“Goin’ t’ camp here?” asked the old man.
“We—we hoped to,” answered Mrs. Bonnell. “But if we don’t know enough to put up a small tent I don’t see——”
“I’ll help you,” volunteered the visitor. “I often help camping parties that don’t know much about the game. I’ll help you.”
“We’re Camp Fire Girls!” declared Mabel with dignity.
“Ha! Ha!” chuckled the old man. “I have seen folks what could git up a good meal over a camp fire, but they was mighty few. I see you’ve brought an oil stove. That’s what they mostly does up here. There’s some fellows over on Stony Point that have got their camp going in good shape.”
“They are our brothers,” said Mabel.
“So! Wa’al, now let’s see about your tent,” and he lumbered up from his boat which he tied to a stump on shore. “Have you got poles?” he asked.
“They are over there,” replied Mrs. Bonnell, rather put out at her own inability to recall that her husband had, several times, had her help him erect their tent.
“That’s good. Now I’ll show you. I guess between us we can manage to raise the tents.”
As he spoke he came face to face with Natalie who had gone for some cold cream to apply to her bruised knuckles. At the sight of breath-of-the-pine-tree the old man started back, and a queer look came over his face. Staring at Natalie he exclaimed in a whisper: