“No. Isabel, my imagination is subject to a little common sense. Where’s my note book, Lilian?”
“I put it with mine, right on the book-shelf by our geology notes. If you will wait a few minutes till I get this letter to Phil finished, I will come too.”
“If it is not too long,” replied Hilary, “but I know what happens when you strike a new vein of thought and remember some more things to tell him. Isabel, you might tell Virgie that we are going out to see what we can see. Perhaps she will want to go, too.”
The work of the field classes began a little later than usual that spring. Hilary, because her work and interest in this line had been a little more persistent than that of any others, was put in charge of one bird section. The classes went out in small groups, from the very nature of the study, for few birds would be seen by any large company, except at a distance. Cathalina’s generosity had long since supplied the “bird library” with the finest reference books and some strong field glasses and binoculars. A number of the girls had their own glasses, ranging in power from that of an opera glass to the strong lenses of various sorts. Outside of Lakeview Suite, probably the most enthusiastic bird “hunters” were Eloise and Isabel, and in friendly fashion, whenever any one saw a new bird for the season, word was passed around. Isabel dubbed her particular section “The Stealthy Prowlers.”
By the time the girls were ready to go to the beach, the party numbered six, Hilary and Eloise in the lead, Betty and Cathalina strolling along together, Isabel conducting an investigation by herself, and Lilian running down the hill last.
“It is almost too windy to see anything today,” said Isabel, looking at the scudding grey clouds above tossing waters.
“Let’s start up along the river. The little birds will hide away from the wind and the banks there along under the woods ought to have a number of good ‘finds.’ We ought to see some sandpipers there if nothing else. How chilly those gulls look. Some day we’ll row out to the breakwater and take down the different varieties we always see there every spring.”
“The Island is better, if you are willing to wait until the first picnic.”
Betty was looking off to see if by any chance the same government boat which had brought Donald before might appear upon the horizon. So suddenly had he come before, that she was prepared for anything. But no smoke from passing steamer could be seen in any direction.
“Poor old Betty,” said Eloise, with a little smile. “‘He cometh not, she said, I’m a-weary, a-weary,’—Tennyson!”