“Pocohosette!” Una sprang erect and clapped her hands. “Why—why that’s where your horse-farm is, Daddy, and I’ve never—never been up there.”
“I only bought it and stocked it last year, down in the valley, the rich bottom lands at the foot, and put a ‘canny’ farmer in charge of my Morgan thoroughbreds.” Mr. Grosvenor laughed. “Well, go on with your program,” he looked at Pemrose.
“The mountain is very wild, so I understand—adventure by the yard!” beamed the blue-eyed girl. “A—a rocky Balcony, half way up, where you can stand on the lip of nothing and look down!”
“Oh-h! lovely,” shivered Una; for her such a breakneck blank had a fascination—fancy could always people it.
“The Guardian—Guardian of our Camp Fire Group hopes to rent some old farmhouse for a week or two.” Pemrose glanced at her letter.
“How about a month or two—eh?” The fluttering eyeglasses in Mr. Grosvenor’s hand reflected, now, the deepest twinkle in the eye above them—is there any role more gratifying to a “high-powered” humanitarian than to play fairy godfather to a group of girls? “If—if I might suggest,” he said slowly, “there’s a jolly nice sort of camp—pine-log cabin—there already, on the breezy sidehill, just a mile and a half above the horse-farm, which I used for hunting quarters, before I was seized with the passion for raising Morgan horses. If your Group will accept the loan of it ... there, I’ll write to the Guardian to-day.”
“Oh-h! Mr. Grosvenor....” The light fairly swooned in Pemrose’s blue eyes.
“And if this daughter of mine will only strike a bargain on the dot and dash ‘teaser’ just to show that she isn’t entirely such stuff as dreams are made of,” with a laugh, “I might have radio installed for you—so that you can, now and again, tune in on a concert, while camping on the edge of nothing.”
“Boys—boys say that they have a respect for any ‘O. G.: Old Girl’, radio slang, who can master code—the ‘crutch’, as they call it—because she has to set her back to the wall to do it,” put in Pemrose roguishly. “And then—” her hand went up, in excitement, to her dimpling chin—“we wouldn’t have to depend altogether on my magic ring, radio ring, for any—any little gleanings from the air.”
“Magic ring—humph!” The fairy godfather’s eyebrows were lifted—just a little superciliously. “What can you pick up with a gewgaw like that—toy set like that? Firing pellets at the moon, eh?” he winked quizzically.