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Dear girls!" The eyes of Tanpa, the Guardian, were ablaze now with more than the firelight's glow, as she tossed her browned cakes on to a platter. "Dear girls!
Thus did Stoutheart, a knight of to-day, pay tribute to the world he left behind him, when he felt in his exploring knees, now creeping along the bottom of the Tinker's Pot, that there was a chance of his leaving it behind forever. "I don't see what else he could have done," said Tanpa, the Guardian, her fingers hysterically interlocking.
"Here here, let me explain that we have a sort of Community camp for boys and girls about three miles from here, on the wooded shores of The Bowl, that lovely, egg-shaped lake among the hills," put in Tanpa, an air-drawn picture in her glowing tones. "There are two big bungalows, a couple of hundred yards apart, one for the Troop, one for the Group!
The Henkyl Hunters were no "chuffs", no conundrums, with the strange riddle of incivility up a sleeve. "'Invite them to the picnic and don't forget the cocoa!" Tanpa laughed. "Just like them! We did promise to lay in a fresh supply of sundries, as we pass through the town to-night if there's still a store left open. And that reminds me, girlies, that it's getting late.
It was Tanpa, with the sunburst upon her right breast, general symbol of the Camp Fire, and the birch tree in grace of green and silver embroidered above it upon emerald khaki, who read the verses which she had scribbled in the skiff's stern under cover of the general interest in water-snails, eggboats and "fresh-water sheep."
"See see they're not all red or partly so s-such a lovely pinky-red, especially around the fins and head that's where they keep their pigment," said Tanpa. "Some have colored themselves like goldfish; others are greenish or lighter yellow." "Ha!
The sun was seeking that too, just now, gloating over his own noble reflection in the green-lipped Bowl, benevolently promising, indeed, a day hot for the season, as well as radiant. "Yes! the temperature has taken a leap ahead," said Tanpa musingly. "I think you can go in for a short swim, any way."
"We are the White Birch Group of Lenox, at present engaged in protecting our younger brothers, the little trees which we planted ourselves. I am Tanpa signifying Birch Guardian of the Group; in everyday life just Myra Seaver." "And my name is Lorry Pemrose Lorry my ceremonial name Wantaam, a Wise Woman."
I am wi' ye, Miss Una, but it's time for all lassies to gang home," returned the other with paternal insistence, lifting his cap in questioning appeal to the Guardian. "He's right, dear. We must be starting for the home camp, too just as soon as we've seen that our fire is thoroughly extinguished," said Tanpa. "Our paths don't lie in the same direction, but we hope they often will in future.
"Come come; that sounds exciting, very exciting!" remarked Tanpa, the Guardian, remaining behind too, as chaperon. But her husband wheeled upon his jog-trot off after water, swinging his galvanized iron bucket after a manner to give the air the blues. "Well! I wouldn't try to crack the nut, solve the riddle, of what's behind that queer-shaped crevice, Stud," he said.