Getting the mail for Camp Comalong was one of the duties that brought joy to the Scouts, for each morning, tent obligations attended to and before the hike, swim or other scheduled activity was entered upon, a group of the girls either rowed in Mud Lark, the boat loaned them by an admiring neighbor, or they paddled off in their bright red canoe, the Flash, down the lake to the Post Office Bend, there to receive their allotment from Uncle Sam’s mailing service.
Usually those girls whose duty it was to raise and lower the colors—when the beautiful flag contributed by Grace’s family would be raised to breeze at morning and lowered into loving hands at sundown—this squad also took care of the mail, on their flag week.
So it happened that to-day Julia and Grace were due to paddle down stream for the mail.
“I think,” began Julia in her meditative way, for Julia was something of a literary aspirant, “that we have very vigorous weather in a place like this. When it storms it storms furiously, and when it’s lovely it’s just perfect, as it is to-day.”
“Uh—huh!” assented Grace, waving frantically at a canoe across the lake in which she recognized a brace of sweaters—one orange, the other jade—worn respectively by Camille and Cynthia, without a doubt.
“Grace, I don’t believe you notice the weather very closely,” came back Julia, disappointed that her discourse should fall upon deaf ears.
“’Deed I does, honey. I noticed it plenty the other night, and am not keen on another spell like that. But when we have really good weather I don’t believe in tempting it or spoiling it with flattery. You can’t tell about such things, Julie dear.”
The blonde girl laughed merrily. Who could resist Grace and her unanswerable arguments?
There was a satisfying amount of mail to take back to camp, and among the letters was one addressed to Grace and postmarked “Town.”
“A new friend,” remarked Julia, handing this over to Grace, “or perhaps an invitation to a picnic.”