"Ralph says nothing——" began Tavia.
"But saws wood," added Ned, with a wink, for Ralph seemed to have appropriated Dorothy.
Altogether they were a happy set of campers. It was only ten days since the close of that distressing search, that had taken up so many of their camping days, but there was still left plenty of time for the best of outings, which their keenness after their troubles made the more merry.
Camp Dorothy was the name of the new tent that Mrs. Harriwell had sent up immediately after her daughter's installation with the campers. With the express came two maids, one for work, and the other to look after Molly. Mrs. Harriwell had to be content with stopping at a nearby hotel, but every day she came over to the camp, and really was almost like a young girl herself, so great was her joy in the sudden restoration of her daughter's health. It developed that the sick girl's case had been one of pure melancholia, following a shock of grief, and that her association with Dorothy and her friends was the one thing she most needed. The second shock, in falling, had restored her reason.
But Tavia could not forget that her fault had caused great trouble to Dorothy, and try as the latter did, she could not get Tavia to resume her usual good spirits.
"But it takes Nat," whispered Cologne, as he and Tavia sauntered off to catch imaginary trout. "Needn't worry about Tavia's nerves."
"I move," said Ralph, "that the—heroine—ahem, be excused from duty for the period of two weeks. Every time I ask Dorothy to go for a sail, she has to wash dishes."
Dorothy blushed prettily. "I must do my share of the housekeeping," she insisted. "Besides—it's fun."
Ralph was not to be put off this time, however, and he declared that if Dorothy did not go for a sail with him that very afternoon—he—would—drown—himself.
"Oh, such luck!" shouted Ned. "Too many fellows around here——"