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Azalia Atwood, who was an excellent swimmer, returned to the camp, donned a bathing suit, and then rejoined the other girls, bringing with her a long rope of the clothesline variety. One end of this was looped around her waist, and Marion Stanlock had an opportunity to exhibit her skill at tying a bowline.
Stanlock declared so positively and such a gleam of interest in his eyes that Marion could not help wondering just a little. "What makes you so certain about it?" she inquired. "I don't see any real proof in those words as to what they mean or who wrote them." "No, no, of course not," agreed Mr.
We are planning a surprise on the girls, and we don't want you to tell them we are in town." "My lips are sealed until you unseal them," Mr. Stanlock assured them. "But where are you staying?" "All of us are members of one patrol of Scouts at Spring Lake Academy, all except Paul Hunter. We came here on an invitation from Ernie Hunter, and we are living in a cave at the west end of Mr.
Marion and her mother answered some of these questions over the telephone and half an hour later a police lieutenant called at the house and made further inquiry. There was no longer any possibility of dodging the most logical suspicions, namely, that Mr. Stanlock was the victim of a decoy plotted by some criminal element working with or under the shadow of the coal miners' strike.
To be sure, everybody was thrilled, but nobody fainted. There were a few moments of suspense, followed by bursts of laughter and applause from the girls. "It's the Spring Lake Boy Scouts," cried Marion Stanlock, who was first to announce an explanation of the surprise. "Clifford, Clifford Long, are you responsible for this?"
Stanlock announced that she, being an officer of the woman's club with an important duty to perform, must attend a committee meeting from 3 until 4:30 o'clock, and she asked Miss Ladd to accompany her.
Half an hour after the newspaper men departed, there came a ring at the front door. As Mary, the head servant, was out, Marion answered the ring and found at the entrance a woman of middle age, dressed in plain black, who spoke to her, in quick, eager accents, thus: "Is this Miss Marion Stanlock?" "It is," the girl answered. "I am Mrs.
The music had been composed and arranged by Marion Stanlock and Helen Nash a few months previously, and diligent practice had qualified the members of the Camp Fire to render the production impressively. This song was succeeded by a chorus-rendering of a similar adaptation of the Fire Maker's Song.
Marion's younger sister and brother were attending a children's afternoon party a few blocks away. The new chauffeur had been summoned by Mrs. Stanlock to take her and Miss Ladd to the club rooms where the committee meeting was to be held. About 3 o'clock a newspaper photographer and a reporter arrived. The girls allowed a group picture to be taken and the reporter was granted an interview.
The fear that something of serious nature had intervened to prevent his appearing at the usual dinner hour had taken firm hold of Mrs. Stanlock, Marion, sister Kathryn, and brother Harold.
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