-Emma looked.

"It's our Camp," Janet explained in her thin high voice. "There's the
lake. And that's our dining hall. And there, among the trees, is the
Penguin Circle, where we sleep."

Emma said nothing. It was as though, at the wave of a wicked wand,
Roxy's and all its ushers had been bewitched into ruins and rags. And
it was more than Emma, at that moment, could bear. Her sharp, sallow
little face puckered. To the Penguins' consternation, she burst into a
storm of tears.

Before supper Clara VanSittart summoned the Penguins to a hasty
powwow. They drew Prissy into it, the situation being beyond them.

"P'raps it was the trees upset her," Janet hazarded. "You know, she's
never seen any."

The twins shook their heads. "It wasn't the trees. When we showed her
our tent, she said her uncle slept in a place like that."

"What's her uncle?" the Penguins demanded indignantly.

"He's a W.P.A. worker," the twins said in unison, "and he's helping
build a post office somewhere. She said there weren't any houses, so
they had to live in tents."

Clara VanSittart drew a shocked breath. The truth was obvious. To Emma
Binns their Camp was just a camp. When she heard that she'd have to
make her bed, light fires, and wash dishes, she'd write home. She'd
tell her people--probably dreadful people--that that was how the
VanSittarts lived.

Clara took a firm lead. She proposed at once that Emma Binns should
not make beds. When the time came, she was to be led away to some
remote spot while the Penguins made hers and did her share of the
chores. Clara explained that bed making was the sort of thing that
poor Emma probably had to do at home. It wasn't a treat. And maybe she
was underfed. She didn't look very strong. It was their duty,
belonging as they did to the Privileged Classes, to make Sacrifices.

It was a simple supper, nourishing but Spartan. When Pip-Emma, seated
at the Penguin table, thought of the Pineapple Temptation Ma might be
eating at that very moment, her gloom deepened. But she wasn't going
to cry again. Not if she had to bite her tongue out. She'd never cried
like that before in her life.

The Penguins suddenly burst into song:

"We are the happy Penguins--
We play without a care;
We don't worry who wins the game,
So long as we play fair!"

At that moment every Penguin was stricken by the same thought. The
memory of their unpaid gambling debts rose in their midst like a
reproachful spec