Thus talked the Camp Fire Girls as they gathered in a group after Marie had admitted the dismal failure to lead the way back from Bear Pond.
“No, though I do feel badly enough to cry,” answered breath-of-the-pine-tree. “It’s really raining!”
“It can’t melt us,” declared Alice. “I only hope it doesn’t thunder and lightning.”
“It won’t be that kind of a storm at all,” was Mrs. Bonnell’s opinion. “It’s going to turn into a miserable drizzle.”
“My hair always curls in the wet,” cried Marie. “That’s one consolation, anyhow.”
“You poor girl!” came from Alice. “Really it’s no one’s fault that we got lost,” for Marie appeared to think that she bore the responsibility of leading her forces thus into terra incognita.
“Of course not,” added Mrs. Bonnell. “It couldn’t be helped. Now I want you all to be real Camp Fire Girls!” she went on. “We must be brave and loyal. This is only a little trouble. We may be tired and wet but we’ve got to get back to our tents sometime, and then we can thaw out, and take enough hot lemonade to ward off colds. Now I’m going to assume charge, and I’m going to give orders. Wood-Gatherers, attention!”
The girls stood up.
“Get all the dry fuel you can,” ordered the Guardian. “We are going to make a little fire, and devour the remainder of our sandwiches. We’ll get good and warm, rest, eat and then we’ll consider our case. This is a good place for a fire, under the pine tree. Come, No-moh-te-nah—Sweeper-of-the-tepee,” she went on, addressing Alice, “you arrange some seats for us. I’ll get out the lunch. The others gather wood, and get some dried leaves to start the fire.”
Soon they were all busy, forgetting their troubles in the gospel of work—the best secular gospel in the world. A little later a cheerful blaze was crackling under the wide-spreading branches of a giant pine tree. For Mrs. Bonnell had a dependable match box.