Frances’ announcement caused a general shedding of packs. Each forester being provided with the individual collapsible drinking cup, Emmy and Betty headed the procession to the spring, Miss Drexal alone electing to remain behind. Ruth brought up the rear with a good-sized white enamel pitcher, which was to hold the water necessary to the coffee-making.
Less than a hundred yards straight into the woods from the point where they had landed, they came upon the spring. Even that short distance proved not especially easy going. From the shore of the lake the ground was rough and rocky, and sloped gradually upward. There was also plenty of dry underbrush, which crackled and snapped under their invading feet as they went. The object of their search proved to be a mere trickle of clear water, flowing from between rocks into a tiny natural hollow in the earth.
Due to its aggravatingly-slow flow, it took some minutes to obtain sufficient water to quench the thirst of the explorers, who impatiently waited for each other’s cups to be filled.
“It will take all day to fill that pitcher,” observed Jane as Ruth held it under the tiny crystal thread of water.
“Then go ahead and don’t wait for me. While I’m filling it, you can get the firewood together and help Miss Drexal. I’ll stay here by my lonesome and commune with Nature,” laughed Ruth. “There’s no danger of my getting lost as long as I am within hearing of you noisy persons.”
“I was going to offer to stay and console you, but not after that cruel cut,” asserted Frances. “I’d rather go with the crowd and be a ‘Wood Gatherer.’ I’ll console Plain Jane instead. What shall I say to thee, heart of my heart?” she inquired, peering languishingly at her usual victim. “Dost wish to argue, Janie?”
“No, I don’t, you ridiculous goose,” retorted Jane.
“This pitcher will be full before you even make a start,” teased Ruth.
“Come on, she wants to get rid of us,” accused Sarah.
“How did you guess it?” dimpled Ruth. “Run along, children. I’ll be right at your heels.”