Instantly all eyes were riveted in that direction as each girl vainly tried to decide whether the figure belonged to a man or a woman. “Oh, I know!” screamed the Sport frantically after a short stare opposite. “Girls, yes, it’s a Scout! See he has on a khaki suit, and his staff, oh, where do you suppose he could have come from!” she said, looking up at the girls with delighted inquiry in her sparkling eyes.
CHAPTER XXII—CAMP LAFF-A-LOT
“O fiddle!” exclaimed Lillie squelchingly. “You have got scouts on the brain! Where would a scout come from up here in these wilds?”
But Edith was not to be gainsaid and had flown post-haste up to the Morrows’ bungalow to reappear a few moments later with a field glass. Raising it she began to yell triumphantly, “There, girls—I’m right—it is a scout! a real scout!” In a moment she was surrounded by a bevy of girls, each one begging for the loan of the glasses, but Edith was whimsical, and refusing to comply handed the glasses to Helen, who, after a calm survey of the bank on the other side of the Lake, declared that Edith was right and that it was a scout.
“Oh, do you think—” exclaimed some one. But no one stopped to think, for at that moment the clear notes of the bugle announced supper, driving all thoughts of scouts from the heads of the famished girls as with a cheer of delight they made a swift rush for cup, plate, saucer, and headed for the dining-room.
It was a tired lot of girls who, with sharpened appetites but dismayed faces, gazed at the slim array of eatables that confronted them at this, their first camp meal. Nathalie made a wry face, but as she heard Helen’s reminder that every one was to be satisfied even if she ate tacks, she smiled in attempted contentment and started in on mush.
But tacks were not to be on the menu that night, for Peter suddenly appeared, and with his best bow presented a big platter of cold chicken with Mrs. Van Vorst’s compliments. Everything now went as merrily as a wedding feast. Really, it was surprising how that chicken lasted, for the girls had attacked it with grim determination. Nathalie half suspected that Peter had a secret supply hidden under the table, for every one had all she wanted and still there was more.
Supper was soon over and, then after each girl had washed her own table-ware and laid it in its place, they hied themselves down to the water’s edge. Here, in sweaters and caps—as the air was chilly—they listened to the crooning melodies of nature, and watched for life on the opposite shore—reminded again of that scout—and talked, well, just the things that a lot of happy girls would discuss with the prospect of three glorious weeks in the open before them.
A trill of song from a hermit thrush in the woods near-by stirred the hearts of the music-lovers and soon the campers were singing, “Suwanee River,” to Lillie’s thrumming accompaniment on the mandolin. Then came “Tenting on the Old Camp Ground,” “Oh, My Darling Clementine,” and a host of songs familiar and dear to the heart of youth.
As they ended the last line of “Bring Back My Bonnie to Me,” every one suddenly sat up and took notice, while an impetuous one called out, “Oh, what was that?”