The general, when they reached the camp, turned to Grace with eyes twinkling.
“I would know, even did I not know that this was your camp, that some one who had been with the forces, had laid it out,” he said.
“Old Mr. Fairweather, our driver, laid it out,” answered Grace mischievously.
“He is an apt pupil,” returned the general.
“You win, General,” laughed Grace.
“Isn’t this delightful?” cried Miss Cartwright. “And look at the table. Pardon my ill manners, but this is so different from what I expected to find in—in—”
“In a traveling circus,” finished Emma amid laughter.
“Oh, the worst is yet to come,” observed Hippy.
Grace introduced Mr. Fairweather to their guests, who shook hands cordially with the old stagecoach driver.
“Are the potatoes done?” whispered Grace.