"Cousin Teddie will not be back before lunch time," said Nora sweetly.

"Won't you come in and wait?"

"Oh, no, thank you," faltered Thistle, observing one truant curl that had escaped the confines of Nora's field hat. "We may come over later in the afternoon--after drill," finished the Scout.

Pell was more composed. "Are you visiting Rocky Ledge?" she asked cordially.

"Oh, yes. I expect to stay quite a while," replied Nora. She liked the roguish smile Pell bestowed upon her--it was, somehow, a little like Barbara.

"Then perhaps you would like to visit camp," pressed Thistle. "We love callers, don't we, girls?"

This provided an opportunity for general conversation, and presently, no one knew just how it happened, but the Scouts and Nora the rebel, were having a perfectly splendid time on the side porch, talking about the things girls love to discuss, but which always appear to the onlooker or listener as a series of giggles and gasps.

Nora was so glad she wore the khaki suit. All her old love of finery was, for the time, lost in the joy of feeling "in place" instead of "out of place." And the girls at close range did look very well in their uniforms. Betta and Thistle especially were just like models--Nora remembered that wonderful Girl Scout poster, and her former dislike for the uniform now threatened to turn to keen admiration. Just so long as anything "made a picture" the artistic little soul was sure to be satisfied. Changing an opinion was as simple a task for Nora as changing a hair ribbon, but it had been rather unpleasant to have the Scouts always held up as paragons.

Admitting she had not yet visited the Ledge, Nora was straightway invited to do so, as the four Scouts expected to meet the other troup members out gathering sweet fern there.

"Vita," she called back to the maid in the kitchen, "you keep Cap home, I'll be back in a little while."

"Oh, no," objected Vita. "Mr. Jerry, he say you don't go never without Cap----"

"But I am with the girls now," declared Nora a little sharply. She was so afraid the others might guess that it was she who wore the velvets!

Looking very closely at each, however, she had not recognized the one who accosted her on the fatal dress-parade day. Alma was not in the party this time, so of course, Nora was correct in her opinion.

"Doesn't Mr. Manton like to have you go out alone?" asked Thistle, innocently.

"Well, you see," stumbled Nora, "I am not very well acquainted yet."

"Was there a little boy visiting the Mantons the other day?" ventured Betta. She was almost consumed with curiosity, and as they turned their backs on the cottage the chance for unravelling the prince mystery seemed lost to them.

"A boy? No," replied Nora. "I am the only one who has been here." A flame of color swept her face and although she stooped to pick up an acorn at the moment, at least two of the Scouts noticed the flush.

"Light curls," whispered Wyn. "She has very pretty ringlets----"

"Lots of girls have, of course," scoffed Betta. "You surely don't think she's twins?"

"No," faltered the other, never dreaming how much closer than twins Nora was to the little prince.

But Wyn was not easily satisfied. What was the sense of being appointed a committee to investigate and not do it? She picked a wonderful spray of pink clover before she asked Nora again:

"Do you ever see a little boy, a very fancy dressed boy, around the cottage? One of our girls dreamed she saw one and we have been trying to persuade her she had a vision."

A sigh of relief escaped Nora's lips. It should be easy to laugh the story over, since only one girl had seen her and that one had but a glimpse of her. She felt she would die of embarra.s.sment now, if ever she were really found out. And only a few days ago it had seemed so trifling a thing! As she was about to reply to Wyn her hat fell off and down tumbled the curls.

"What wonderful curls," exclaimed Wyn innocently. "Why do you hide them under a hat?"

"Oh, I don't," replied Nora bravely, shaking out the golden cloud that tossed about her ears. "But when we go into brambles it is more comfortable to have one's head tidy," she finished.

"Say, Wyn," charged Thistle, "do you suppose Nora has no other interest than in your visionary prince and yellow curls? Please allow her to listen to some of my woodland lore."

"Oh, yes," mocked Betta. "Tell her all about your little fish in the brook that wouldn't go near Treble's hook."

A scamper brookward responded to this sally.

"Oh, there's Jimmie," cried Thistle. "Hey Jimsby!" she hailed to a small boy in a big boat. "Wait for us. We are going up to the Ledge. Give us a row?"

Everyone, including Nora, ran towards the edge of the stream that rippled through willows. Jimmie with his boat was rare good fortune to come upon, and the Scouts were instantly eager to procure seats in the big, old skiff.

Nora's timidity forced her to hold back, but she was too self-conscious to admit it.

"Come on, little Nora," called out Thistle good naturedly. "I have a place for you right alongside of me."

"Oh yes. Thistles never sink, you know," added Wyn.

Nora's heart heat fast. Could she say she would so much rather walk to the Ledge?

"Hurry up, Sister," sang out Betta. "Thistle wants to get out of rowing and you are her excuse."

Taking her fright literally in her hand and casting it into the brook, Nora stepped into Jimmie's boat, smiling as if she were expecting the best good time of her life. A thought of her nervous mother barely had time to shape itself before all were seated, and the freckled faced Jimmie handed over the oars, without so much as uttering either a protest or agreeing to the piracy.

"Don't you love a little lake like this?" asked Betta, noticing how silent was her companion.

"I have never been on the water," said Nora truthfully. "At our school we are not allowed to take part in any dangerous sports."

"Oh," exclaimed Thistle. "How you must miss good times."

"But we have many lovely parties and dances and all that sort of thing,"

explained Nora. Her voice was entirely friendly and the difference of opinions by no means clashed.

It was delightful. The girls sang, whistled, shouted and coo-heed, as occasion demanded, the occasion being that of answering bird calls from sh.o.r.e. Imitating birds was counted as the latest outdoor sport, and the Chickadees vied with one another in the accomplishment.

"She's leakin'," said Jimmie without warning or apology.

"I should say she is!" cried Wyn, jerking her feet up from the bottom of the boat. "Jimmie Jimbsy! Why didn't you say so?"

"Oh, you didn't give me a chance," replied the lad frankly.

"Oh, is it dangerous?" gasped Nora. Her cheeks went pale instantly.

"No, just gives us a chance to show who is the best swimmer. You can swim, of course?" asked Wyn.

"No, not a stroke," replied the frightened Nora.

"Don't you mind Wynnie, Nora," spoke up Betta. "There's no possibility of any one having to swim. This boat would sail the rapids, wouldn't she, Jimmie?"

"Here's another hat," offered Thistle. "Say, Jim! At least you ought to bring a tin can," she said in her jolliest tone.

They were actually bailing out. The water managed to make cold little puddles in the bottom of the boat, and with the "large party aboard" as Pell charged Wyn because she happened to weigh a few more pounds than the others, the inflow threatened to bear the little craft down to the water's edge, uncomfortably close.