CHAPTER XIV
LITTLE ADVENTURES OF CAMP LIFE
“Yes, dear Mother, you were right when you supposed that we are having a good time. It is not only good, but gorgeous.” So Jean Gordon’s letter began.
“The committee on supplies and communications, as we call Billy and Jimmy, whom Billy so adores, brought me your note and will take this, to mail it Saturday. I’m glad that you and Dad are to have that fine trip. No, I’m not disappointed not to go along and thanks for the invitation, if I would really prefer to go. I couldn’t leave the girls and I’ll probably get East some day.
“Billy told me a lot of things about the boys’ camp, and said that Jimmy put in a lot of money that he has made along, at the office, reporting, doing some press work, whatever that is, and everything. His father pays him. But the boys are only borrowing of him and I think that they are having as great a time as we are. They are in the lake about half the time. At least we always see them when we go out. Billy offered to take me in his canoe, but Grace won’t let me go until I learn to swim better, for canoes are ‘not so safe,’ she says. I can float, though, and swim a little. I’m so mad at myself to think that I never wanted to swim,—and all my life near the lakes! Disgusting! Fran and Bess are like fish in the water, and even Molly can do better than I can. Just wait, though, till this summer is over. Tell my father, by the way, that we all appreciate this little bay that the fathers chose for us. We can wade out and swim in the shallower water without worrying Grace, and the boys have rigged up a diving place, whatever you call it, just like what they have.
“Grace is catching up in sleep and feels fine. She makes us all take an early dip and have setting up exercises, for every camp that amounts to anything does that, she says. Then we can plan our day ourselves, and you ought to see the fish we catch and cook, if you please. It was so cold that we made a big fire in the range yesterday and used a little of that coal, too, though mostly we burn wood, and we baked biscuit that turned out all right and had maple molasses with them. Yes, the coal-oil stove works all right and we are careful. Grace usually oversees our efforts to cook. We have had fires outdoors, too, right on what beach we have, and we do everything that careful woodsmen—and woodswomen—do. So don’t have a worry while you are gone. We lock up every night and everything.
“You ought to see our pantry! The cans look fine, all in a row on one shelf. The sack of flour stands in a box with white paper in it to catch what we spill. We tacked up a little curtain of what was left of our peacock stuff over the shelf that has our precious dishes. But we have been tearing around outdoors so much that we haven’t used them but once. Then we’re still painting our chairs off and on. The yellow paint we got turned out all right. Molly and Phoebe are chief artists, but I always knew that I was artistic even if I couldn’t draw, you know! House-painting and furniture will be my specialty, and we think it safer to put on the bright pictures by—let’s see, decalcomania, they call it, I think. Some kind of mania, anyhow, I think. But Phoebe has drawn a line that we make that golden-brown, which gives a nice contrast with the yellow, after we get that on. The only trouble is that we need the chairs to use, so progress is slow, doing about two at a time.
“Mr. Lockhart sent the most wonderful binoculars out for Fran. She was so surprised and pleased! Some of us get out pretty early to see what is singing over our heads and we have enough glasses now to get our identifications of even the little birds pretty sure. We are glad that we brought all our nature books along. And we have found a girl who lives near the lake and knows where different birds nest. She took me to see a wood thrush’s nest, such a pretty, or odd one, only yesterday. I’ll have to tell you about her. She’s a sort of mystery.
“I nearly ran into her the day we brought everything out and went to housekeeping. Oh, it was the greatest fun, Mother, to move into our own playhouse, so to speak! But you have listened to me rave about that before.
“I was scampering through the trees with something from the truck when lo and behold, here, in the midst of some spruces, was this girl. Just imagine a thin face with big brown eyes and a scared look when she saw me, an old fuzzy black sweater that was whole but looked awful, a patched old purple skirt, faded, and dipping up here and down there, no stockings at all and some old shoes that were tied on. I suppose she wore them to save her feet going through the woods. Her hair was short and just the curly kind that I’ve always wished mine was, but it was brushed straight back from her face, as if she’d tried to get the curl out.
“I asked her if she wanted to see us and she seemed to be more scared than ever and sort of apologized. She said that she just happened on the house and when we came we seemed to be having so much fun that she just waited a minute,—something like that. Grace called me and I didn’t see her any more, though I told Grace and she said that we would lock up well. Nobody knew who might be around.