“It’s hard to realize that he’s the scandalous John Levine,” she said.  “He’s simply charming!”

Lydia flared, flushed and subsided.  Never again, she realized, could she contradict aspersions cast on Levine’s character.  And yet, how like a bad dream the episode of last night seemed.  If only it had been a dream!

“You’re not resentful still about my criticism of your slang using, are you, Lydia?” asked Miss Towne, anxiously.

“No,” muttered Lydia, “I deserved it.”

Miss Towne’s face cleared.  “Well, then, tell me all about your friend.  He interests me.”

Nothing could have soothed Lydia more in her half guilty feeling of having spied unfairly on John than to spend the rest of the afternoon in a history of his relationship to her family.

Side by side in the hammock the two lay during the rest of the sunny summer afternoon, gazing up into the pines and talking of the curious personality that was making history for Lake City.  In after years, whenever she thought of Levine, Miss Towne’s memory brought her two pictures—­one of the tall, sardonic faced man clasping the golden haired girl in his arms.  The other was of pine boughs, murmuring sadly and persistently above the gentle flow of Lydia’s young voice.

That night the young people sat alone around the camp fire.  The chaperone complained of a headache and went to bed soon after supper.  When she had disappeared, and the tent flap had dropped behind her, Gustus chanted softly,

  “School’s closed! 
  Teacher’s dead! 
      Hooray!”

and deliberately put his arm about Margery and kissed her.  Margery gave a little shriek but blushed and looked pleased and Gustus settled down with his head in her lap.  Margery sat looking into the fire, and smoothing Gustus’ hair.

Olga, who was sitting with Charlie on the opposite side of the blaze, her back against a log, arranged her skirts.  “Come on, Charlie,” she said, with a glance at Kent.  And Charlie ensconced himself comfortably with his head on Olga’s knee.

Lydia, who was sitting with Kent, eyed this grouping with interest, and mingled with a little sense of shock and disapproval was just the least little feeling of regret that the boys didn’t feel “crazy” about her.  She was sitting bolt upright, with her cheeks flaming a little when she felt Kent’s arm stealing round her.  She did not resist when he pulled her softly against him.  She was utterly surprised at the pleasurable sensation she experienced at having Kent’s arm about her.  The others were singing but for once Lydia’s throaty contralto did not join in.

So this was spooning!  Of course, she wouldn’t let anybody but Kent do this.  And what did it amount to, anyhow!  If this was all there was to spooning, why did people think it was wrong?

Under cover of the singing, Kent giving her a little squeeze said, “Didn’t think you were such a flirt, Lydia!  Let me put my head in your lap, will you?”