“If only I can be some day!” Emmy’s impulsive answer betrayed her intense yearning toward the honor.
The business of clambering up the narrow path precluded further confidences. Sarah, Jane and Frances had already reached the top, there to be met by Anne Follett, who had come in search of the missing quintette. In her white middy blouse, and blue uniform skirt and bloomers, Anne looked a typical Camp Fire girl.
“Hurry up, loiterers,” she urged gaily. “Such wet, bedraggled objects can’t expect to eat breakfast in the company of the dry and suitably clothed. Breakfast is almost ready, too.”
“Where’s Blanche?” demanded irrepressible Jane. “Is she up?”
“Perhaps. She wasn’t up yet when I came out here. Maybe she is now.” An unconscious pucker appeared between Anne’s delicately-arched brows, as she made reply. She had left Betty engaged in the difficult task of rousing the slothful Blanche.
“For meals may come and meals may go,
But Blanche sleeps on forever,”
warbled Frances noisily.
“She won’t after that,” grimly predicted Sarah. “I don’t see how she could help hearing you, even though she is such a sleepyhead.”
“Be good, Frances,” admonished Ruth, laughing a little in spite of herself. She was reflecting that a few such shouted pleasantries would send their proposed reform tumbling down in a hurry.