“I can hardly believe it. The time has gone quickly and still it seems somehow as though we had been living in this camp for ages. I am afraid it will go hard with the poor little mother.”
“Cousin Lizzie stood it and she is years and years older than mother,” and Helen looked critically at her dainty nose and rubbed a little powder on it.
“Yes, I know, but Cousin Lizzie is made of sterner stuff than poor little mumsy. I think that mother is the kind of woman that men would fight to protect but when all is told that Cousin Lizzie is the kind who would go out and help fight if need be. I can fancy her loading rifles and handing them to the men——”
“So can I,” laughed Helen, “and saying as she loaded: ‘To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven; a time to kill and a time to heal.’”
“I am ashamed of myself—but somehow I am glad Cousin Lizzie did not think it was her duty to defer her going until mother and father got here. She has been splendid and too good to us for anything, but it is a kind of relief for her to be out of the cabin and away before they come,” said Douglas as she completed her rapid dressing by pulling an old khaki hat down over her rather refractory, if very lovely Titian hair.
“I know just what you mean. I hoped all the time she would realize that the morning train was much the better one for her to get off on, and then she could reach the springs in time for an afternoon game. It was a feeling I had that she might be too critical of poor little mumsy. You see we don’t know just how camp life is going to appeal to mumsy,” said Helen.
“Exactly! It may take her a while to get used to it,” and Douglas let a little sigh escape her. “I wish they could have arrived on any other day than Friday. Our week-ends in August have been so full. I fancy many of the week-enders will want to stay on for holidays, too.”
“If it is only not too much for father. Dr. Wright thinks it won’t be. He says noise in the open air is so different from housed noises for nervous persons.”
A honk from the faithful old mountain goat, a name they had given the ancient Ford that Bill Tinsley had contributed to the camp’s use, warned them it was time to start for the station. One more dab of powder on Helen’s nose completed her toilet and calling to Nan and Lucy to pile in, they started their ever perilous descent of the mountain to Greendale.
Bobby, who had been captured by a determined Susan and washed and dressed in honor of his returning parents, was occupying the seat of state in Josh’s cart, clean but indignant at the outrage committed.