“Yes, I could show those selfsame marks on a drawing that stone was marked from. The lines are eaten in with acid,” explained the visitor seriously.
“We thought they were made by acid; that is, Mackey did; don’t you remember, girls?” asked Louise.
The campfire blazed merrily now and the insistence that Peg and her aunt remain overnight finally was agreed to.
“Put the treasures away,” suggested Cleo, “and let us sing ‘Scouts Every One.’ We are going to have such a glorious evening!”
“And yet,” said Miss Ramsdell, “my niece tells me you are giving up camp?”
“Yes, we felt it was so much needed by some city children,” replied Corene, “and we really have had a lovely summer. You see, we all have cottages up here, and can stay till the last boat makes the last trip of the season.”
“Oh, no, we can’t,” corrected Isabel. “We all have to be back September fifteenth in dear old Essveay, you know.”
“Right, Izzy,” said Corene. “I was just trying to fool myself. Here’s Clee, all ready for her song. Get your uke, Louise.”
Stars flickered and breezes hummed in with the girls’ song; for what in life is half so sweet as the joy of a peaceful campfire?
And the very next day the star pieces were traced in their mysterious markings, the maps and outlines were matched up and the great zinc vein was finally uncovered by trustworthy hands.