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Updated: June 25, 2025
"A nickum oh! a nickum, indeed a daredevil nickum sitting in the Devil's Armchair, with his feet dangling down down over the deep precipice! Look!" Pemrose pirouetted in excitement at the sight. "Yes, and, goodness! he seems to be enjoying it, too. Not turning a hair. Oh! if 'twere I I should be so-o dizzy."
"Get thee behind me, Satan and don't push!" Tears sprang to those blue eyes of Pemrose now, as she recalled the half-piteous tone in the voice. Toandoah was discouraged.
"Whew! a ducking in the dark a cave-bath horrible!" cried Pemrose. "Oh, mer-rcy! what what is it?" "Bah! Only a garter snake a pretty fellow," laughed Studley, picking the slim, striped thing up from a corner of the blind lake where it was amphibiously basking, and letting it curl around his khaki arm, investigating the merit badges of the patrol leader.
Wormwood was in the eye of Pemrose, pointing the accusation, a new and gloomy pessimism born of the Devil's Chair and Jack at a Pinch. "Ours aren't!" It was the voice of the little girl-thrush lifted in blue-jay belligerence now.
The chauffeur wore a "dour" look as he saw them depart, Una's father driving his own car; for the first time in all his well-trained service, the true-penny was inclined to sulk over being told to keep an eye on two "daft lassies", who refused to go down to the town, because they wanted to search some more or Pemrose did.
Then, indeed, Jack at a Pinch raised his head and looked straight across into the blue eyes of Pemrose Lorry. "You must have thought me an awful 'chuff'," he said. "I'm sorry about the oars," was the mute reply of the girl's eyes, but the least little tincture of a smile trickling down from her lip-corners, said: "But I'm glad I got even with you, somehow!"
The eyes of Pemrose were a patchwork now, flame embroidered upon their shining blue; oh! if she were to give forth what Life gave to her, which of her Camp Fire Sisters would have such riches to reflect?
Pemrose Lorry glanced at the mud-stained knapsack lying by the sufferer, the knapsack tucked away in which was the golden egg, the precious record; she would not unearth it and glance at it, because the second look, at least, belonged to her father.
"Oh-h! only some fellow rattling rattling beans in his pocket. Let's get away quick!" And then Pemrose knew what it was to look upon a Stoutheart "rattled." But, with that, a voice, a cry, not loud, but strong, exploded like a spring gun in the cave, suddenly halting advance. "What's that outside? What's that outside?" it whooped. "Is it an aëroplane? Two aëroplanes? Oh! hurry out and see."
Pemrose had kept her word about not speaking. She just dropped one pointed little icicle in the shape of a nod upon her one-time friend as she sank into her own swivel chair and threw off the heavy coat with which she had covered her ski-runner's silken wind-jacket and belted skiing costume of pure, creamy wool, with its full freedom of knickerbockers. "There's Una Una Grosvenor!"
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