“No, we are not,” protested Billie. “Indeed we are not any of those things, Cousin Helen. I was for a moment when I found we had lost the Comet, but I know we shall get the Comet back and everything will be all right, I don’t yet know how, but I certainly don’t intend to give up hope at this stage of the game.”
“First breakfast,” said Mary, spreading out the lunch cloth and supplying each person with an orange, a soft boiled egg and a cup of coffee. “First a little nourishment and then see how much more hopeful you’ll all feel.”
It was hardly what might be called a cheerful meal and it was quickly dispatched especially by Billie in whose mind a plan was already formulating.
“Nancy,” she said to her friend who had followed her to the edge of the grove and was standing silently beside her, “where are your field glasses?”
The glasses were promptly produced from Nancy’s suitcase.
“Do you think,” Billie continued, “that I could climb one of those pine trees? I believe if I could get to one of the upper branches, I could see for miles around the country. I might even see the Comet.”
“You know Miss Campbell would never consent, Billie,” Nancy objected, “even if you could shin up that slippery pine tree.”
“Just you engage Cousin Helen in conversation for five minutes and I’ll engage to do the rest. It’s really a matter of costume, anyhow.”
So saying, Billie calmly slipped off her corduroy skirt and coat, revealing herself in pongee bloomers and a pongee blouse. Then she kicked off her russet leather pumps and hung the long strap of the field glasses over her shoulder.
The tree she had chosen to climb was the tallest one in the group, and, as is the case with pine trees, it had not put forth any substantial limbs until more than half-way up. But the trunk was scarred and corrugated with the marks of former limbs that had died, and Billie used these as footholds as she shinned up the tree.