to see how admirably the scheme is unfolding itself.” She sat down and ate what she could find to her taste, but it was not much. “I shall send for some fruit and some biscuit and some other little things,” she thought, “that I can keep in my tent and eat when I please. That will suit me much better than the ordinary meals.” Then, without awakening Mrs. Perkenpine, she strolled away, directing her steps towards Camp Roy.
When Margery had gone to her room, and had changed her wet clothes, she was thoroughly miserable. For some time she sat on the side of her little cot, unwilling to go out, on account of a nervous fear that she might meet Mr. Raybold. Of course, if he should again speak to her as he had done, she would immediately appeal to Mr. Archibald, but she did not want to do this, for she had a very strong desire not to make any trouble or divisions in the camp; so she lay down to think over the matter, and in less than two minutes she was asleep. Mrs. Archibald had come to call her to breakfast, but upon being told that she had been up ever so long, and had had her breakfast, she left the girl to her nap.
“I shall sleep here,” thought Margery, “until they have all gone to do whatever it is they want to do, and then perhaps I may have a little peace.”
When she awoke it was nearly eleven o’clock, and she went immediately to her little side window, from which she could see the lake and a good deal of the camp-ground. The first thing which met her reconnoitering gaze was a small boat some distance out on the lake. Its oars were revolving slowly, something like a pair of wheels with one paddle each, and it was occupied by one person. This person was Arthur Raybold, who had found the bishop calking the boat, and as soon as this work was finished, had moodily declared that he would take a row in her. He had not yet had a chance to row a boat which was in a decent condition. He wanted to be alone with his aspirations. He thought it would be scarcely wise to attempt to speak to Margery again that morning; he would give her time for her anger to cool. She was only a woman, and he knew women!
“It’s that Raybold,” said Margery. “He knows no more about rowing than a cat, and he’s floating sideways down the lake. Good! Now I can go out and hope to be let alone. I don’t know when he will ever get that boat back again. Perhaps never.”
She was not a wicked girl, and she did not desire that the awkward rower might never get back; but still she did not have that dread of an accident which might have come over her had the occupant of the boat been a brother or any one she cared very much about. She took a novel, of which, during her whole stay in camp, she had read perhaps ten pages, and left the cabin, this time by the door.
“How does your individuality treat you?” asked Mrs. Archibald, as Margery approached her.
“Oh, horribly, so far,” was the answer; “but I think it is going to do better. I shall find some nice place where I can read and be undisturbed. I can think of nothing pleasanter such a morning as this.”
“I am very much mistaken in your nature,” thought Mrs. Archibald, “if that is the sort of thing that suits you.”