“I don’t believe Natalie and Alice put the ropes on the pegs quickly enough,” declared Mabel.
“Oh, we did so!” chorused the two.
“Then why should it come down?” demanded Marie, as if the question was unanswerable.
“I don’t know,” declared Natalie. “I know I bruised my knuckles on that one peg. Where is your cold cream, Alice? I left mine in my suit case, and it’s so hard to open.”
“This is no time for cold cream—nor ice cream, either!” declared Alice. “Let’s try once more.”
“’Twon’t do you a bit of good ladies!” suddenly exclaimed a voice from the lake shore. “You can work ’till doomsday tryin’ t’ git a tent up that way, but lessen you puts th’ ridge pole on top of th’ end poles, an’ raises them fust, you won’t never git no tent up.”
They looked whence the voice came and saw an old man, in a clumsy rowboat, regarding them with half-quizzical, half-amused glances.
“The poles!” murmured Natalie.
“That’s why the tent wouldn’t stay up!” added Marie.
“How silly of us!” chorused Alice and Mabel.