"Oh, there are the tents! I see the white specks over that way. And there is the little lake!" exclaimed Dorothy.
"Yes, we are getting there. Come on, hurry up Jeff" (this to the horse), "we must get home by five and we have only three minutes. I promised mother to be back at five, and punctuality is an unbreakable rule of our camp. We made it so because we have always found that tardiness is the ruination of all good summers; even camp life must have rules," and Cologne urged the steed to a little faster gait.
"Is this your own horse?" asked Dorothy.
"No, but we have him for the summer. Mother insisted on us having a real old timer—safer, she thinks."
"And he knows all the roads, that's something," added Dorothy. "If we should get lost he could find our way home for us."
"Indeed, he could. I often give him the lines, and he goes along to the post office, and back again, without the slightest prompting. Here we are!"
Cologne drew up, not in front of a canvas tent, but beside a fine old barn.
"Is that the—tent—the camp?" asked Dorothy.
"Yes, but just wait until you see how we have it settled. There's mother," as Mrs. Markin appeared at the door and extended the most cordial welcome to Dorothy.
Swinging aside the great old-fashioned door, that opened in two parts, Cologne ushered Dorothy into the camp.