Lynne took no notice of Judy’s abstraction and lovingly described the camp site, an immense corral that belonged to a farmer who leased it to her for the summer. “There are cows and a few horses who graze at a comfortable distance. The children love the animals.”
Judy was now listening, hanging on every word.
“There are two ponds with ducks and every morning there is a regular ceremony of feeding them with chunks of bread donated by the local bakery. On the sandy beach of the pond the children have their sings, which they grandly call concerts. When the singing is over, Claire tells them a story and encourages them to act it out.”
“That must be fun,” Judy said.
“Twice a week I take a group of the children riding. They love the stables and the horses and the ride over the dirt road into the open country. While I’m away, Claire is in charge.”
“How long are you gone from camp?” Judy asked worriedly. The words “in charge” had serious overtones.
“Just a little over an hour. There’s a shed with tables and benches that we use as an art room, and a hayloft houses our much overworked phonograph and the costumes for our playlets.”
“It sounds like a very busy morning,” Judy said, a little dubious of her ability to carry on such a varied program.
“Not really,” Lynne said. “At twelve-thirty we are all ravenously hungry and we spend the lunch period in our grove of aspen trees. It’s a cool and restful spot, a lovely end to our morning. At one o’clock we drive the children back to their homes.”
“It sounds wonderful,” Judy said breathlessly. “I think I would like to try it.”