Then, almost before they realized it, the morning of departure had come. The radio set had been dismantled skilfully by Jessie and Amy and was ready for its forty-odd mile trip up into the mountains.
Besides the radio apparatus, the girls carried very little luggage. Since they were to make the journey in Miss Alling’s touring car—with the exception of the three boys, who were to “tag along after them” in Darry’s roadster—it would be necessary to travel as light as possible.
“Anyway,” Amy had remarked philosophically, “we’ll practically live in our outing suits during the two weeks and we’ll need very little else in the way of clothing.”
“Except our bathing suits,” Jessie had laughingly reminded her. “Burd says that the lodge is right on the shore of Lake Towako, you know, and there ought to be plenty of chances for fine swimming.”
The morning of departure dawned gloriously bright. Jessie, waiting with her mother on the porch, heard the roar of an exhaust, and the next moment saw Darry’s black roadster leave the garage on the Drew place and back down the drive into the broad, shaded boulevard.
This was about ten o’clock. Mr. Norwood, who was taking a half-holiday, came out, morning paper in hand, to say good-bye to his daughter.
“Be a good girl and an honor to the Norwood name,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye, and Jessie flung her arms about his neck and gave him a bear-hug.
“You know I always am, Daddy Norwood,” she cried gayly. “Good-bye, Momsey dearest. Write to me, won’t you? I only wish you were coming too.” She was off down the walk, waving her hand gayly to Darry and Amy, who were already “honking” for her before the gate.
“Here come Burd and Aunt Emma now,” Amy called out to her, pointing down the road.
Miss Alling was driving at a merry pace, Burd lounging in the seat beside her with hands folded conspicuously on his chest. In a moment the big car drew up beside the little roadster.