“Then,” Lisle advised dryly, “you had better leave as much as possible of the weight behind; there’s no likelihood of our getting more packers. You have to choose between a camp-chair or a suitcase, for example, and your daily dinner.”
For a moment or two they hesitated. Lisle had, straining his new authority to the utmost, asked them a very hard thing, for in their regard some degree of luxury was less an accidental favor than a prescriptive right. Then Bella took up a long garment and with a little resolute gesture flung it from her.
“That,” she laughed, “is the first sacrifice to the stern guardians of the wilds. It ought to satisfy them, considering who made it and what it cost.” She seized a small valise and hurled it after the dress. “There’s the next; I’m thankful my complexion will stand the weather.”
Millicent looked up at Lisle, indicating a small easel, a bulky sketch-book, and a box of water-colors.
“Are these to go?” she asked with indignant eyes.
“No,” he answered gravely; “they’re the reason for the whole expedition, and their transport is provided for. But you’ll have to jettison something else.”
The selections were made and Lisle summoned one of the packers.
“Roll these things up in Mr. Nasmyth’s tent, Pete,” he bade him. “You’ll have to make a cache of them.”
“Like burying money, isn’t it?” remarked the man, regarding the pile of sundries with a grin. “Guess they won’t be worth much when they’re dug up again.”
Half an hour later, three deeply-laden canoes left the beach; and all day the party paddled up the gleaming lake and crept with poles going up a slow, green river. Sunset was near when they landed and ate supper among a clump of cedars; and after the meal most of them, cramped with the canoe journey, climbed the steep hill-bench or strolled away along the shingle. Lisle was lying, smoking, beside the fire when Millicent sauntered toward him and sat down upon a neighboring stone.