Miss Mackin was smiling good naturedly. Her hike preparations were complete and she sat out in the fresh, early morning, watching her young charges flutter around like little brown beetles, always in one another’s way, yet never seeming to interfere, as they made their sandwiches, divided the hard tack, squeezed out lemons and bottled the juice; for the hike was to be a real picnic with all the trimmings.
“I do hope, girls,” said the director, as they were finally ready to start, “that you are not going gunning for some big, exciting adventure. You see, I know a little about your exploits of previous summers” (she winked knowingly and they wondered how she knew), “and I have such a lovely, lady-like report to turn in,” again that explanatory chuckle, “that it would be really cruel to spoil it now.”
“Don’t you like adventures?” asked Helen, innocently.
“Love them. But there are so many brands on the market, and we don’t, any of us, care for the cheap, trashy kind.”
The Scouts all agreed on this, and when Camp Comalong was securely “put away for the day” they started off with a song that included a little good-bye to the flag that was to act sentinel during their absence.
“Do you think, by any chance, we might get Peg to come along?” Grace asked Cleo.
“We pass by her cottage, we can give a whoo-hoo. It won’t do any harm to ask her.”
“We can say we need a guide. I’ve heard folks say she has guided parties through the mountains. That’s one reason they call her ‘Peg of Tamarack Hills,’ I believe,” said Grace.
They were nearing the turn that wound past the log cabin.
“Are those tamarack trees, Mackey?” Louise asked. She was pointing to the giant green “Christmas trees” that stood in a group near a little settling of water, scarcely large enough to be called a pond but something more sizable than a basin pool.