The self starters sat up and looked around—the other groaned.
Yes, there was Shag trying to make friends with anything that moved, and Grace must have unconsciously moved that foot.
“What do you want, Shag?” she asked.
The big, bushy tail whisked things around rather perilously in the narrow quarters.
“Shag is an early riser,” said Peg, trying to untangle herself from the things that held her on the rim of a cot. “He wants to run off and see what’s going on outdoors.” She patted her dog affectionately, then allowed him to run out, off over the hills to his own quarters.
But the spell was broken. They were awake, those insatiable girls, and ready even now to talk to their visitor.
Grace “whispered,” but the sibilant swish of sounds seemed more resonant than an outspoken address might have.
“Don’t wake Aunt Carrie,” she warned, although she was the alarm clock going off at that very moment.
“Don’t wake Mackey,” giggled Louise, after Mackey had thrown a leaky pine needle pillow at her head.
“And just look at Izzy,” begged Cleo. “She’s soundproof—like our music room at school.”