fool you, Ferdie," said Wyn, laughing. "Just
you watch us. _All_ girls aren't in a hurry to grow up and ape
their mothers and older sisters. We're going in for athletics and the
'simple life' strongly; aren't we, girls?"

Her fellow club members agreed in a hearty chorus. "Besides," added
Bess, "we can have all the fun the other kind of girls have as well as
our own kind. We can dance, and go to parties, and wear pretty frocks
for _part_ of the time."

"What did I tell you?" demanded Ferd, grinning.

"Never mind, Ferd, never mind," said Dave, softly. "We'll be a bit that
way ourselves before the winter's over. You know, Ferd, that your folks
will insist on your keeping your hair cut and your finger-nails
manicured."

"And of course I'll have a blister on my heel from wearing dancing pumps
before the season is over," groaned Tubby. "Oh, well! it's not
altogether our fault that we grow up so fast. Our folks make us," and he
groaned again, for dancing school was one of the fat youth's pet
aversions.

"That is what youth is for," advised Mrs. Havel, who overheard all this.
"It is a preparation for manhood and womanhood."

"Dear me! Dear me! let's forget it," cried Dave. "This is no time for
feeling solemn. Thank goodness, for two solid months we have forgotten
all about the 'duty we owe to posterity,' as the professor expresses it.
Maybe next year we can forget it again in our camps upon the shores of
Lake Honotonka."

"Well expressed, little boy--well expressed," agreed Wynifred, tweaking
one of Dave's curls that would _not_ lie down, no matter what he
did to them. "My! but we _have_ grown serious. This is no way to
end our camping days, girls. Come! another lively song----"

The motor boat drifted in to the boathouse landing to the lilt of a
familiar rowing song. Wyn's camping days were over; the outing of the
Go-Ahead Club was at an end.

THE END

SOMETHING ABOUT

AMY BELL MARLOWE

AND HER BOOKS FOR GIRLS

In these days, when the printing presses are turning out so many books
for girls that are good, bad and indifferent, it is refreshing to come
upon the works of such a gifted authoress as Miss Amy Bell Marlowe, who
is now under contract to write exclusively for Messrs. Grosset & Dunlap.

In many ways Miss Marlowe's books may be compared with those of Miss
Alcott and Mrs. Meade, but all are thoroughly modern and wholly American
in scene and action. Her plots, while never improbable, are exceeding