“Glorious—glorious—most glorious!” murmured Natalie. “I feel like writing a poem.”
“Compose it while you wash the dishes,” advised Marie with a laugh.
“Oh, see the flowers, growing right back of our tent!” exclaimed Mabel, as she arose from the table to gather a clump of fern and some blue blossoms, which she arranged in a cracked pitcher. “Isn’t that artistic?” she demanded.
“There’s condensed milk in that vase—pronounced vaase,” murmured Alice with a chuckle, and then a piece of bacon went down her “wrong throat,” and Mabel declared that it served her right.
“Now to get our camp in order,” called Mrs. Bonnell after the simple meal. “We must decide who will be the hewers of wood and the drawers of water,” she went on. “We will take turns in doing the dishes, and cooking—in fact all the camp duties ought to run in a sort of rotation, for the work must be done.”
“Law of the Camp Fire number two,” murmured Marie. “Give service.”
“Exactly,” laughed the Guardian.
The girls had donned their comfortable bloomer suits, for there was to be much activity.
Then began a busy time, which was hardly ended when from the path along the lake shore came a hail:
“Wo-he-lo ahoy!”