The Girl Scouts at Camp Comalong Part 22

"I am going to start again early in the morning," declared Grace. "I saw a sun dial in a Chicago park, it was made of those queer tiny cabbage flowers, the kind they say keeps the house from getting on fire, and I remember how effective it was."

"Did they use them to keep the park from getting on fire?" taunted Cleo. But Grace was making sure that nothing unforeseen would happen to the pegs left over from the hours already "pegged in."

"Won't have to wind it----" she told the others.

"But I should hate to have to catch the Black Hawk boat by its silent system," confessed Julia.

CHAPTER XVI

A DARING INTRUDER

Summer was at its height now, and so popular had the camp idea become that friend after friend just called, or paid visits to the Bobolinks, who in turn were as generous with entertaining as their limited quarters permitted.

Almost every pleasant evening was spent around the campfire, this entertainment never seeming to lose its fascination. Often the resources of Miss Mackin and her friends from Camp Sub Norm, the new camp erected after the storm's devastation, were put to the test for a new story; but the fire kindled enthusiasm, and the glow inspired fancy, so that rarely was an evening closed, and seldom did the embers fall upon an empty hour, or a tale lacking thrill.

The sun dial was now "working," although the sun could not be depended upon always, but it looked picturesque, and if nothing else it served to keep up the girls' sense of observation until not a few even claimed to be able to foretell showers by it, although there was no barometric attachment to the simple, primitive device.

Hikes were becoming more popular as the season advanced, and it was on a glorious August day, when the sky was dyed a deep blue and the sun was registering every hour accurately on the garden clock, that Miss Mackin proposed a long hike with the noon meal in the woods.

"Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and hike, hike, hike," sang the girls as they prepared their lunches.

But the trouble seemed to be not everyone of them had a "Kit bag" nor even a pretty good imitation of one. But Corene came to the rescue with good stout wrapping paper, which she had providentially tucked away in a dry box.

"I'll glue you up some war-time bags," she offered, "if you make the sandwiches. I know exactly how to cut the bags, and they'll dry in the sun as quickly as you have the grub ready."

So while the others prepared "eats," Corene and Cleo "did the bags,"

neat little kits they turned out, too, with a good, stout handle of strong twine that might easily be slipped on to a strap and carried knapsack fas.h.i.+on.

"The real joy of it is," whispered Louise, "we are going over the hills where the danger signs grow. Perhaps we'll find the cave, or be held up by bandits, or something thrilling like that."

"Lovely!" exclaimed Julia. "But do let us keep close enough together to go in pairs, at any rate. I should hate to have to do both the cooking and serving for bandits. It's quite bad enough here with the serving taken off my hands."

"All right, Jule. Depend upon it, we'll stick around you," declared Grace. "We don't want to lose our own fireman right in the height of the season."

Miss Mackin was smiling good naturedly. Her hike preparations were complete and she sat out in the fresh, early morning, watching her young charges flutter around like little brown beetles, always in one another's way, yet never seeming to interfere, as they made their sandwiches, divided the hard tack, squeezed out lemons and bottled the juice; for the hike was to be a real picnic with all the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs.

"I do hope, girls," said the director, as they were finally ready to start, "that you are not going gunning for some big, exciting adventure. You see, I know a little about your exploits of previous summers" (she winked knowingly and they wondered how she knew), "and I have such a lovely, lady-like report to turn in," again that explanatory chuckle, "that it would be really cruel to spoil it now."

"Don't you like adventures?" asked Helen, innocently.

"Love them. But there are so many brands on the market, and we don't, any of us, care for the cheap, trashy kind."

The Scouts all agreed on this, and when Camp Comalong was securely "put away for the day" they started off with a song that included a little good-bye to the flag that was to act sentinel during their absence.

"Do you think, by any chance, we might get Peg to come along?" Grace asked Cleo.

"We pa.s.s by her cottage, we can give a whoo-hoo. It won't do any harm to ask her."

"We can say we need a guide. I've heard folks say she has guided parties through the mountains. That's one reason they call her 'Peg of Tamarack Hills,' I believe," said Grace.

They were nearing the turn that wound past the log cabin.

"Are those tamarack trees, Mackey?" Louise asked. She was pointing to the giant green "Christmas trees" that stood in a group near a little settling of water, scarcely large enough to be called a pond but something more sizable than a basin pool.

"Yes, that's the tamarack," said the director. "See how it runs to a perfect pyramid, and not like the other greens of that character, this one does lose its green in winter."

"Sort of molts, I guess," said Cleo, "for those branches are covered with green pin feathers."

They stopped for a few minutes to study this tree of the larch family.

It would add to their nature knowledge and give at least one item of value to their picnic hike.

"Isn't it very straight and tall?" observed Isabel. This feature was so obvious the others had not mentioned it.

"Yes, that's why they make the telephone poles of it, although, I believe, it is not so durable as the tall cedars," explained Miss Mackin.

"The little tuffs are just like rosettes," commented Julia. She was trying to reach the lowest branch with a long stick.

"Like pom-poms, I think," added Grace, who was barely looking at the big trees but kept searching past them, to the low log cabin that seemed now like a bird house under the trees, and against the big hills.

Miss Mackin described to the girls the blossom of these trees, told them of the "rosey plummets that shade from pink to purple," and soon exhausted her personal knowledge to supply their interest; then they journeyed forth again on the next "leg of their hike."

Grace and Cleo tarried behind the others. They were still on the lookout for Peg.

Giving the familiar woods call they waited a few minutes but received no answer.

"There's s.h.a.g," said Cleo, "and he's running around as if someone were talking to him. See, there's a light dress moving behind the honeysuckle arbor."

"It can't be Peg. I've never seen her wear a white skirt," replied Grace. They could easily see the movement of white between the green vined lattice. "And it can't be Aunt Carrie--she wouldn't wear white either."

"Just let's go up the walk and see," suggested Cleo daringly. "Someone might be prowling around."

It was only a few steps out of their way, and wild flowers always offered an excuse for leaving the path, so Grace and Cleo had no reason to hesitate.

s.h.a.g raced out to meet them as they entered the grounds, but the figure in white darted farther into the heavy shrubbery.

"That you, Peg?" called Cleo.

No answer.

"Come on," whispered Grace, "let's go in farther."

With s.h.a.g close to their heels they followed the wild-grown path, and presently came up to the end of it.

"Buzz!" whispered Cleo; for the white skirted one was now forced out of the shrubbery and stood facing the girls who had followed her up.