“Oh! girls—girls—save a little breath or else you won’t have enough to last ten days!” called Mrs. Bland, with the authority of a chaperon, but her voice was not heard above the laughing and chattering of the other three. Such a time pumping up the air-beds, shaking blankets, unpacking satchels, arranging rugs and adjusting the other things in the ladies’ boudoir!
“Little Honey” (as Mrs. Bland’s little daughter had been nicknamed) was too engrossed trying to attire herself in new, blue overalls and a boy’s “really” shirt, to be interested in her surroundings. Tucking her braids under a big, straw hat, then thrusting her tiny fists deep into the spacious pockets, she cried gleefully,—“Well, Mother—Here’s Peter Pan.” Undaunted by the teasings and laughter of the other girls “Peter Pan” strode out of the tent to show herself to the “other boys.”
“Oh, you dogs! Charge! Lady! Jack Down! Charge, Gladstone! Didn’t you dogs ever see a boy before!” she cried amid frantic efforts to ward off the playful, eager animals. Just then she heard the rattle of wheels and ran to meet Mr. George who had driven down from Kalispell so that the horses and light wagon could be used in going to the good hunting fields each day.
“I’m ‘Peter Pan,’ and these pockets are so handy, and it is so much easier to climb that I guess I’ll just stay a boy,” she announced as she clambered into the seat beside Mr. George and reached for the reins.
Such a hungry, hearty “bunch” as sat down to dinner! How the aroma of the forest and the sweet, pine laden air whetted their appetites! “Peter Pan” could not get enough bread with its thick layer of apple-sauce. Joe, the cook, looked on with trepidation and wondered how long the larder would supply the demand.
“Never mind, Joe; don’t look so worried, we’ll have birds for supper,” said one of the men, as he arose from the table and began filling his hunting vest with shells. The snap of the barrel of a shotgun brought all three dogs up with a bound, so eager were they to feel the feathers of a retrieve. At sundown, when the tired men and still more weary dogs came dragging themselves back into camp, each bore evidence of his spoils. Through the carriers were hung the limp-stretched necks of a covey, while the several feathers still sticking to the dogs’ jaws, proved how faithfully and well they had done their work.
“Come with me Miss—Miss Flet—”
“Just call me Bess, it’s easier.”
“Miss Bess, if you will come with me we’ll give the dogs their supper,” said “Peter Pan,” as she led the way to where the dog biscuits had been placed. The dogs were all seated on their haunches waiting with hungry stomachs for their meal.
“These are dreadfully hard things to feed you, poor dogs,” said the tiny girl, as she tried in vain to break the biscuits. “I’m glad I’m not a dog, aren’t you, Miss Bess? But then, this kind of biscuit is good for a dog, ’cause they make him take aim better. Charge, Jack!” she cried to the hungry dog who could not wait for her discourse to be finished as he took his supper out of her hand and hurried away to find an undisturbed place to enjoy it.