“Yes, it will be all right for you to go in your bloomers,” said Mrs. Grayson, in answer to Agony’s question on the subject.  “Our girls always wear them to the villages about here; the people are accustomed to seeing them.  That green bloomer suit of yours is very pretty, Agony,” she added, “even prettier than our regulation blue ones.”

“I spilled syrup on my regular blue ones,” replied Agony, “and had to wash them out this morning; that’s why I’m wearing these green ones.  Do you mind if I break up the camp color scheme for one day?”

“Not at all, under the circumstances,” replied Mrs. Grayson, with a smile.  “If it’s going to be a choice of green bloomers or none at all—­” She waved the laughing girls away and returned to the knotty problem in accounts she had been working on when interrupted.

“Isn’t she lovely?” exclaimed Mary enthusiastically, as they came out of the bungalow and walked along the Alley path toward Gitchee-Gummee to get Agony’s hat.  “She has such a way of trusting us girls that we just couldn’t disappoint her.”

“She is lovely,” echoed Agony, as they went up the steps of Gitchee-Gummee.

“I think I’ll leave a note for the girls telling them I won’t be back at supper time,” said Agony, hastily pulling out her tablet.  “They will be wondering what has become of me.”

It gave her no small thrill of pleasure to write that note and tuck it under Hinpoha’s hairbrush on the table:  “Gone on a long hike with Mary Sylvester; won’t be back until bed time.”  How delightfully important and prominent that sounded!  The others admired Mary, too, but none of them had been invited to go on a long hike with her.  She, Agony, was being drawn into that intimate inner circle of the Alley dwellers to which she had hitherto aspired in vain.

They were soon across the river, with the boat fastened in the bushes, and, leaving the shore, struck straight into the woods, following a path that curved and twisted, but carried them ever toward the north, in the direction where Atlantis lay.  The way was cool and shady, the whiff of the pines invigorating, and the distance uncoiled rapidly beneath the feet of the two girls as they fared on with vigorous, springy footsteps along the pleasant way.  Ferns and wild flowers bordered the path; there were brilliant cardinal flowers, pale forget-me-nots, slender blossomed blue vervain, cheerful red lilies.  In places where the woods were so thick that the sun never penetrated, great logs lay about completely covered with moss, looking like sofas upholstered in green, while the round stones scattered about everywhere looked like hassocks and footstools which belonged to the same set as the green sofas.

Once Mary stopped and crushed something under her foot, something white that grew up beside the path.

“What was that?” asked Agony curiously.

“Deadly amanita,” replied Mary.  “It’s a toadstool—­a poisonous one.”