Sahwah was the last in bed, having stayed in the water longer than the others. She was strangely wakeful and lay for a long time staring up at the pines towering above her, that seemed to rise hundreds of feet before a branch appeared. She amused herself by reaching out her hand and identifying her belongings, which hung on a bush at her head. Her hand closed over the can of red paint. Like lightning she had an inspiration. She raised her head and looked at the next bed. "It's Migwan," she said to herself. Grasping the paint brush, she reached over and daubed the face of the sleeper. Then she settled down and slept.
Gladys woke up in the gray dawn and looked out from her sandwich bed. The lake was completely hidden by a thick mist. Drops were coming down, patter, patter, on her poncho. "Chapa," she whispered excitedly to her partner, "it's raining!"
"Well, what of it?" answered Chapa, without opening her eyes, and pulling the poncho over their heads, she resumed her slumbers. Gladys drew a horrified breath at the idea of sleeping on the ground in the rain, but the cozy dryness of her bed soon wooed her back to slumber. When she opened her eyes again the sun was rising over the lake. No, there were two suns, one in the lake which was making it boil and send up clouds of steam, and another in the sky which was drawing up the vapor. Soon the bugle blew and the camp woke to activity.
With a whoop the girls made for the lake for their morning plunge. "Gladys!" said Nyoda, "what is the matter with your face?" On each cheek, as well as on her nose and forehead, there was a daub of red.
Sahwah stared, then she giggled. "I thought it was Migwan beside me," she explained. "Excuse me, Gladys, I didn't mean to decorate you." Gladys, however, evidently thought differently, for she was decidedly cool to Sahwah from then on.
Just before breakfast the girls assembled on the high cliff to sing the morning song. Their choice was Rousseau's beautiful hymn,
"When the mists have rolled in splendor
From the beauty of the hills."
The mist curtains were rolling up from the lake in the morning sun, disclosing the lofty brow of Mount Washington in the distance, and the girls felt very near to God and Nature as they sang the inspired words.
Breakfast was cooked in the open and consisted of fruit, pancakes and cocoa. Hinpoha heroically passed up both the pancakes and the cocoa and contented herself with one piece of dry toast.
The hike proceeded in order just as on the previous day. Right after breakfast the ponchos were rolled and the pathfinders struck the trail through the woods. The first note left by them read: "10:30. First rest. 'Ware the pest!"