“What is it?” echoed the voice of Mabel, as she and the other two girls crowded to the portal. “Phil!” she went on, “and Blake! Have you been listening to what we were saying?” she demanded as she marched out and stood half-threateningly over her brother.
“How could we help it—the way you talked?” he inquired, defensively.
“And so Marie is going to be a bluebird; is she?” went on Jack with a grin. “Fine! That’s the Indian for it that I was reciting—‘Che-no-sag-ak!’ Little bluebird of the wildwood, come and let me have thy feathers—have thy feathers for my new hat, for my new hat made of satin. Little——”
His voice died off into a gurgle for Alice, with the intimacy of a chum of Jack’s sister, had clapped her hands over his mouth, to the destruction of a cracker he had been about to munch.
“Look out for that cheese!” warned Phil.
“And the carpet!” added Blake.
“Well, let him stop making fun!” snapped Alice, as she glided away before Jack could take a fair revenge.
“What’s it all about, anyhow?” asked Blake, when quiet had been somewhat restored. “Why all this Indian hocus-pocus? Has a medicine show come to town?”
“It’s the Camp Fire Girls,” declared Jack, trying to get up from the carpet some of the cracker crumbs before Nellie, the maid came in, for Jack and his chums were only in the dining room on sufferance. “Sis has been mooning around the house about it for the last three weeks.”
“I have not, Jack Pendleton!”