“He don’t mind,” said Peanut. “He’d rather cook than eat anything, especially for girls.” “Does he like girls?” asked Alice, who was seated on the ground, with her feet sticking out, so she could wiggle the dangling toes of Peanut’s socks, which made everybody laugh. “Does he like girls! You should have heard what he said about ’em this morning!” Peanut replied. “Shut up--or when I get you to-night----” Art half whispered this at Peanut. “Oh, tell me, tell me!” cried Alice. “I’ll whisper it,” said Peanut. He whispered in her ear, and she burst out laughing. Her sister, in pink, was trying hard to hear, but she couldn’t. “No, I’ll _never_ tell _Grace_,” said Alice, wriggling her toes with delight. “Oh, it’s a lovely story, Grace!” Grace moved away to the other side of the circle, with a pout, and she and Art sat together and finished their lunch. After lunch the girls insisted on clearing the dishes. “It is a woman’s place to do the dishes!” they said, and when the dishes were done everybody sat down under the trees, and the Scouts, at Lou’s suggestion, got out their knives, and carved their staffs. First, they cut their initials, and then in Roman numerals, the mileage for the day before. “Let’s see--nineteen miles to the top of Moosilauke, one mile down the road and back, a mile maybe to camp--twenty-one miles,” said Peanut, “that’s two XX’s and a I.” When he had finished, Alice took the staff out of his hand. “You’ve forgotten something,” she said. “What?” asked Peanut. “_My_ initials, silly,” she answered. “If you don’t put them on, how will you remember me?” “By a sore face and a wet shirt,” Peanut replied. “Now, don’t be a goose. Put my initials on,” the girl laughed--“A. G.” “It’s not N. G. anyhow,” said Peanut. He carefully cut her initials beside his own, at the top of the staff, and of course Alice showed it to her sister and the other girls, and the rest of the Scouts had to do the same thing. By the time it was done, Mr. Green was fast asleep, Mrs. Green was nodding, and Mr. Rogers was looking at his watch. “I’m afraid it’s time this little midsummer day’s dream was ended,” he smiled. “We’ve got some way to go yet.” “Wake up Papa, then,” said Alice. “Here are your old socks. Oh, dear, there’s no hole in ’em, either. I _tried_, though.” She pulled off the socks, tossed them to Peanut, and went gingerly on her bare feet to the fire, where her own shoes and stockings had quite dried. In a moment, they were on. She did everything quickly. She grabbed a blade of grass, then, and tickled her father’s nose. He put up his hand and brushed his face, still sleeping. It was the laughter and his wife’s voice crying, “Alice! Behave yourself!” which really woke him up.