“What about the trunks?” asked the young woman.

“Fetch ’em to-morrow,” he answered tersely.

Tommy regarded the slender looking buck-board apprehensively.

“Buthter better walk,” she decided.  “The wagon won’t hold her.”

“Now, now, Tommy, do stop teasing Buster.  If the wagon goes down Margery will go down with it,” answered Harriet laughingly.

“And she will fall a great deal harder than will you,” added Miss Elting, at which there was a merry laugh.

It was late in the afternoon when they finally climbed into the buck-board which sagged in the middle until all the girls began to grow apprehensive.  They started away along a country road a gay party, indeed, but Harriet noted that horse and driver were not well matched.  The horse she could plainly see was young and fractious, and she wondered what the old man would do should the animal prove unmanageable.  Their driver, however, appeared to have perfect control over the animal, so Harriet dismissed the disturbing thought from her mind and prepared to enjoy the ride.

The drive to the camp was fully twenty miles.  Having come by train they had covered nearly twice the distance that would have been necessary had they driven direct from Meadow-Brook.  The fields through which they were driving were green, the air was fresh and fragrant after a shower that had fallen earlier in the day and the girls in the buck-board wagon were in high spirits.

“I’ll tell you what, girls,” cried Harriet after they had sung all the songs they knew and discussed the country through which they were passing until the latter subject had been worn out.  “I’ll tell you what we ought to have.”

“Ith it thomething nithe?” questioned Grace.

“It is a yell, Tommy.”

“A yell?  I can yell.”

“I don’t mean it in that way.  Something like a high school or a college yell.  We are the Meadow-Brook Girls, you know.  We have a name, now we must have a yell.”

“Oh, Mith Elting, give uth a yell, a loud one,” urged Tommy, her eyes sparkling.

Miss Elting smiled tolerantly.

“You had better arrange one to suit yourselves,” she answered.  “Harriet, you will have to provide the yell now that you have suggested it.”

Harriet already had a pencil in her hand.  She sat holding the pencil poised above the fly leaf of a book that she had brought along to read, but had not up to this moment, so much as opened.  Her brow was wrinkled in thought.  Tommy was regarding her keenly.

“Well, aren’t you going to yell!”

All at once Harriet’s face relaxed.  She began to write.  Margery craned her neck to see what was being written, but Harriet held the cover of the book in such a position that Buster could not see what was being jotted down.

“It isn’t polite to look over another person’s shoulder in that way,” reproved Hazel.

“Well, you wouldn’t exthpect Buthter to be polite when she ith away from home, would you?” demanded Grace.