“Oh, yes, it was comical to see him look the baby over, and then declare that there was nothing for him to do but to look wise, as Dr. Homer had done all there was to be done. What a chummy confab they had too, after it was all over! He was so pleased to meet Dr. Homer, he said, for he had heard Dr. Morrow speak of him.”
“Well, one thing’s settled, Miss Blue Robin,” remarked Helen decidedly, “and that is that Miss Camphelia is not to have any more sweets. I half suspect that Carol tried to stuff her with a bite of green apple, for she looked frightened to death when she saw that she was ill. Dr. Homer said there had been too much mothering going on. I just knew it would come to this, the way—”
“Stop your scolding, Lady Fuss,” laughed Nathalie, “for it seems to me that I saw you trying to stuff the kiddie with a lollipop the other day. But, anyway, the rules have been posted, ‘No one to feed, or to handle Miss Camphelia without permission of the head nurse, Miss Ellen Carmichael!’ I’m dead for sleep, so good night!”
The camp presented an appearance of unusual activity, with flags and bunting rippling in the sunlit air, and girls, scouts, and village guests in a state of restless progression, for it was the Pioneer Sport Day. The girls were in a whirl as they flew hither and thither, seeing that everything was in readiness for the anticipated fun, the visitors curiously prying into the living arrangements of this girls’ camp, while the scouts impatiently tramped about, waiting for the sports to begin.
Ah, there was the bugle call, the signal for a rush down to the shores of the Lake to witness the aquatic feats of the young campers! “A ghostly dive,” read Fred Tyson slowly from an imposing little program, hand-printed in red, and tied to a birch-bark cover with sweet-grass. “I’d like to know—” but his query was cut short as the bugle again sounded to announce that the first race was to start.
Fred turned his eyes towards the pier and stared curiously at the little figure in a khaki suit with red tie and hat, standing so proudly erect on a small platform as the Pioneer announcer for the day. Could it be? Yes it was Miss Anita Van Vorst, with her knapsack so adroitly arranged that no one would have suspected she was the little humpback who had once only taken an outing when wheeled in a chair.
A sudden scurry from the boat-house of two ghostly figures, a quick rush up the plank leading to the barrel platform,—Peter’s diving-tower,—the spectral habiliments suddenly flung away to float with the tide, and two blue-suited forms had sped swiftly downward.
There was a splash, a shower of silvery spray, a few bubbles, and two heads were bobbing about like floating corks. The next minute Kitty and Edith were swimming swiftly back to the pier, Edith in the lead, and Kitty a close second amid the noisy hurrahs from their friends on the bank. Edith, of course, won the blue, and with a wave of her hand as an acknowledgment to the cheering audience darted quickly back to the boat-house.
A tennis match now followed, which proved to be Lillie and Jessie arrayed in tennis-suits seated in wooden tubs with tennis-rackets for paddles, paddling to the goal, an anchored raft some yards from shore. Lillie was the winner this time, and, amid a general laugh received her prize, a dime and pin, with radiant smiles from the bugler on the pier.