“You bet,” said Mollie gayly. “Mark my words, we’ll come back with enough fish to last us a week.”
But alas for her high hopes. They caught not one fish, though they spent a cramped motionless afternoon on the banks of as pretty and promising a fishing pool as one would ever want to see.
“I guess,” said Grace, with an attempt at persiflage as they returned wearily to camp, “Betty’s fake pistol would have done as much damage as our fishing lines, Mollie.”
“Couldn’t have done much less,” agreed Mollie, adding with a chuckle: “Lucky we didn’t depend on that fish for our dinner.”
“In that case, Betty and Amy would have found only our starved remains when they returned,” said Grace, adding eagerly, as their improvised tent came in view: “I say, how about a can of pork and beans to-night?”
“Perfectly topping, perfectly topping, old thing,” returned Mollie, in her best English manner. “An inspiration, that. No other word would fit it, truly.”
And then they giggled and went merrily about the preparation of the “inspiration.” Later they built another campfire and sat beside it for a long time. They did not acknowledge to each other how reluctant they were to “turn in” that night.
For although they had carefully refrained from speaking of the scare Mollie had given them early that morning, they had not forgotten it and the night shadows made them uneasy.
However, as even a campfire can lose some of its charm if gazed upon too long, the girls finally found their eyes closing from weariness. A day like this spent entirely in the open always made them very tired, and at last the moment came when they could not put off the business of “turning in” for another second.
“The tent will seem pretty large for the two of us,” said Grace as, a few moments later, they rolled themselves in their blankets.
“Shouldn’t wonder if we’d rattle around some,” agreed Mollie. “But it’ll be nice to have plenty of room anyway.”
Strange that, lying there quiet, waiting for sleep to come, the girls heard so many more noises than they had heard on the night before.
It seemed to them that the entire woodland was alive with flutterings and queer crunchings and snapping of twigs, and once Grace even raised herself on her elbow, so sure was she that something was sniffing about the door of their tent.