The child's laugh rang out joyously. “Oh, Papa, that's awfully funny. And we're going down on our wheels. Nora can ride now, you know, and she's going to take Ethel May's wheel. It's awfully hard to ride, but Nora's as strong as Kathleen.” “Well, well,” said her father, greatly interested in this exciting but somewhat confused tale. “Just wait until I wash my hands and then you shall tell me what it all means. Thank you for this deliciously cool lemonade. It is very refreshing. You will tell me all about it at lunch.” The lunch hour was devoted first of all to disentangling from the mass the individual members of the car party, which after an adventurous journey across half a continent had apparently made camp at the Winnipeg freight sheds. Then followed the elucidation of the details of the plan by which this camp was to be attacked and raided during the afternoon. “Now that I have a fairly clear conception of whom Larry, Joe, Sam, Rosie and Rover are--I think I have them right--” “Exactly, Papa.” “I wish to find out just who are to form the advance party, the scouting party.” “The scouting party? I don't know what you mean. But Nora--you know Nora?” “Certainly, the little black-eyed Irish Terrier--terror, I mean.” “Oh, Papa, she's just lovely and she's my friend.” “Is she, dear, then I apologise, but indeed I meant nothing derogatory to her. I greatly like her, she is so spunky.” “Yes, there's Nora, and Kathleen, Nora's sister.” “Oh, Kathleen, the tall beautiful girl with the wonderful hair?” The little girl sighed. “Oh, such lovely long yellow hair.” The little maid's hair was none of these. “And she is not a bit proud--just nice, you know--just as if she were not so lovely, but like--only like me.” “Like you, indeed!” exclaimed the doctor indignantly. “Like my little girl? I don't see any one quite like my little girl. There is not one of them with all their yellow hair and things that is to be compared with my own little girl.” “Oh, Papa. I know you think so, and I wish it was so. And I am awfully glad you think so, but of course you are prejuist, you know.” “Prejudiced? Not a bit, not a bit.” “Well, that's Kathleen and Nora, and--and perhaps Hazel--you know Hazel, Papa, Hazel Sleighter?” “The western girl--not at all wild and woolly though. A very modern and very advanced young lady, isn't she?” “Oh, I don't know what you mean, Papa. She says she may go down, but I don't think she likes going with a lot of kids. You know she has her hair up. She has to have it up in the store. She says the man would not have her behind the counter if she had not her hair up.” “Oh, that's it. I thought perhaps the maturity of her age made it necessary.” “I don't know what maturevy means, but she is awfully old. She is going on sixteen.” “Dear me, as old as that?” inquired her father.