“Oh, it does, Beth,” called Leslie in a moment from the tent. Then she came out to help. “It is lovely, Beth, the prettiest thing you have done yet. Where is Sarita?”
“Back in the woods with her glass. The last I saw of her she was trailing a warbler and trying to find its nest. I think that she called it a redstart. She is ever so much better, though rather weak after that headache. Her throat is a little raw, but she will escape any further trouble, I think. I hope that Dal will get back in time for supper. I was almost worried about you, gone so long.”
“Peggy and Jack picked me up from the beach and I had a trip to Steeple Rocks. There doesn’t seem to be anything to do, Beth,—do you care if I go to hunt Sarita?”
“Not at all.”
Back into the fragrant woods Leslie strolled and met Sarita coming with Dalton by the little trail, now quite a path of their making, that led through the woods from the road.
The two were laughing and talking as they came and Dalton waved triumphantly a letter as he saw Leslie. “Letter from Jim Lyon, Leslie. We have the abstract of title safely reposing in our deposit box, where Jim says it had better stay. We are to refer Mr. Ives to him. This land never did belong to Mr. Ives. He sent me a little list of names of the owners. So Mr. Ives is—mistaken! In other words, it’s all a bluff, for some unknown reason, to get rid of us, or grab the land, or something.”
“Then we can go right on and have our shack! How grand! Sarita, if your head wasn’t shaky, we’d have a war-dance right here where they used to have ’em!”
“What’s the matter with Sarita?” Dalton inquired. “She does look a little peaked.”
“Oh, I’m all right now, Dal. Beth was sure that I was going to be sick, but it was only a sick headache, I think. Beth’s been doctoring me all day. My throat is a little raw and that’s all. Let’s hurry up to tell Beth the good news.”
“You have forgotten that she does not know the bad news.”