A party of other campers came trooping along the shady roadway.  Cologne knew them, and hailed them pleasantly.

“They are our neighbors,” she said, “and they have the nicest brothers!  I just want you to meet Teddy—­he is too funny!”

“Don’t you think that variety would suit Tavia better than me?” asked Dorothy.  “I thought you always picked out the real good kind for me, the sort that wear collars all summer,” and Dorothy laughed at the idea, for the day was warm, and the thought of a stiff collar was rather incongruous.

“Well, he must be nice, at any rate,” replied Cologne, as they turned into a lane, a short cut over the woodland.  “But, say, Dorothy, do you know I believe that fellow—­the one who rode the farmer’s horse—­is out this way?  I saw some one who had that same queer gait, and who wore his hat on the side of his head, and I am almost sure it was he.  I was not near enough to see his face, but there is something so characteristic about his swing, I am sure I could not be mistaken.  Did Tavia tell you anything about the letter?”

“No,” replied Dorothy slowly, “but I do hope he is not going to spoil our camping days.  I should never feel safe with him loitering about the woods.  What could fetch him away out here?”

“Well, this is a great rendezvous for swell invalids and nature lovers,” Cologne told her, “and of course, it may be a mere coincidence.  I even might be mistaken.”

“Let us hope you are,” said Dorothy fervently.  “I would not mind so much—­but Tavia—­Oh well, you know how queer she is.”

“Yes, indeed I do, but never mind, Doro, we are going to have the time of our lives this summer, and we must not go into the missionary business for it’s awfully wearing.”

“It’s quite a long drive out here, isn’t it?  I shouldn’t think you would often take it after dark?”

“Oh, we never do, unless we have a whole party and go merry-making.  But this evening I fear we will have to go for Tavia.  Isn’t it too provoking?  It spoils my plans for to-night.”

“I wonder what ever could have kept her?  She had five minutes, and I warned her.”

“Likely she saw something interesting, and determined to make those five minutes grow into ten.  She has no respect for time, I know that, and as for the railroads, why it would tickle her to miss a train and make trouble for the next one.”

“Oh, there are the tents!  I see the white specks over that way.  And there is the little lake!” exclaimed Dorothy.

“Yes, we are getting there.  Come on, hurry up Jeff” (this to the horse), “we must get home by five and we have only three minutes.  I promised mother to be back at five, and punctuality is an unbreakable rule of our camp.  We made it so because we have always found that tardiness is the ruination of all good summers; even camp life must have rules,” and Cologne urged the steed to a little faster gait.