“Oh, could we have just one peek in your tent? We are dying to!” came the daring question which was put by both, one tagging the end on the other’s introduction.
This brought out Corene’s “fighting fury,” as the girls were accustomed to characterize her aggressiveness, and now she faced the strangers squarely.
“Aren’t you the two young ladies who tried to run us out of the lake this morning?” she demanded. Her face took on a tone of red she tried hard to keep down.
“Oh, did you mind?” simpered one. “Why, we were only fooling. You were having such a lovely time we thought it would be fun to—to chase you.”
“You did it to show off and it wasn’t funny a bit,” declared Corene, her companions applauding with glances. “We don’t feel like being friendly but we have tried to be polite,” pursued Corene, “but now I guess we had better——”
“Close the interview,” mocked Buzz. “Of course we’ll go. We never intended to stay. We were only trying to have some fun with you,” and her voice fairly hissed her rudeness. “Such babes in the woods! And no mammas! Better call nursie to shoo horrid, big things away. Come along, Toots. They don’t want and evidently won’t take any advice. But if they tag after Fly-away Peg maybe they’ll be sorry they didn’t listen.”
Then they went, their glaring satin skirts—one was gold and the other mahogany—showing through the heavy brush as they wound in and out the path, their twin-made sweaters of bright pink being last to fade from view, over the little rustic bridge that spanned the creek.
The Scouts stood, too surprised to give expression to their feelings.
“Of all the cheek——” began Grace.
“Why didn’t you hit them, Corey? I saw you stoop for a stick,” said Cleo.