"Yes."
"She isn't a good sport, now," said Hinpoha, "but she may develop into one before the summer is over. Let's hope so." Then she added, "She surely has it in for you for some reason."
"I know it," said Sahwah, "and that's what gives me a pain. I never touched her bed the night it fell down, but I might as well have."
"But you did paint her face that night at Balsam Lake," said
Hinpoha, with a giggle at the remembrance.
"Yes, but I thought it was Migwan, and anyhow I apologized."
"Well," said Hinpoha with a burst of altruism, "it's this way. Gladys is as shallow as a pie-tin and a big cry baby and all that, but if she hadn't been like that her father wouldn't have wanted her to be a Camp Fire Girl and we never would have come to this camp. It's an ill wind, you know. Anyway, she's a Winnebago now, and we have to make something out of her."
"You're so good-natured, 'Poha," said Sahwah. "I wish I could like everybody the way you do."
Hinpoha opened her mouth to reply, but instead uttered a prolonged "Ow-oo-oo-oo!" They were sitting on a log when the above conversation took place, and Hinpoha had poked her hand into the hollow end. Now she drew it out hastily and began to dance around, shaking her hand violently.
"Oh, what is it?" cried Sahwah.
"Bees!" shrieked Hinpoha. "Run for your life!"