“You know, Carrie dear, I must not bring folks here yet,” Peg had protested, “and I shall never accept things nor friendship that I cannot fully return.”
So now Peg slept, dreaming of that magic campfire: hearing the story again of the pocket in the big black rock: now she felt Grace grasp her hands in delight and ecstasy with a little squeal of joy, and after it all she was alone again, with Shag sleeping at her door, with Aunt Carrie’s faithful night lamp making a little shaded starlight beneath the beam ceiling.
And she had cried a little and laughed a little, but at last it was all over, and now she would take Whirlwind out over the hills in the early morning and forget, if she could, the Bobbies and their magic campfire.
[CHAPTER IX—A DAY WITH THE BOBBIES]
A shrill whistle shocked the girls back to consciousness.
“What’s that?” asked Cleo.
“Our ‘get-up’ call,” replied Corene. “Mackey’s whistle. At the big camp we always heard the bugles next.”
Whether woodnymphs were listening in that tent, or whether Corene’s remark provoked an uncanny echo, at that very moment a bugle blast sounded somewhere!
“Another serenade!” exclaimed Julia, settling into her new comfort, quite as if the bugle-blow were permission to defer rising time.
Miss Mackey was already dressed for the ten minute exercise drill. “The girls at Norm have no bugles, so we cannot be indebted to them this time,” she said.