Mysterious indeed were the doings of councillors on the fateful Friday. All girls were forbidden the dining-room after breakfast, except a few who were asked to help bring down the “greenery” from the woods. These had a peep at the unfinished decorations. There was to be a picnic lunch at noon, to leave the dining-room free for the elaborate decorating, and it was even a mystery where the lunch was to be. In the arts and crafts room councillors were working on the last menu cards, which were being painted and lettered, and occasionally a few girls would invent some “necessary” errands, which would take them through the room into Laugh-a-lot. But furtive glances only increased interest.
“I saw the cap the camp mother was making,” said one. “My, it was pretty. There was a little crinkled yellow ruffle on the edge of black crepe paper.”
“Then that’s the color scheme! I suppose they’ll wear caps and aprons,—they did last year.”
“Yes, but it’s never the same, so you can’t tell.”
When the bell rang for lunch, all who had to go to the club house for information were directed to the pine grove. But before this, many of the girls had noticed the people who were trailing in that direction with utensils and eatables. The big kettle of hot beans and some other supplies were taken in the convenient and familiar wheelbarrow.
On the rocks at the right of the cove the fire was made and long, fat “wienies” were being cooked in a big pan, which was supported on the edge of the fire by two large chunks of wood.
“O, the beautiful, beautiful pine-grove!” exclaimed Cathalina, as she took her place behind Hilary in the line, which had been halted by the smiling head councillor some little distance from the fire till the signal should be given that all was ready.
“If I come back next summer, I’m going to bring my paints and everything,” she continued. “I’ve made some sketches, but I want to get the blue of the blueberries with the dew on them, and some of the sunsets are so gorgeous,—or so delicate. I saw the most peculiar effect one night when we were starting a camp fire on Marshmallow Point for a marshmallow roast. There were heavy brown-gray clouds and just one streak where the sun was trying to shine through, and the queerest color to the water. I thought of the old poem where ‘the dark Plutonian shadows gather on the evening blast.’”
“Look at this little vine with the scarlet berries,” said Hilary, stooping to gather a bit that was trailing along the ground. “Has this been taken in to Mother Nature yet?”
“I think so, and there is another kind on the ground not far from where the fire is. Yesterday I found the oddest little flower growing right out of the rock in the cove. The flower was almost exactly like the common little fall aster, purple of a sort, but the plant was a single stalk and looked like an evergreen, made you think of balsam. I’m going to ask Mother Nature what it is. I picked it.”