Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.”
Mary’s breath was a “noiseless noise,” too; it hardly stirred the folds of her buff print dress; it was the very “sigh” of “silence,” and Preston thought he should tell her so, and praise her when they got home; but it happened that he forgot it.
The trout came, as they usually did when he called for them; but it must be confessed that they were never eaten. Lucy put them in the spider, Sadie salted, Fanny turned, and finally Blanche Jones burned them. The “morning meal” was as “simple” as need be, with cold bread and butter, cold tongue, and muddy, creamless coffee, the milk having turned sour. In the midst of their repast, the young campers were surprised by a loud peal of the door-bell.
CHAPTER VII.
CAMP COMFORT.
“Buttons,” said Lucy to her cousin Preston, “you’ll have to go to the door.”
“Yes,” said Sadie, “as Buttons is the only servant we keep, he must answer the bell.”
Preston obeyed, laughing. A droll little image of dirt and rags stood at the door, holding a ten-quart tin pail.
“Good morning,” said Preston, surprised at the shrewd, unchildlike expression of her face, for she was perhaps twelve years old and looked forty. The little girl seemed equally surprised. “What’s them things?” said she, pointing to Preston’s spectacles. “What do you wear ’em for?”