“Did she—did she say they were a Camp Fire Group?” Sesooā’s hands were clasped upon a flame of suspense so eager that it almost scorched them.
“Come to think of it, now, I guess she did! I’ve heard a lot about that tribe, in general, lately. Boy Scouts an’ Camp Fire Girls, they’re in the spot light just now.”
“They deserve to be. And was the Guardian’s—the lady’s—name Miss Dewey?”
“You’ve hit it. I’m to be watch-dog and life-guard to the flock—I’ll have a tent o’ my own near.”
“Then, it’s us! It’s us, Captain Andy!” cried the Rainbow and the Flame together. “It’s our Morning-Glory Camp Fire that has rented your camp for the remainder of this month of July and all the month of August—the Green Corn Moon. Oh, we’re so glad to have met you—that you’re going to be our camp guard and protector!”
“Land o’ Goshen! you ain’t got no corner on the gladness; that I tell you.” The old lifesaver beamed. “Is she coming, too?” pointing to the girlish figure in the flower-like Tam among the shifting playground sets. “Is she going to camp on the dunes, too, the one that dances like a foam-chicken or a foam-clot—the Morning-Glory one?”
“Of course she is.”
“I suppose, now, you’d call her a—what-d’ye-call-it—anæsthetic dancer, eh?” with an inquisitive twinkle.
“Æsthetic,” corrected Olive, smiling a superior little smile. “Anæsthetic is a thing that puts people to sleep when they’re in pain—a medicine.”
“Oh! aye, I put my foot in the medicine, did I?” gasped the squelched captain, his “carnation colors” deepening.