Footsore and weary, but satisfied and happy, they finished the day of the carnival hike.
“Let’s all help with supper,” suggested Louise, who was off duty on the K. P. (Kitchen Police) for that day. “Then we can all go down to the dock and see the excursion boat go out.”
“We are not hungry, a bit,” replied Cleo, “but I suppose we must try to eat. Come on, girls, all join in this chorus. It will be lovely on the lake this wonderful evening.”
And so it proved to be. Never had the waters of Hocomo taken on a more gorgeous costume. Velvets, satins and silks, in every rainbow hue, were flung in reckless splendor of draperies over the great, soft surface of the water, by a sunset as prodigious as it was profligate.
Among the parties leaving, one little tribe of excursionists stayed until the very last steamer insisted, with its thrill whistle, that they either come aboard or stay behind indefinitely.
“If only we could stay,” murmured one pale-faced girl. She was standing near the Bobbies, who were watching the city children embark.
“Do you like it up here?” questioned Louise. She felt guilt in the banal query.
“Oh, it’s like—Paradise,” said the wistful one. “But we’ll be glad enough if the firemen in the city turn the hose in the gutter to-morrow to make a lake for us.”
Louise sighed. So many children like this one must stay in the city, she knew. Others equally sad and fully as wistful were reluctantly measuring each step of the little dock and gang-plank. How they hated to go back!
“Oh, girls!” whispered Cleo. “Why don’t we try to do something for a little band of that sort?”