No one. And the rain came down harder, while it grew darker—seemingly more so in contrast to the light that Mrs. Bonnell flashed to the no small fear of the German kinder.
“I suppose we might stay here until he could go and get some one who could speak English, and who could either show us where we have left our boats, or take word to the boys to come after us,” ventured Marie.
“Ugh! Stay here? Never!” cried Natalie. “It’s so—so— Oh, it wouldn’t do at all!” she finished with a real shudder. The others reluctantly agreed with her.
The man muttered something in his own language. His wife replied, gesticulating and pointing in several directions. Evidently she meant to be of service but was unable to accomplish it. Then the children cried for their suppers, and the girls, feeling very lonesome and deserted, continued their night march along the little path, the electric light flashing like some modern firefly.
CHAPTER XV
“IT’S THE BOYS”
“How much farther?”
“I can’t walk another step!”
“You must! You can’t stay here—none of us can! We must keep on!”
The Camp Fire Girls were trudging through the woods, whither the path led them—wet, miserable and unhappy, yet not utterly discouraged. The little pocket lamp of the Guardian was their salvation, in a way, for the brilliant pencil of fire that streamed out of the lens showed them the trail—such as it was.