And she did, not heeding the laughter of the girls. At every tree with a light-hued enough bark to permit of it, she made her mystic scratches with the hairpin points, sometimes drawing a fantastic figure, Indian fashion, which further increased the mirth of the girls.
“How far did your bashful youth say it was?” asked Mabel, after a pause, during which they climbed a little rise, passing under great pine trees, the needles of which made a slippery, brown, woodland carpet beneath their feet.
“Oh, you’re coming to think that he wasn’t such a bad guide after all then?” demanded Marie, a trifle mollified.
“I just want to see how nearly he can estimate the distance,” was the answer.
“He said it was five miles—five short ones,” and Marie hastily corrected herself.
“And the path a straight one?”
“No, indeed. We have to turn to the right after we pass the spring which is near the ruins of an old house. Oh, I’ve got it all written down,” and Marie began searching for the pocket of the short brown skirt that with the middy-blouse, and low shoes, formed the Camp Fire Girls’ outfit. A blank look came over her face.
“What’s the matter?” asked Natalie.
“That paper—my directions. I wrote them down on a slip of paper. I was sure I put it in my pocket—I know I did—but now——”
She turned the pocket inside out, but a handkerchief, and a few other personal belongings, was all that came to view.