“But camp is ideal,” murmured Julia, putting one more small log on the dying embers; just enough to keep mosquitoes away.
“Perfect,” joined in Cleo, her voice dropping or dripping with regret.
“That’s the very reason we want to do this—to put a seal of a perfect summer on it all,” declared Corene, who perhaps more than the others felt a really deep responsibility for that camp; from its very inception at the Essveay School, to its fullest day, that just closed on the carnival hike.
So it was all agreed and settled. Camp Comalong was to be turned over to the city children and their Social Service caretakers, by the end of the week.
Somehow it was a little saddening, however, and it was very evident that the Bobbies did not feel like singing the usual woodland Good Night, as they prepared for their sleep in the big canvas cradle under the stars.
“Dreaming!” minds dimly awoke with that vague idea.
“No, someone is calling,” spoke Isabel, as if anyone had spoken before.
They listened. Came a cautious call:
“Girls! Bobbie! Grace!”
“It’s Peg,” exclaimed a chorus, and with that realization each felt just a little bit guilty that the new ideas of the evening before had so obliterated the troubles of Peg from their Scout consideration.