“Shame on you Blake!” mocked Phil, “to treat a poor girl so. Let me see your ring, Marie,” he went on, as the pretty hostess came into the room again.
“I’m too busy,” she called to him. “You may help me get out the cups and saucers if you will, though,” she added.
“Let me be a wood-gatherer,” pleaded Jack.
“Me for the fire-maker!” declared Blake.
“You’ve got enough to do right there,” mocked Jack. “We will call you the Greek chorus.”
And thus the merry quips and gibes went on until tea was served, the boys stoically remaining, and, perforce requiring to be fed, though Marie remarked to Jack sotto-voice that she thought he had had one lunch since school.
“I am always open for more,” he replied.
“And so you girls are really going to be members of the Camp Fire club,” spoke Phil, when the rattle of teacups had ceased.
“Of Dogwood Camp,” added Natalie, daintily removing a bit of butter from the tip of her finger encircled by the new silver ring.
“Well, it may all be very nice and romantic, and that sort of thing,” began Jack, “but——”