Elsie has been growing steadily better for three weeks. The fever seems to have disappeared entirely, and the troublesome cough is so much lessened that she sleeps all night without waking. The doctor says that the camp-life will be the very best thing for her now, and will probably complete her recovery.
(“Oh, joy, joy!” cried the girls.)
I need not say how gladly we followed this special prescription of our kind doctor’s, nor add that we started at once.
(“Oh, Aunt Truth, there is nobody within a mile of the camp; can’t I, please can’t I turn one little hand-spring, just one little lady-like one?” pleaded Polly, dancing on one foot and chewing her sun-bonnet string.
“No, dear, you can’t! Keep quiet and let me read.”)
Elsie would not let me tell you our plans any sooner, lest the old story of a sudden ill turn would keep us at home; and I think very likely that she longed to give the dear boys and girls a surprise.
We arrived at the Burtons’ yesterday. Elsie bore the journey exceedingly well, but I would not take any risks, and so we shall not drive over until day after to-morrow morning.
(“You needn’t have hurried quite so fast, Polly dear.”)
I venture to send the tent and its belongings ahead to-day, so that Jack may get everything to rights before we arrive.
The mattress is just the size the girls ordered; and of course I’ve told Elsie nothing about the proposed furnishing of her tent.