It would serve them right if she were to slip quietly into the woods and let them wonder what had become of her. She took an undecided step as though about to put the thought into execution, then halted. She was hungry and wanted her luncheon. She would wait until afterward. Once the party were well started on their trip through the woods, she would drop out and return to the lake shore. If they spent most of the afternoon hunting her, she did not care. She hoped her disappearance would give them all a good scare. Ten to one they wouldn’t miss her.
Somewhat cheered by this malicious plan of revenge, Blanche strolled back to her companions, who were now putting the last touches to the spread.
“Come and get it,” caroled Frances, wildly waving her arms. “That’s the way an old man, who cooks for the sheep-men on our ranch, calls the boys to their meals,” she laughingly explained to Miss Drexal. “Next summer I hope you and the Equitable Eight will visit me. There are oceans of good times to be had on a ranch.”
“I am sure of it,” concurred the Guardian heartily. “It will be well worth looking forward to.”
“Please remember you’re not the only person who lives on a ranch,” reminded Sarah, who had been listening. “I’ve just decided to hold the reunion at our ranch.”
This announcement heralded a playfully spirited discussion between the rival would-be hostesses. It continued energetically as the picnickers seated themselves about the spread, and ended with Frances challenging Sarah to a duel, with canoe-paddles as weapons, to decide the momentous question.
Under cover of the general air of hilarity that pervaded the al fresco meal, not one noticed that the wires of communication were down between Ruth and Blanche. Thus far, Ruth was still unrelenting. If Blanche had addressed a remark to her, it is doubtful if she would have replied to it. Blanche knew better than to chance it. The very manner in which Ruth ignored her, warned her not to try it.
Luncheon eaten, a hasty clearing-up ensued. The foresters were impatient to start on their jaunt. With over half the day already sped, they had no time to waste. It was their ambition to travel straight across the island and back again.
“It is now ten minutes past one,” announced Miss Drexal. “We must be back here not later than half-past five. At three o’clock we must about-face, wherever we may happen to be. I am not sure that we shall be able to cross the island by three o’clock. It will depend largely on the going, also upon how much we play along the way. ‘Keep together’ must be our watchword. There must be no strays in this flock. Marian, will you take the lead with me and help me blaze the trail?”
“I’d love to.” Marian’s mild brown eyes sparkled as she stepped to the Guardian’s side. The others fell in behind the pair, and the valorous expedition sallied forth in high feather on what was destined to prove a momentous wayfaring.