"Sometimes she cooks herself," drawled Nan, coming into the tent to see the Tuckers, who were great favorites with her, too, "sometimes when we get out of provisions, which we are liable to do now as six persons have come who had not written me for accommodations." "Mother and father got here from a long trip this afternoon," explained Douglas, "and we are so upset over seeing them that we are rather late. Helen usually does all she has to do before the week-enders come." "Let us help!" begged Dee. "Dum and I can do lots of stunts, and Page here is a wonderful pie slinger." "Well, we would hardly press Miss Allison into service when she has just arrived," smiled Douglas. "Please, please don't Miss Allison me! I'm just Page and my idea of camping is cooking, so if I can help, let me," and Page, who had said little up to that time, spoke with such genuine frankness that Douglas and Nan felt somehow that a new friend had come into their circle. "We'll call on all three of you if we need you," promised Douglas, hastening off with Nan to see that other guests had found their tents and had what they wanted in the way of water and towels. "Isn't this great?" said Dee. "I'm so glad Zebedee thought of coming. I think Douglas Carter looks healthy but awful bothered, somehow." "I thought so, too. I'm afraid her father is not so well or something. Think of Helen Carter's cooking!" wondered Dum. "Why shouldn't she?" asked Page. "Is she so superior?" "No, not that," tweedled the twins. "Helen's fine but so--so--stylish. Mrs. Carter is charming but she is one butterfly and we always rather expected Helen to be just like her--more sense than her mother, but dressy," continued Dee. "You will know what Mrs. Carter is, just as soon as you look at her hands," declared Dum. "If the lilies of the field were blessed with hands they would look exactly like Mrs. Carter's." "Well, come let's find Zebedee. I smelt apples frying," and the three friends made their way to the pavilion where Mrs. Carter was receiving the week-enders with all the charm and ceremony she might have employed at a daughter's debut party. Her reception of the Tuckers was warm and friendly. It had been months since she had seen anyone who moved in her own circle and now there were many questions to ask of Richmond society. Jeffry Tucker, who could make himself perfectly at home with any type, now laid himself out to be pleasant to his hostess. He told her all the latest news of Franklin street and recounted the gossip that had filtered back from White Sulphur and Warm Springs. He turned himself into a society column and announced engagements and rumors of engagements; who was at the beach and who was at the mountains. He even made a stagger at the list of debutantes for the ensuing winter.