Ethel, "you come right
back to us. Don't you stay if you don't like it."

"Oh, Uncle John, how could I get homesick with Kate?" she replied; "but
I shall miss you awfully."

The whistle blew and away they went. It was a pretty sail and the girls
were in a happy frame of mind. Nora Casey looked like one immense
freckle. She was in high spirits and now and then relapsed into a jolly
brogue caught from her parents, for Nora was born in America.

"Faith and it's sailing that I enjoy," she said to Ethel, coming up the
stairway from the deck below. "I'm afther taking some pictures of the
river for our Count book." Then catching herself she talked perfectly
correct without the slightest trace.

They watched the banks on either side, dotted now and then by pretty
houses and thriving fields of buckwheat and clover.

Patty Sands sat by Ethel. They were very congenial. The rest of the
girls chattered together. Mattie Hastings sat beside Kate Hollister and
regarded her with adoring looks. Nora chatted excitedly; once in a while
Kate would check her exuberance of spirits, as her voice could be heard
by people on the shore. Said Kate:

"Girls, there are several beautiful legends connected with this river. I
read a new one the other day. At our first Camp Fire I'll relate it. We
can copy it in our book under our totem. Suppose each of you girls write
an original legend and read it aloud some rainy night."

"Good for Miss Hollister!" cried Honora. "We will."

So they promised.

Soon the journey came to an end. A four-seated buckboard stage had been
engaged by Uncle John to meet the party and carry them up the steep hill
into camp.

"Oh, isn't this jolly?" said Ethel enthusiastically. "What lovely
woods!"

And indeed they looked like a picture with the June sunshine every now
and then bursting through the trees. The road was narrow but it was a
good road for walking. The old buckboard creaked and groaned with its
load of eight girls, their Guardian, and the driver. Every once in a
while the horses would stop and the driver dismount and with his
handkerchief wipe off the white sweat that looked like soapsuds.

"He's a kind man," said Kate.

Then when his handkerchief was too wet to use he would pick up handfuls
of grass to use for their comfort, after which he would get up on the
seat and drive them again, but he must have stopped ten times before
reaching the clearing where the Camp was to be.

"Oh, look!" cried Patty.