By the second day the platform was done, and proved to balance very well on the water, even with all the girls on it. Next Marie and her helpers went to making tents, for their own soldier tents were too unromantically shaped to be any good on a float. They wanted real Indian wigwams, or as near to them as they could get.
Marie bought unbleached muslin, and they dyed it the correct dark brown. They made three wigwams of this, the story-book-picture kind, with the crossed poles tied at the top, for a foundation. In each tent a squaw was to sit—or rather, at its door, for the tepees, in order to fit on the limited space of the float, had to be made rather small, and would have been a tight fit for even the smallest squaw. Some of the girls were to dress as chiefs, and were working hard on war-bonnets and leggings. Even Puppums was to grace the occasion, guarding a pappoose—little Lilian Maynard, the smallest Blue Bird. There was some idea of including Hike the Camp Cat, now a cheerful and opulent-looking kitten, but it was thought better of, because he yowled so when they rehearsed him.
When the tents and costumes were done, the brushwood heaps stacked, the floor covered with twigs and moss, the girls tried grouping themselves as they were to appear on the final night. And it proved that there was not room on the platform for three tents and nineteen girls, even if seven were small.
Marie stepped off and looked it over.
“There are just two girls too many,” she said. “Three, if I were on board. I’ll eliminate Marie Hunter to begin with. I’m going to decorate my own canoe. You’d better draw lots for the other two to stay out.”
Everyone on the float looked at everyone else. Nobody wanted to drop out, but nobody felt like being selfish.
“I’ll drop out!” said the whole of Camp Karonya in chorus, after a minute’s dead silence.
“I’ll go in your canoe, Marie—have you forgotten?” asked Edith. “The plans you made included me.”
“So they did,” said Marie in a relieved voice. “Well, perhaps the rest could crowd a little closer.”
“I’m afraid not, and be sure that nobody’d tip into the water,” vetoed Mrs. Bryan. “I’m the one to stay ashore, girls. I’ll gaze at you with fond proprietorship while you get first prize.”