"No, no, Jack," replied Ben Gile, pleased with the lad's generosity. "I have an extra book here." Betty's face was beaming. "Now let me write in your books; then to supper, around our last camp-fire for this summer."
In a few minutes the children were about the fire, and there was the smell of roasting corn, the sizzle of broiling partridge tied around with bacon, and the fragrance of coffee for the older people. The firelight seemed particularly jolly. Betty was very happy with her book (nor would she be parted from it the next day on the train), and Jack was radiant. They ate and talked and sang about the camp-fire, thought Ben Gile the wisest man in the world, Mrs. Reece the kindest of mothers, hoped that next year would come soon, and wanted to know what stories they were to hear when the long winter was over.
"Perhaps it will be birds," said the guide; "perhaps fish; perhaps flowers; maybe it will be spiders and crabs. Next summer is a long way off. And now I have to go back to my school."
In a short time a line of lanterns was seen swinging and dancing up the hill of Rangeley as the children filed homeward. The summer was over.