ried, and
camp-life continued in full swing. Mrs. Arnold, herself again after a
night's rest, took the morning drill, and led a ramble up the slope of
Glyder Garmon in the afternoon. She was the heart and soul of the
"stunt" that evening.

The girls, at any rate, were sorry to say good-bye to the lake on
Friday morning, whatever their elders might feel on the subject.

"I hope the Boy Scouts will have as ripping a time as we've had," was
the general verdict when, having left the camp in perfect order, the
procession set out to tramp down to Aberglyn.

"Barring total immersions in the lake, please," said Mr. Arnold, as he
returned the parting salute.

"But that was an opportunity," urged Ulyth. "I wish it had come my way.
Rona, Madge, and Marion will all get special bravery medals at next
quarterly meeting. I've no luck!"

CHAPTER XIV

Susannah Maude

The girls at The Woodlands, while they contributed to various charities,
had one special and particular object of interest. For several years
they had supported a little girl at an orphanage. She was called their
orphan, and twice a year they received accounts of her progress. They
sent her a Christmas present annually, and her neat little letter of
thanks was handed round for everybody to read. Poor Susannah Maude was
the daughter of very disreputable parents; she had been rescued from a
travelling caravan at the age of ten, and the authorities at the
Alexandra Home had done their best to obliterate her past life from her
memory. When she reached school-leaving age the question of her future
career loomed on the horizon. After considerable correspondence with the
matron, Miss Bowes had at length decided to have the girl at The
Woodlands, and try the experiment of training her as a kitchen-maid. So
in February Susannah Maude had arrived, small and undersized, with a
sharp little face and beady, black eyes, and a habit of sniffing as if
she had a perpetual cold.

"Not a bit like the blue-eyed, flaxen-haired orphan of fiction," decided
the girls, rather disappointed at the sight of their protegee.

Perhaps the cook was disappointed too. At any rate, many complaints of
smashed dishes, imperfect wiping, and inadequate sweeping of corners
reached Miss Bowes, who urged patience, harangued the culprit, and shook
her head, half laughing and half sighing, over the domestic
catastrophes. Though strictly confined to the kitchen regions, the
orphan took the deepest