“Oh--well--” Nelson looked out the window and shivered; then he
heroically rolled out onto the floor, scrambled to his feet and donned
his shoes. One or two of the bunks were empty, and a few of the fellows
who remained were awake and were conversing in whispers across the
dormitory, but for the most part sleep still reigned, and the “No
Snoring” order was being plainly violated. Tom and Nelson pattered
down the room--the former stopping long enough at one bunk to pull
the pillow from under a red-thatched head and place it forcibly on
top--and emerged into a world of green and gold. As they raced past the
flagstaff the Stars and Stripes was fluttering its way aloft, while
from the porch of Birch Hall the reveille sounded and floated echoing
over the lake. The air was like tonic, crisp without being chill in the
shady stretches of the path, pleasantly warm where the sunlight slanted
through, and the two boys hurled themselves down the firm pathway as
fast as lurking roots would allow. At the pier a handful of fellows
were before them. There was very little breeze, and what there was blew
up the lake and so failed to reach the water of the cove. Over on Plum
Island the thin streamer of purple smoke betokened breakfast, while up
at Bear Island, farther away across the sunlit water, the boys of Camp
Wickasaw were moving about the little beach. At the edge of the pier
the water was bottle-green, with here and there a fleck of gold where
the sunlight found its way through the trees that bordered the lake. It
looked cold, but when, having dropped their pajamas, they stood side by
side on the edge of the pier and then went splashing down into fifteen
feet of it, it proved to be surprisingly warm. A moment or two of
energetic thrashing around, and out they came for a brisk rub-down in
the dressing-tent and a wild rush up the hill and into the dormitory,
where they arrived side by side--for, considering his bulk, Tom had a
way of getting over the ground that was truly marvelous--to find the
fellows tumbling hurriedly into their clothes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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