“We do,” agreed Katherine laughingly.

That evening when all the campers were gathered around the fire in the bungalow, listening to Dr. Grayson reading “The Crock of Gold” to the pattering accompaniment of the raindrops on the roof, Miss Judy went into the camp office to answer the telephone, and came out with a look of half-humorous exasperation on her face.

“What is it?” asked Dr. Grayson, pausing in his reading.

“It’s Cousin Monty,” announced Miss Judy.  He’s at Emmet’s Landing, two stops down the river.  He decided to come to camp a day earlier than he had written.  He got off the boat at Emmet’s Landing to sketch an ‘exquisite’ bit of scenery that he spied there.  Now he’s marooned at Emmet’s Landing and can’t get a boat to bring him to camp.  He decided to stay there all night, and found a room, but the bed didn’t look comfortable.  He wants us to come and get him.”

“At this time of night!” Dr. Grayson exclaimed involuntarily.  He recovered himself instantly.  “Ah yes, certainly, of course.  I’ll go and get him.  Tell him I’ll come for him.”

“But it’s raining pitchforks,” demurred Miss Judy.

“Ah well, never mind, I’ll go anyhow,” said her father composedly.

“I’ll go with you,” declared Miss Judy firmly.  “I’ll run the launch.”  As she passed by Katherine on her way out of the bungalow she flashed her a meaning look, which Katherine answered with a sympathetic grimace.

In the morning when camp assembled for breakfast there was Cousin Egmont sitting beside Dr. Grayson at the table, notebook in hand, looking about him in a loftily curious way.  He was a small, slightly built youth, sallow of complexion and insignificant of feature, with pale hair brushed up into an exaggerated pompadour, and a neat little moustache.  In contrast to Dr. Grayson’s heroic proportions he looked like a Vest Pocket Edition alongside of an Unabridged.

“Nice little camp you have here, Uncle, very,” he drawled, peering languidly through his huge spectacles at the shining river and the far off rolling hills beyond.  “Nothing like the camps I’ve seen in Switzerland, though.  For real camps you want to go to Switzerland, Uncle.  A chap I know goes there every summer.  Of course, for a girl’s camp this does very well, very.  Pretty fair looking lot of girls you have, Uncle.  All from picked families, eh?  Require references and all that sort of thing?”

Dr. Grayson made a deprecatory gesture with his hand and looked uneasily around the table, to see if Egmont’s remarks were being overheard.  But Mrs. Grayson sat on the other side of Egmont, and the seat next to the Doctor was vacant, so there was really no one within hearing distance except the Lone Wolf, who sat opposite to Mrs. Grayson, and she was deeply engrossed in conversation with the girl on the other side of her.

Monty prattled on.  “You see, Uncle, I wouldn’t have come up here to observe if I thought they were not from the best families.  Anybody I’d care to write about—­you understand, Uncle.”