“Then we’ll go!” cried Natalie.
“Yes,” came in rather indifferent and hesitating accents from the others.
CHAPTER XXX
THE WEEPING VOICE
“Where are you girls going?”
It was Jack who demanded this of his sister and the other Camp Fire devotees as they filed past Stony Point a day or so after the fiasco in the old mill.
“Evidently they’re going to make a day of it,” observed Blake. “They’ve got their lunch,” and he glanced significantly at several baskets the girls carried.
“And their knitting, too,” added Phil.
“Thank you. This isn’t knitting,” responded Natalie, as she waved a string of colored beads, woven into a broad band. “These are going to be our—is it totem poles, girls?” and she appealed to the others.
“Totem poles!” cried Blake. “Say, you’re not Alaska Indians! Totem poles are those telegraph spiles carved with beasts and birds, and colored like a Chinese rainbow, that you see in the museums! Totem Poles! Oh my!” and he doubled up with mirth.