“Yep, here they come!” announced Julia solemnly.
“And the leader! Can it be a delegation from some orphanage?” asked Helen.
“It can and perhaps is,” remarked Cleo. “They all carry the same shaped bundles. They’re evidently not homemade.”
There could be no mistake now; the parade was marching up Comalong path. Miss Mackin patted her hair and the others made motions at their ear puffs.
“If we only had some grub,” whispered Julia.
“There’s the cakes of wheat if they haven’t grown mossy,” replied Cleo. “We’ll get Corey to toast them.”
“Mossy!” repeated Isabel. “That box has whiskers. I looked at it this morning.”
“Are we right?” came a voice from the advance guard of the procession. “Is this Camp Comalong?”
“Yes,” replied Miss Mackin with a tempered smile.
“Oh, I’m so glad. The boatman was not sure. And the children hoped this was the place; the trees looked so beautifully green.”