"Was it in their own handwriting?"
"What do you mean?" Pee-wee demanded disgustedly. "How can a troop have a handwriting?"
"They must be very ignorant," Roy said. "Can you send an animal by mail?"
"Sure you can't!" Pee-wee shouted.
"That's where you're wrong," said Roy. "I got a letter with a seal on it."
"Can you unscramble eggs?" Pee-wee demanded.
"There you go, talking about eats again. Can't you wait two hours?"
There was nothing to do but wait, and watch the drops as they pattered down on the lake.
"This is the longest rain in history except the reign of Queen Elizabeth," Roy said. "If I ever meet Saint Swithin——"
This sort of talk was a sample of life at Temple Camp for seven days past. Those who were not given to jollying and banter had fallen back on checkers and dominos and other wild sports. A few of the more adventurous and reckless made birchbark ornaments, while those who were in utter despair for something to do wrote letters home.