The speaker was leader of the influx; a prim, middle-aged woman whose sincerity of soul shown through two sparkling brown eyes. It was very obvious this leader loved her task.
An awkward pause followed her remarks. Even Miss Mackin seemed at a loss for a suitable reply.
“You got our message, didn’t you?” asked the brown-eyed woman, suddenly. Her charges were breaking ranks at all points.
“Why, no,” stammered Mackey. “Was there a message?”
“Oh, you didn’t really! Then you were not expecting us?”
Her voice wailed disappointment. All those eager little children and not expected!
“Messages are uncertain in the camps,” spoke Mackey promptly, getting herself in hand, as it were, and sensing catastrophe unless prompt measures intervened. “But you are welcomed, I’m sure. These are the members of Camp Comalong, the Bobolinks,” with a wave toward her amazed constituents. “We will do all we can to show you around.”
Grace choked on a giggle. Show them around when they were probably famished for food!
“I am so sorry,” murmured the little woman. “You see we heard you were giving up camp and going to turn it over to the needy children. We had planned an excursion, and the beaches are so rough and crowded, we just ventured to take a trip up here. The sail was delightful and—of course we have brought our lunches.”
The sigh of relief that travelled the rounds of the Bobbies amounted to a secret moan of joy.