After they had been walking for an hour or more, trying to name the various birds they saw, or tell about the peculiarities of woodland plants they found, Mrs. Vernon thought they had better start back for camp.
“It is only half an hour to our usual dinner-hour, and it will take us that long to reach camp. Before we have our Sunday dinner cooked it will be an hour later than our usual time on week-days.”
“At least we will be fashionable, then,” laughed Julie. “Every one has dinner an hour later on Sundays—that’s why the men always complain.”
“It isn’t because of style, Julie, but you know the men-folks never will get up on Sunday mornings, and that sets back all the work. ’Liza says she’s going to strike altogether about cooking Sunday dinners unless every one will get up just as they do on week-days,” explained Betty, conscientiously.
Her long harangue was greeted with appreciative laughter, but Betty looked from one to the other questioningly. Julie ran over and gave her a hug, and cried: “Her was a dear little lamb, so her was!“
They were quite near camp when Joan happened to remember that she had forgotten to place the water-cress in the pan of water to keep it fresh.
“Too late to cry over it now,” said Julie. “It will be so wilted that we’ll have to throw it away.”
“That leaves us without a salad as we had expected,” Ruth complained.
“Why didn’t you put it in water, then! You manage to find fault with everything that goes wrong, but I notice that you seldom do anything yourself!” snapped Joan.
“Girls! I hear people talking—the sound comes from our camp-grounds!” exclaimed Mrs. Vernon, stopping to hold up a hand for silence.