"How old is your—Gracie?"
"Thirteen."
"That makes a diff'rence."
"Oh, she doesn't get it all her own way," laughed Gordon. "I hide her chocolates. That makes her mad. She's a passion for candy. But the old dad is a bully feller. He's all sorts of a sportsman, and he guesses that the best day in his life will be the one in which he finds I'm not a fool."
Hazel gurgled merrily.
"That'll come along soon."
Gordon nodded.
"Gee! It makes me laugh to think of it. But say," he went on, a moment later, "I'm glad you don't think me a fool. I'm just longing for——" But he broke off and abruptly rose from the ground. Their meal was finished. "Do we wash things or do we just pack 'em up?"
"Oh, we'll pack 'em," said Hazel, rising hastily. A sort of nervous hurry was in her movement. "We won't rob the choreman and Hip-Lee of their rights. Say, you bring up the horses, and I'll pack. We can water them at the lake as we pass out—the horses, I mean."
A few minutes later Gordon returned with the horses.