A shout corroborated the statement. “She may be hanging up wet clothes,” suggested Pell. “When they’re in love they do foolish things like that, I’ve heard tell.”
“Girls! Didn’t you hang up your wet things yet?” Miss Beckwith asked in real surprise.
A rush to the back of the tent, where the garments had been hastily heaped, gave response. Presently there was a contest being held to see who could hang up the most material in the smallest space and with the fewest clothes pins; at least that appeared to be the attempt the happy four were making; but when the lunch bell sounded, each and all were ready for the fresh corn, new potatoes, string beans and macaroni—a menu especially designed for culprits who fall in lakes and forget to hang up their uniforms to dry.
Everyone talked of the little stranger, and also everyone praised her beauty. She was so cute, so sweet, so adorable, and Pell even went so far as to whisper to Thistle that she was “peachy,” although all slang was taboo at the table.
“And Alma,” confided Wyn, “we were so sorry not to be able to locate your prince——”
“Girls,” Alma exclaimed. “If you say prince to me again I’ll scream.”
“You did this time,” said Betta, “and we don’t mind it at all. You scream really prettily.”
“Hush,” spoke Doro. She was down at the far end of the table and had not been with the girls on their eventful trip. “I think we have teased enough, really. Let the poor little prince rest.”
“Good idea,” chimed another who also had missed the expedition. “We have a new plan to propose, and with all that prince stuff we can’t get your attention. Becky is going to take us to the Glen tomorrow morning, and we want volunteers to make up the lunch baskets.”
“Call that a new plan?” mocked Wyn. “Why, that’s as old as the Scouts. First thing I ever did was to volunteer to make up a basket for my big sister, and she picked it up and walked off with it.”