Old Bellvieu was early astir on Wednesday morning, the time set for the departure. At four o’clock, when the darkness without was still intense, Ephraim, who had been awakened by an alarm clock, went from door to door of the big mansion, arousing the inmates.

The provisions and cooking utensils had been packed in baskets and were setting in the front hall, ready to be carried to the automobile when Gerald and Aurora should arrive. There was also a hamper containing extra clothes for Aunt Betty, Dorothy and Molly.

It was two sleepy-eyed girls who came slowly down the back stairway to eat hominy, biscuits and coffee, prepared by Chloe and Dinah in the big kitchen—sleepy-eyed, because the chums had lain awake more than half the night talking over old times. Molly’s trip to California had been told of to the most minute detail, and at the end of the discourse Dorothy had started on her adventures at Oak Knowe. Then to sleep at half past one, to rise at four!

It was no wonder Dorothy said, as they entered the kitchen:

“I feel like the last rose of summer. The next time you keep me awake till nearly morning, Molly Breckenridge, I’m going to be revenged.”

“The same to you, Dorothy Calvert,” was Molly’s retort. “You seem to have no regard for my condition after my long journey here. I needed rest, but you kept me awake all night with your constant chatter, telling me things that did not interest me.”

“I didn’t!”

“You did!”

And so forth and so on. Then, when Chloe, Dinah and Metty, were staring open-mouthed, impressed with the fact that the young ladies had apparently descended in a very bad humor, both girls laughed, threw their arms about each other’s neck, and concluded their performance with a resounding kiss.

“My, how affectionate!” said Aunt Betty, who entered at this moment. “And what swollen eyes!”

“Why, isn’t that strange?” asked Dorothy, assuming an innocent look. “She says our eyes are swollen, Molly—and after all the sleep we had, too.”

Aunt Betty laughed.

“Do you think, my dears, I did not hear you talking ’way into the night?”

“Oh, did you, auntie?”

“Yes; but it was your first night together, so I decided to say nothing. But come; let us eat, for Gerald and Aurora will shortly be here in the car.”

The girls needed no second invitation. The coffee, made by Chloe, after Aunt Betty’s special recipe, was delicious, and served to revive the sleepy girls, while the biscuits, as Molly expressed it, “fairly melted in your mouth.”

The meal over, preparations for departure went forward rapidly, and when, at half past five, just as the sun was getting ready to peep above the distant horizon, the big touring car drew up in front of the place, Aunt Betty, the girls, Jim and Ephraim were all waiting on the gallery.

“Ship ahoy! What ship is that?” cried Jim, cupping his hands at Gerald.

“The good ship Ajax, out of Baltimore for the South Mountains. Four first and one second class cabins reserved for your party, Mr. Barlow.”

There was much good-natured badinage as the party climbed into the big machine. Molly and Aurora seemed to take to each other from the first, and Aunt Betty saw with no little satisfaction that the trip bade fair to be a happy one.

When the baskets were all under the seats, or placed in the great trunk-like compartment on the rear of the machine, along with several large tent flaps and a coil of rope, the party waved a cheery good-by to Chloe, Dinah and Metty, Gerald started the Ajax, and they went bowling off down the smooth road on the first stage of their journey.

Gerald occupied the driver’s seat with Dorothy beside him. In the big rear seat were Aunt Betty, Molly and Aurora, while the smaller seats at either side were occupied by Jim and Ephraim.

The city was just beginning to stir itself as the big car rolled through the main streets and out into the suburbs beyond.

Soon the city limits were passed, and the great country highway, so enticing to Baltimore automobilists, lay before them.

Straight toward the west Gerald drove the car, the miles being reeled off at a good rate of speed—all, in fact, that Aunt Betty would allow.

“I’m no speed maniac,” she told Gerald, in response to his query as to whether she cared to ride as fast as a railroad train. “I’m well satisfied at the present pace. I feel that it is as fast as we can go in perfect safety, and I have no desire to endanger the lives of the young ladies under my charge. This is not a limited, anyway, but just a slow train through Maryland.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” the boy returned, smiling.

Some miles further on the country grew rolling and hilly. Patches of dense timber were penetrated, and finally the machine shot out onto a broad plain which stretched away for many leagues toward the west. The sun was well up now, but the party had hardly felt its warmth. The big automobile, moving along at a fair rate of speed, created enough breeze to keep the occupants at a comfortable temperature.

Dorothy and Molly, thoroughly awake now, and in no way missing the sleep they had lost, kept up an incessant chatter, Aurora and Aunt Betty occasionally chiming in.

“I’ve never thought to ask, but what sort of sleeping quarters are we to have at the camp?” asked Molly.

“Goodness me! I hadn’t thought of that,” said Aunt Betty. “Gerald, did you provide sleeping quarters for the lady guests?”

“Yes, ma’am; there are several portable tent tops packed in the rear compartment.”

“Tent tops! Indeed, it seems to me we’ll need some tent sides, too, if we are to sleep with any peace of mind.”

This caused a general laugh.

“I’ve provided for that, too,” said Gerald. “Don’t worry. It was impossible to carry poles and stakes, however, so Jim and I will show our woodcraft by cutting them in the mountains where we camp.”

“I imagine we’ll think of several things we’ve forgotten before we’ve been long at our destination,” said Aurora.

Dorothy uttered a startled exclamation.

“My goodness! How you startled me,” said Aunt Betty. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve forgotten something already.”

“Now our troubles begin.” Mrs. Calvert heaved a long sigh of resignation. “Well, what is it?”

“My curling irons.”

“Pouff! I might have known you were starting a joke. You’ll be lucky to have a comb and brush, young lady, let alone curling irons, and as for a mirror, I’m blessed if I believe we thought to bring one.”

“I have one,” smiled Aurora. “It will do for all. We can take turns each morning combing our hair.”

“A fine idea,” said Jim. “Every morning, I’ll delegate myself as a sort of camp marshal to see that each of you has a turn at the mirror. So when you hear me call, ‘Hey, Molly; you’re next!’ you want to bestir yourself.”

Ephraim, who had been silent most of the time since the car left the city, now burst into a loud guffaw.

“Lordy, but I didn’t imagine dis was gwine tuh be sich er ceremonious occasion. I done lef’ mah curlin’ irons tuh home, but maybe yo’-all will take pity on er pooh colored gem’man en allow him tuh comb his curly locks in front ob yo’ solitary glass.”

“Of course, we will, Ephy,” said Aurora—“especially after all that fine language. You shall have your turn—I’ll see to that.”

It was eight o’clock when Gerald stopped the car in front of a small village inn. The community was just bestirring itself, and the inhabitants gazed long and curiously at the party.

Addressing a middle-aged man who sat on the front steps of the hostelry, smoking a pipe, Gerald said:

“How about breakfast for seven?”

“Reckon we can accommodate you,” was the reply, in a low drawl—“that is, if you ain’t too particular what you eat.”

“Needn’t worry about that. We’re hungry—that’s all. Some fresh milk and eggs, some crisp slices of fried bacon, a cup of coffee, and a few things of a similar nature will be more than sufficient.”

“You’ve just hit off my bill o’ fare to a T,” the man responded, grinning. “Come in and make yourselves at home, while I go tell Martha there’s some extry mouths to feed.”

The members of the little camping party needed no urging, for the early morning ride had given them large appetites, which they were anxious to satiate.

Soon the Ajax was standing silent in front of the building, while its occupants were grouped in the little parlor of the hotel, waiting the welcome call to breakfast.

“There’s a picture of George Washington,” said Jim, as his glance roamed about the room. “Wonder if there’s a village hotel in any part of the original thirteen states, which hasn’t a picture of our immortal ancestor?”

“Probably not,” smiled Gerald. “Thomas Jefferson seems also to be a favorite. See, there he is, peeking at you from behind the what-not.”

“And there’s Robert E. Lee, bless his heart,” cried Dorothy, to whom the southern hero’s name was the occasion for no little amount of reverence—thoughts that had been instilled in her mind by Aunt Betty, loyal southerner that she was.

The hotel proprietor appeared on the scene a few moments later with the cheery remark:

“You all can come into the dinin’-room now.”

He led the way through the hall and into a small, though comfortable, room, where the landlady had already begun to serve the breakfast.

Their appetites sharpened by the ride, everyone did ample justice to the things which were put before them. Even Aunt Betty, usually a light eater, consumed three eggs, two glasses of milk and a plate of fried bacon, topping them off with a cup of strong coffee.

“Whatever has come over you?” cried Dorothy in delight. “I never knew you to eat so much for breakfast, auntie, dear.”

“I just wanted it,” was Aunt Betty’s response, “and, wanting it, I see no reason why I should not have it. I have no intention of denying myself what sustenance I require.”

“Then never talk to me again about being an invalid!” cried the girl. “When I came back to Bellvieu I was led to believe that you were fast failing in health. But, as yet, I have seen no indication that you are not as hale and hearty as the best of us.”

“I feel some better—that I will freely admit.”

“And at the end of our camping trip you are going to feel better still. Who knows? You may take on ten or twelve pounds in weight.” This from Jim.

“Well, let us hope not. I am carrying now all the flesh I am able to put up with.”

Breakfast over at last, the party lost no time in re-embarking, and soon the big Ajax, given a new lease on life by reason of a sharp turn of the crank in front, was again speeding on its way.

The car proved itself an excellent traveler. The roads were rough in many places, yet not once during the day did any trouble arise either from mechanism or tires.

The machine proceeded at a steady gait until shortly after noon, when, in another village some forty odd miles from Baltimore, the party stopped for lunch.

Here the supply of gasoline was replenished, Gerald having already been forced to draw upon his reserve. This was necessitated by his having forgotten to fill his tank before leaving home.

“I don’t know how I came to neglect such an important matter,” he said to Jim. He seemed rather piqued.

“Mistakes will happen, no matter what you are doing or where you are,” was Jim’s reply, intended to be consoling. “Suppose we had run out of gasoline between towns, though?”

Gerald grinned at the thought.

“But we didn’t,” he said.

“Yes; but if we had?”

“Well, some of us would have taken a little journey, to the nearest available supply, and brought some back with us—that’s all. Fortunately, in these days of the automobile, an ample supply of gasoline may be found at any country store. There was a time when it was as hard as the mischief to get it.”

“How far can you run with one supply?”

“Seventy-five miles, without the reserve, which is good for another forty.”

“This machine seems complete in every particular, with its reserve tank, and store box behind.”

“Surely. While called a touring car, it has many of the features of a roadster.”

“A roadster?”

“Yes; a car built for traveling across country—one you can take long trips in—a car built to stand no end of wear and tear.”

“All right, boys!” Aurora called out at this moment. “We’re through lunch. Let’s be moving. You know we want to get as near the mountains as possible before putting up for the night.”

So on they went, the country spreading out before them in gentle undulations. The Ajax would climb a low hill to pass the pinnacle and go bowling down into some miniature valley, over foot-bridges and through grove after grove of pretty trees. It seemed that old Mother Nature had spread on the scenic touches with a master hand in this part of Maryland, and the occupants of the car thoroughly enjoyed themselves, particularly as the recent rains had soaked the dirt so thoroughly it had not yet had time to resolve itself again into dust.

Farmers stopped to watch them, often to wave hat or handkerchief as they went flying past. To these salutations the girls took delight in replying, greatly to the disgust and chagrin of Jim Barlow.

“Why, you don’t even know them!” he said to Dorothy in a sternly reproving tone, when she chided him gently about a reproof he had just administered to Molly, who had become quite enthusiastic in her efforts to attract the attention of a young farmer lad who was plowing in a nearby field.

“Neither do they know us,” the girl responded. “Besides, Molly is her own mistress, and you have no right to tell her she may or may not do as she pleases.”

“But I can express my opinion on the subject,” growled Jim. “This is a free country.”

“Ugh! He’s a regular bear to-day, girls,” said Aurora. “Let’s leave him alone until he can be civil.”

Which made Jim grate his teeth in rage. He gradually cooled off, however, when he found that no one was paying any attention to him, and by the middle of the afternoon was laughing and chatting as gayly as ever.

Villages appeared before their gaze every few miles, only to vanish behind them as they went down the main street, the hoarse-voiced horn sending out its warning to pedestrians. Their speed was clearly within the limits of what was required by law, however, so they experienced no trouble from country constables, as is often the case when automobile parties go on tour.

Throughout the afternoon the big auto kept up its steady gait, reeling off mile after mile, until the sun had disappeared below the horizon. Just when dusk was ready to envelop the land they descried in the distance a good-sized town, and beyond it some miles the eastern spur of the South Mountains.

“There, children, is where we will be camping if all goes well to-morrow,” said Aunt Betty.

“Sounds mighty good to me,” said Gerald. “Here, Ephy, take hold of this steering wheel awhile. I’m going to stretch myself and gaze out over the country a bit.”

Ephraim, delighted at the confidence reposed in him by the boy, clambered into the front seat, while Gerald took one of the small seats in the rear compartment, facing Jim.

Sometime later Ephraim guided the car into the main street of the village, and, at Aunt Betty’s suggestion stopped before what seemed to be a hotel of the better class. Upon investigation accommodations were found to be so tempting, the party decided to spend the night. Gerald registered for the crowd, while Ephraim, with a stable boy belonging at the hotel, took the Ajax around to the rear where shelter might be had from the elements.

Supper was served at seven-thirty in a large and commodious dining-room, and the campers sustained their reputations for ravenous eaters so well that the proprietor secretly wrung his hands in despair. Had these city folks come to eat him out of house and home? he wondered.

He was glad when the meal was over, and the visitors had departed down the street in search of amusement before turning in.

This amusement was found at the town hall, where a cheap theatrical company was offering the time-worn favorite, “Lady Audley’s Secret.” Even Aunt Betty enjoyed the old play which she had not seen for years, though she declared that the scene at the well gave her a fit of the “creeps.”

The company was a very mediocre one—in fact, an organization which made its living off of small town audiences, where the standard set is not so high, and a little less for the money does not seem to matter.

To bed at eleven and up at six was the story of the night, as recorded by the master of ceremonies, James Barlow, who was the first to awaken in the morning, and who aroused Ephraim and told him to wake the others.

The proprietor of the hotel, evidently fearing a repetition of the night before, was careful to put on the table only such food as he felt his guests should have, and when a second portion was asked for his solitary waiter was instructed to say that the concern was out of that particular dish.

While Jim and Molly were hardly satisfied at being limited to but one batch of pan-cakes each, they were too eager to be on their way to register a protest.

As soon as the sun had risen the South Mountains loomed up distinctly to the west, the purple haze which had enveloped them the night before being gone. Instead, the sun seemed to glint off the peaks like burnished gold. However, as Old Sol rose higher, this effect was gradually dissipated, and after a two hours’ ride, during which the progress was very slow on account of the condition of the roads, the party found themselves in the foothills, with the mountains looming close at hand.

A pretty sight lay before their eyes a short time later, when Gerald stopped the machine half way up the side of one of the mountains, and they gazed out over the valley, through which a silvery stream of water flowed merrily toward the Potomac. Then, their eyes thoroughly satiated, they began to look for a suitable place in which to make their camp.

“Seems to me there’s a desirable spot over there on that plateau,” said Dorothy. “There are lots of fine shade trees, and we would have an excellent view of the valley. And then, if I am not mistaken, that path leading down the mountainside goes to yonder village, and it is just as well to be in close proximity to what supplies we may need.”

“That village is farther away than you think,” said Jim.

“Well, we’ll ride over and look at the plateau, anyway,” said Gerald.

“Getting there is the next thing,” said Molly.

The way did appear difficult. The road they were on wound up and around the mountain, and it was only after a most diligent search that Gerald and Jim discovered another road leading off in another direction and finally crossing the plateau.

They reached their destination some time later, and found the prospective camp-site even more satisfactory than they had expected. A vote of the party was taken, and it was unanimously decided to stay on this spot.

“It will soon be noon,” said Aunt Betty, at once assuming charge of arrangements. “So let’s unload the things while the boys are fixing the tents. If we have good luck we shall have our lunch in good Camp Blank.”

“Oh, not Blank,” said Aurora, with becoming modesty. “Why not call it Camp Calvert?”

“I think Camp Blank sounds very nice,” Aunt Betty made reply.

“And I,” said Dorothy. “Let’s call it Camp Blank.”

“No,” said Gerald; “the Blanks have nothing to do with it. This is Dorothy’s party. It shall be called Camp Calvert.”

“I protest,” said Dorothy. “It’s no more my party than yours, Gerald Blank, even if it is given in honor of my home-coming.”

“It shall be Camp Calvert,” Gerald persisted.

“Well, we’ll submit it to arbitration. Jim, you have taken no part in the controversy. Shall we name it Camp Blank or Camp Calvert?”

“Neither,” said Jim.

“What!” cried Dorothy and Gerald in a breath.

“Oh, come now, Jim!” This from Aunt Betty.

“No,” said Jim, “we’ll call it neither. You’ve left the matter to me, so we’ll call it Camp Breckenridge after Molly, but we’ll make it Camp ‘Breck’ for short.”

“No, no,” said Molly. “I shan’t permit it.”

But Molly’s protests were quickly overridden, and with the discussion at an end, the members of the party went about the various tasks they had set themselves to do.

Getting a hand-ax from the tool box, Gerald took Jim and marched off into the woods, while Ephraim was delegated to stay behind and “tote” things for the ladies.

First, an imaginary plan was drawn of the camp—just where the tents would go; where the camp-fire should be to get the best draught; which direction the breeze was coming from, so the tent flaps might be left back at night for the comfort of the sleepers; and the many other little details which a woman and several girls will always think of.

By the time Gerald and Jim returned, bearing several tent poles and an armful of stakes, all matters had been definitely settled. The first tent was pitched between two huge oak trees, which threw their shade for yards around. The other, which was to house the boys and Ephraim, was placed a short distance to the rear in a clump of smaller trees, but within a few steps of the rear of the ladies’ quarters.

Once the tents were up, Ephraim was instructed to kindle a fire, which he did very quickly, his camping experience having been of a wide and varied nature.

While the fire was blazing merrily as if to welcome the campers to the newly-organized Camp Breck, the mistress of Bellvieu bustled about in a nimble fashion for one of her years, directing the preparation of the meal.

Molly was set peeling potatoes, while Dorothy and Aurora spread the table cloth in a level spot on the soft grass, and began to distribute the tin plates, steel knives and forks and other utensils which had been purchased especially for the camp.

Soon affairs were moving merrily, and the party sat down to lunch shortly after one, half-famished but happy, little dreaming of the thrilling adventure which was to befall them ere another day had passed.