“Look!” whispered Cleo. “It’s Peg!”
“Come on and let’s speak to her,” suggested Grace sociably.
“She might not like it,” demurred Cleo.
“Let’s try, anyhow,” insisted Grace, quickening her pace.
The girl leaning over the spring must have heard the steps, for she jumped up quickly and snatched her hat from the big stone.
“Hello!” called out Grace cheerily. “Did you come down to our camp exercises?”
The brown felt hat was pulled down very suddenly and firmly on the black hair, and for an instant the face under it flashed defiance. The next, a frank smile brought the answer.
“I did not exactly come to them, but I heard from the hill. It seemed—very nice.”
“Oh, it was. I’m sorry you didn’t come,” pressed Grace. “Let us introduce ourselves.” She waved her pail nervously. “This is Cleo and I’m Grace of the Bobolinks. You may call us the Bobbies if you will.”
Peg smiled again and scratched her heavy shoes quite like an embarrassed youth might do. She hesitated quite a while before answering: