“She chores chores of course,” Thistle assisted. “I am sure the Nest is a lot nicer place to live and work in than Camp Chickadee—when Pell Mell is our inspector,” she finished, with a pout.
“Nora, would you believe it that wretched girl left her shoes outside of camp last night and this morning they were gone—to a goat preserve somewhere,” explained Pell. “She has my second best ‘sneaks’ on now, yet she will malign me——”
“Why and whither away?” interrupted Thistle, seeing Nora about to escape.
“Oh, I really must. I’ll see you later,” promised the blonde girl, whose hair, always so fair, seemed to have taken on a shade of pure gold since exposed to the open sunshine of Rocky Ledge.
So with paths divided they separated, and that was how it came to pass that Nora was alone when she encountered the wonderful adventure.
Taking to the lane path, a walk she seldom thought of following, Nora, keyed up with her excitement following the telling of her story to Alma, felt she must get off somewhere and “collect herself” before going back to the house.
Perhaps her head was down, and she may have ventured along as do much older and more serious folk when engaged in some perplexing problem, at any rate Nora was down the lane and into a strange grove before she realized it.
She looked up with a start. “Where ever am I?” she said, if not aloud, certainly loud enough for her own hearing.
The place was a veritable camp of low pines, and so dark it was beneath the thickly woven boughs, Nora felt as if she had stepped from day to night.
“But so pretty,” she commented. Then she looked about for Cap. It would not be wise to stray into such a lonely place without his reliable protection. He marched up with a very military air as she called his name. Evidently the place, strange to Nora, was familiar to him, for he did not so much as raise his shaggy head to glance around him.