That wipes away your smile,
Nor the socks of sister’s that raise the blooming blisters,
It’s the last—long—mile!”
CHAPTER VIII
The Wee Hour
“Oh! it’s not the dusty highway,
That—Camp Fire Girls don’t mind!
And it’s not the thirsty hiking,
There are always springs—to find.
Oh! it’s not the mountain climbing,
Our jol-ly packs are light!