Kent took his hands from her shoulders. "Come on then, old lady. Gee, this beats hanging poor old Florence Dombey under the willows. Give me your hand and I'll tow you along." It was scarcely nine o'clock, after all, when they trudged into the camp. Charlie and Gustus came in a moment later, having heard Miss Towne's call. "Oh, Lydia! Lydia! I've worried myself sick." And the cruel Miss Towne, the grouchy Miss Towne, threw her arms about Lydia, with a little murmur that was curiously like a sob. "We were just going to the settlement for help," said Charlie, "though we were pretty sure nothing serious could have happened." "Of course nothing serious!" protested Kent. "We were too smart to follow the roads and got lost going and coming. We waited for the moon to come up and we haven't had anything to eat but chewing gum." "We saved your supper," said Margery. "Come on, Gustus, we'll heat it for 'em." "Margery'd be a real human being, if she'd stay away from her mother," observed Kent. "For the love of Mike, let me sit down!" "Here, get in the hammock and let me fix the cushions for you!" cried Olga, who had been eying Lydia closely. "Thanks, I prefer the dining-room bench, right now," returned Kent. "Come on, Lyd. Food!" Lydia was tired the next day and elected to stay in camp with Miss Towne while the others, including even Margery and Gustus, went on an all day strawberry hunt. Lydia lay in a hammock with a book all the morning, but the greater part of the time, Miss Towne observed, her eyes were fastened broodingly on the lake and not on the printed page. The two went bathing alone, at noon, and afterward lay on the grassy shore, drying their hair. "Lydia, wasn't Kent nice to you, yesterday?" asked the chaperone, abruptly. Lydia turned a startled, sunburned face toward the questioner. "Nice! Why, of course! Kent's like my brother." "No man but a brother can be like a brother, my dear. Always remember that. What happened yesterday to worry you?" "Nothing that had anything to do with Kent. Gosh! I should say not!" "Lydia!" cried Miss Towne. "Please don't use such dreadful language! If you knew how coarse it sounds! Oh, my dear, I'm not trying to hurt your feelings," as she watched the scarlet face and quivering lips. "It's just that you are so fine, I can't bear to have you do anything that isn't fine. I've been planning to talk to you for a long time about your slang. Leave that sort of thing to Olga and the rest. Use only the purest Anglo-Saxon. Be a credit to your fine Puritan stock in speech. You already are, in character." Lydia said nothing. She sat struggling to keep back the tears when a horse's hoof beats sounded under the trees and Levine rode into the camp. Lydia had been wondering how, when she saw him in town, she was going to meet him, what she was going to say to him. But now, her only thought was that here was the devoted friend who had understood her since babyhood.