Every evening is spent in cleaning guns, rummaging for unprepossessing treasures of shooting and fishing equipment.  The women also give thought to their wardrobes—­consisting chiefly in a process of elimination.  Nothing perishable, nothing requiring a maid’s help to get into, or to take care of.  Golf clothes are first choice, and any other old country clothes, skirts and sweaters, and lots of plain shirt waists to go under the sweaters.  An old polo coat and a mackintosh is chosen by each.  And for evenings something “comfortable” and “easy to put on” in the way of a house gown or ordinary summer “day dress.”  One or two decide to take tea gowns in dark color and plainest variety.

All the women who sew or knit take something to “work on” in unoccupied moments, such as the hours of sitting silent in a canoe while husbands fish.

Finally the day arrives.  Every one meets at the railroad station.  They are all as smart looking as can be, there is no sign of “rough” clothes anywhere, though nothing in the least like a jewel case or parasol is to be seen.  At the end of somewhere between eight and eighteen hours, they arrive at a shed which sits at the edge of the single track and is labelled Dustville Junction, and hurrying down the narrow platform is their host.  Except that his face is clean shaven and his manners perfect, he might be taken for a tramp.  Three far from smart looking teams—­two buckboards and an express wagon—­are standing near by.  Kindhart welcomes everyone with enthusiasm—­except the now emerging Ernest.  For once Kindhart is nonplussed and he says to Worldly:  “This isn’t Newport, you know—­of course we can give him a bed somewhere, but this is really no place for Ernest and there’s nothing for him to do!”

Worldly, for the moment at a loss, explains lamely:  “I thought he might be useful—­if you could find some corner for him to-night, then we can see—­that’s all right, isn’t it?”

Kindhart as host can’t say anything further except to agree.  Everyone is bundled into the buckboards (except Ernest who goes on top of the luggage in the express wagon), and a “corduroy” drive of six or eight miles begins.

=WHAT THE CAMP IS LIKE=

Summit Camp is a collection of wooden shacks like a group of packing cases dumped in a clearing among the pine trees at the edge of a mountain lake.  Those who have never been there before feel some misgivings, those who have been there before remember with surprise that they had liked the place!  The men alone are filled with enthusiasm.  The only person who is thoroughly apprehensive of the immediate future is Ernest.

In front of the largest of the shacks, Mrs. Kindhart, surrounded by dogs and children, waves and hurries forward, beaming.  Her enthusiasm is contagious, the children look blooming.  That the “hardship” is not hurting them, is evident!  And when the guests have seen the inside of the camps most of them are actually as pleased as they look.  The biggest “shack” is a living-room, the one nearest is the dining camp, four or five smaller ones are sleeping camps for guests and another is the Kindharts’ own.