Then she had to tell him how she and Jane made a stretcher with their skirts and the oars. Here he interrupted:
“What kind of skirts? Tell me what kind and what color. The boy’s mother will worry my soul out of me if I don’t find out what kind and what color.”
“Just plain khaki, Camp Fire Girls’ skirts!” laughed Frances. “The kind we are wearing now, but we must change them soon, as we always dress up a bit when we go ashore.”
“But, my dear young lady, please don’t! I beg of you don’t change your skirts.”
Mr. Reynolds’ request was such a strange one the girls could not help laughing. His manner was earnest, but in his eyes there was a regular Tim twinkle.
“But why not?” insisted Frances.
“It is this way: you see, of course, when you go ashore it must be to our home, and I can tell you if you don’t wear those skirts out of which the stretcher was made that carried our Tim, his mother will never cease bewailing, to say nothing of Cousin Esther. Of course, you can tie them up in a bundle and let me carry them ashore, but ashore they must go. Am I not right, Tim?”
“Well, Mother is right fond of detail and as for Cousin Esther—” confessed Tim. “If you girls don’t mind—”
“Mind! Of course we don’t mind,” put in Jane. “The only thing Frances and I don’t like about going ashore is having to doll up. We’ll even carry Tim ashore as we carried him down the hill if that would help any.”