Next day was the “cold gray dawn of the morning after.” Not that it was particularly cold or gray, but there was all the unnailing of the float to do, and the dismantling of the two decorated canoes. The girls wound the tinsel off carefully for use on future Christmas trees, and packed away in a box what other decorations were not perishable, for you never know when you’re going to need things. Otherwise they sat around and gloated softly over Camp Karonya’s exceeding brilliancy in carrying off prizes in large quantities.

Mrs. Bryan would not let Winona divide her money with the Camp, because they had enough already to see them through the rest of the time they were to spend there; and then, too, the second prize that the float had won was fifteen dollars.

Nothing else memorable happened that day, except that Nataly Lee left for home. She was thinner and in better condition than she had been when she came, but she frankly didn’t like the life. To her, carrying water, instead of being a lark, was a nuisance. She had no particular pride in working for beads, and it was thought she was hungry for paper novels. It worried her, too, that she was getting burned brown. So she went back to her mother. The girls saw her off, and sang her a cheer, and were as good as they could be. But it is not to be denied that Camp Karonya felt a little relief at her going.

After that nothing happened but regular camp work for three days. And then Louise proceeded to distinguish herself. It was to be expected.

Tom and Billy had taken Winona and Louise off for a day’s fishing in the canoe. As usual, Winona and Louise provided the lunch, the boys the fishing-tackle and the canoe, and the fish were to be divided at the end of the day. They had fished most of the lazy, sunny morning, and it was noon. They climbed out of the canoe by a spring, washed their hands, and set out the lunch; the canoe was too fishy to be used as a dining-hall.

“Do you think that four of us can possibly eat all that?” inquired Billy, eying the piles of sandwiches, the veal loaf, the whole cake and the can of pears which graced the paper napkins on the grass.

“Well,” explained Winona, “the truth is, Louise and I rather doubled up on this lunch. We were both afraid there wouldn’t be enough, and each went separately and brought half a chocolate cake. You see it’s cut down the middle. I merely joined the twin halves for the sake of looks. But do you think that’s too many sandwiches for four people with real appetites?”

“I don’t,” said Tom decidedly. “I’ll attend to anything that’s left over. A very nice amount of lunch—just right. Watch me!”

But they did not watch him because they were otherwise engaged. None of them had small appetites, and they all did good work. Just the same when they were through there were a generous piece of cake, a fat slice of veal loaf, and seven sandwiches left.

“I told you so,” said Billy. “Here, Tommy, it is up to you. Have these seven nice sandwiches.”

“Can’t be done,” said Tom regretfully. “I’ve had that many. I had three pieces of cake, too.”

“Doesn’t matter!” said Billy. “A gentleman’s word of honor——”

He prepared to jump on Tom and hold him, while Louise held a sandwich ready to insert.

“Ow!” said Tom. “Help! This is cruelty to animals. Pry him off, Winnie!”

“Oh, let up, please!” said Winona. “You know, he might explode, and mother’d feel badly.”

Billy took one knee off, and Tom wriggled more vigorously. Louise relented, and the two girls were trying to pull Billy off Tom. They had almost succeeded, when a little rustle behind them made Winona, whose senses were the most alert, let go and turn. The others followed her eyes. They sat up and looked, and Tom jumped to his feet and began to dust himself off.

The newcomer, who was a most forlorn and bedraggled little girl, spoke very welcome words.

“Me’s very hundry!” she said pathetically.

“You poor little thing!” said Louise. “Come here, dear; there’s lots for you to eat.” The little girl made straight for her. Louise got out a fresh paper napkin, and piled sandwiches, loaf, cake and all on it.

“Wait a minute,” said Billy. “Is all that good for so little a girl—hadn’t you better give her one at a time?”

Louise held the veal loaf poised in air on her fork. “Will your mother let you eat this?” she asked.

The bedraggled small child sat down on the grass, as if the words were an invitation. She was a pretty, dirty child of perhaps five, dressed only in a soiled and ragged underwaist and petticoat, and with a mane of very long and heavy hair, all tangles and elf-locks. Her hair was yellow and her eyes big and blue, and she would have been pretty had she been cared-for looking.

“Ain’t got any mother,” she said, “just Vicky. She lets me.”

“Poor little thing!” said Louise again, and handed her the veal loaf. The child began to eat everything at once, with an eagerness which made it certain she had told the truth, at least, about being hungry.

“What’s your name, kiddie? You’ll tell me, won’t you?” asked Billy, when she seemed to have taken the edge off her appetite. He bent down to her with a sympathetic expression which he possessed at times, and which—or something about him—won the hearts of most small children he had dealings with.

“Sandy,” she said through large mouthfuls.

“Sandy what?” inquired Louise.

“Sandy Mitchell. Gimme more cake?”

As she had had two large slices, it was thought best not to give her any more.

“Mercy, no!” said Winona, as Louise was cutting it, in spite of prudence. “Not another bit. We don’t want her to die on our hands. You’d better come over here by the spring, dear, and let me wash your hands.”

Sandy got up immediately, with the placid remark, “It might-a given me a pain, anyway,” and allowed her hands to be washed, and dried on a fresh paper napkin.

“Poor little cowed thing!” exclaimed Louise at this instant obedience. “Sandy, dear, won’t your people be worried about you?”

“Nope,” said Sandy.

“And where do you live?”

“Way, way off,” she said. “We just comed. I’ll show you to-morrow.”

“Poor little dear thing!” said Louise. “How pretty she is! Winnie, I’ve a good mind to adopt her.”

“Having only five at home,” murmured Tom.

“From the way she talks her people wouldn’t care,” said Louise. “Maybe Camp Karonya could take care of her. We will till we go back, anyway.”

“She must belong to one of those poor families along the west branch,” said Tom. “Three miles away, and we can’t possibly get there by canoeing, because we’d have to paddle back seven miles before we could paddle over the three. Who’s going to walk three miles and a half by the thermometer to take the lady home? Don’t all speak at once.”

“Do you live up there?” Louise asked her. “And does your father drink?”

“Yep,” said Sandy. “Favver? Course he dwinks. Evvybody dwinks.”

“Think of being brought up to think things like that,” said Louise.

“Don’t you think,” suggested Winona, “that we’d better take her back to camp? I don’t know the way to the place Tom talks about, and maybe it would be best for Mrs. Bryan to take her anyway, if they do drink.”

“Good idea,” said everybody. Sandy herself seemed pleased, and attached herself to them as readily as a stray puppy would have done. They cleared up leisurely, then got back into the canoe, taking the child in, too. It was rather a close fit, though it was an eighteen-foot canoe, but they managed it. She was no more trouble than Puppums would have been—Puppums, fortunately, had been left with Florence. They had a good day with the fishing, and trailed into Camp Karonya at six with fish for breakfast; and Sandy.

“Good luck!” were Tom’s parting words. “We’ll come to-morrow and help you take her back, if you like.”

“You needn’t bother,” said his sister. “We’ll take the faithful rowboat.”

“We aren’t going to take her back!” insisted Louise. “I’m going to adopt her. Sandy, wouldn’t you like to live with me? I’d dress you in nice clothes and give you a dolly.”

“An’ five cents?” demanded Sandy, “An’ things to eat?”

“Oh, the poor baby!” said Louise. “She’s had to think about money and food and grown-up things like the poor little children you read about in the pamphlets. Yes, indeed, you shall, Sandy.”

“She looks well-fed,” said Tom. “Well, good luck. Don’t get a reputation for collecting them—you mayn’t be able to dispose of orphans as easily as you can kittens.”

They parted, and Louise carried Sandy into camp. They arrived as supper was about ready. The Blue Birds carried the fish off to the ice-box (it was literally a box, a very ingenious arrangement of sawdust and wood which had meant a bead for Elizabeth) and the rest clustered about Louise’s treasure-trove.

“Better find out if she really needs adopting,” advised Marie as they sat around the long table, and Sandy exercised an appetite as large as her noon one.

“With a drunken father, and no mother, and looking like that?” fired up Louise. “I’m going to wash her after supper.”

There seemed no connection between washing her and adopting her, but there evidently was to Louise.

“Want me to help?” offered Winona. “It ought to be more fun than washing Puppums.”

“I hope she won’t howl and try to climb over the side of the tub, the way he does,” said Louise. “Yes, thank you, I’d love to be helped.”

A warm bath in a foot-tub, following directly on a large meal of corn fritters, baked potatoes and huckle-berries, ought nearly to have killed Sandy, but it didn’t.

“I never dreamed you meant to do more than wash her face and hands,” protested Marie, who, as the guardian of the Blue Birds, had ideas about such things. But it was too late. Anyway, there was no visible effect. Sandy awakened next morning, well, happy, and still hungry. They had given her Nataly’s bunk with Mrs. Bryan. Helen bunked with Elizabeth, because Nataly said the girls tossed, and Mrs. Bryan didn’t.

While Sandy slept Louise and Winona were busy. Louise woke Winona at five, and they heated water, filled the charcoal-iron, and washed and ironed and mended Sandy’s underclothes. While Louise darned Sandy’s socks, Winona ironed the garments dry. Then they foraged about the store-shed, which was a warm place at that time of year even in the early morning, and found a white dress of Florence’s which Winona thought she had remembered bringing.

When found it proved much too large for Sandy, but Louise was still enthusiastic, and took it up with such good will that two of the tucks she put in had to be ripped out again when they came to dress Sandy in it. They polished the small strapped shoes the child had taken off, sewed the button of each on more firmly, and decided that they looked almost new.

Then Winona went back to awaken her own little sister. When she returned to Louise’s tent she found her friend had finished giving Sandy another bath. She was just dressing her.

“I don’t believe this poor little thing knows what a thorough bath is,” she greeted Winona over the child’s head.

“Yes, I do, too,” said Sandy. “But I had one last night, an’ you’ve been an’ given me anuvver now!”

“I think I’ll box her hair, too,” went on Louise. “It is getting rather common now, but she has so much, and it’s so untidy, that it would really be the best thing even if I didn’t keep her.”

“I wouldn’t do her hair till you’re sure we’re going to keep her,” objected Winona. “Her people mightn’t like it.”

“A dissipated father and a poor little overworked elder sister—Vicky is your sister, isn’t she, Sandy?—and a home where they don’t even wash or feed her? Poor people haven’t time to take care of hair like this. Anyway, they haven’t done it, for it was tangled awfully,” she finished conclusively.

“But it’s so pretty!” protested Winona. “Just look at it, nearly to her waist, and thick and curly, and such a lovely gold color!”

“So much the worse for her health,” said Louise as promptly as Red-Riding-Hood’s wolf. “Sandy, wouldn’t you like your hair cut nice and short, so it wouldn’t get tangled any more?”

“An’ twousers?” demanded Sandy hopefully. “Gee, zat’s gweat!”

“I’ll have to stop her using slang,” said Louise. “No, dear, not exactly twousers, but—I could get her some overalls, couldn’t I, Win?”

“I suppose so,” said Winona.

“Then I will,” said Louise.

“You’re gweat, too,” said Sandy, turning around where she sat on Louise’s lap, and throwing both little bare arms around her neck and kissing her. Louise kissed her back warmly.

“Isn’t she a dear?” she said. “Winnie, will you please hand me the scissors?”

“No,” said Winona, “I won’t. It’s wicked to spoil pretty hair like that.” And she walked out of the tent.

“I’ll det ’em,” said Sandy, slipping down and bringing them to Louise from the table at the end of the tent.

“Here’s a piece of ribbon to tie it with, if you won’t cut it off,” said Winona, reappearing with a wide length of blue taffeta.

“No, thank you,” said Louise, cutting industriously and very neatly. “It would just be in her eyes all the time. I’m going to cut it straight across her eyebrows, like a little boy’s.”

“I did it to all my dolls once,” said Winona. She sat down, though, and watched Louise till she was done.

Louise had washed the little girl’s hair when she gave her the second bath, and when it was even and short enough to suit her she finished dressing the child in her white frock, and set her on the grass outside, to dry in the sunshine. She gave her a picture book to look at to keep her amused. The bobbed locks, thick and curly, fluffed out charmingly in a yellow bush around the sweet little face.

“It’s becoming,” admitted Winona. “She looks like a cherub, or a choir-boy on a Christmas card. There is the signal for breakfast. You just got her dry in time.”

“Breakfast?” said Sandy, brightening.

“Poor little darling!” said Louise, catching and kissing her. “I don’t believe she ever had anything to eat before she came here!”

They went to breakfast in state, and Sandy’s golden aureole and clean white frock made quite a sensation at the table. They piled things up for her to sit on, and she was put where Mrs. Bryan could reach her, and argue with her easily if she misbehaved. But she acted very well indeed. Her table-manners were good, considering, she talked without the least shyness, and managed to eat a very large breakfast. Louise beamed with pride over the impression her protegee was making.

When breakfast was over, and Sandy turned loose again to play with Puppums and Florence, to whom she had taken a violent fancy, Louise packed a market-basket with everything a starving family might need. Then she found her purse, summoned Winona, and they took the rowboat and went forth, Sandy and Puppums in the bottom of it.

They rowed along the west branch, a narrow stream that doubled at right angles from the branch the camps were on. It was lined with pretty summer cottages for a part of the way, then after that, at the very end, came a part that was filled with poor people who had squatted there. But long before they came to the poorest part Sandy desired to land.

“Here we is!” she said cheerfully, at a prosperous-looking dock about a third of the way up.

“Not here, dearie,” said Louise. “It’s probably some place where the poor child’s been fed,” she added aside to Winona.

“We may as well get out, though, mayn’t we?” suggested Winona. “Maybe they can tell us where she comes from.”

They tied the boat and got out, and walked down a deep lane for a while. Presently they came to a large white house in the middle of a couple of acres of half-yard, half-lawn looking land.

The doors and windows were all wide open, but there was no one to be seen. Sandy walked into the hall with an assured tread, took a long breath, and called at the top of her lungs, “Vicky! Vick-ee!”

The girls stood at the door and waited, ready to apologize for their charge’s rudeness whenever somebody might appear. In about five minutes, during which Sandy continued to shout, they heard a light, slow step along the upper hall. Presently a slim, dark, rather pretty little girl of about eleven scuffed down the stairs. She had on a kimono over her nightgown, though it was quite late in the morning.

“That you, Sand?” she called as she came. “Goodness, you’re up early!”

“This is Vicky,” Sandy explained to the girls over her shoulder. “Vicky! I’ve had two baths!”

Louise stood, for once, speechless. She hung mechanically to the handle of the basketful of provisions, but she was too surprised to move. It was Winona who finally took courage to come forward and explain.

“I’m Winona Merriam,” she said, “and this is my friend, Louise Lane. We are over at Camp Karonya, the Camp Fire, you know. We found this little girl yesterday, and we came over to-day to bring her home. Does she—does she belong here?”

“Why, of course she does,” said Vicky. “Thank you for bringing her. She’s always trailing off that way, aren’t you, Sand? How long you been gone?”

“Is she your sister?” asked Louise, who had her breath by this time.

“M’hm,” nodded Vicky. “Why—why, Alexandra Mitchell, where’s your hair?”

“It got boxed!” exclaimed Sandy gleefully. “Isn’t it nice?”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to explain about that,” said Winona bravely. “Your little sister strayed into a little fishing-trip four of us were having yesterday, very hungry and rather dirty, and without all her clothes on. And from the way she talked we thought she was—well, we washed her and dressed her, and—I’m sorry—shortened her hair, it was so tangled. I’m ever so sorry. I think it will grow——”

Vicky stared a minute at Alexandra, very proud of herself, neat, clean, dressed and bobbed. Then instead of being angry she sat down on the floor, where she was, and burst into a fit of laughter.

“You thought—you thought—oh, my goodness!”

“Yes,” said Winona. She sat down, too, and finally went off herself. “Yes—we did!”

“And you brought food for the hungry family——” Vicky’s eye fell on the large basket which Louise still held stiffly before her. “Oh, oh, oh! And Uncle Will’s pride, Sandy’s hair, that he made a picture of that sold for ever so much money—oh, my goodness gracious!”

She and Winona both began to laugh again. Louise didn’t. She stood against the wall like a wax statue.

“It certainly is funny,” said Vicky at last, mopping her eyes, “but I’m good and glad about Sandy’s hair. It was an awful nuisance to take care of, and Uncle Will would keep it that way so he could paint pictures of it. Won’t you stay and have some breakfast? We have a cook.”

“No, thank you,” said Louise hurriedly, “we’ve had our breakfast.”

“What an awful noise, children!” said a voice; and a rather rumpled man appeared. He had an absent look, and also gave an impression of not having been to bed all night. He had a paint-brush in his hand.

Vicky and Sandy sprang for him, hanging to him.

“Oh, Uncle Will, this is two Camp Fire girls,” said Sandy. “They cutted my hair when I was lost. Ain’t it cute?”

“Oh!” said Uncle Will, and looked as aghast as Louise had. “How did this accident happen?”

“It wasn’t an accident,” said Sandy. “Louise boxed my head, an’ gived me two baths!”

Uncle Will—so far as the girls learned that was all the name he had—uttered another faint exclamation. Then he dived back into his room as if he wanted to bear the shock alone.

“I’m so sorry!” said Winona, who found she had all the talking to do. “I’m afraid your uncle doesn’t like it!”

“Oh, he’s only got an artistic temp’rament,” said Vicky, as if it were a disease uncles could not help. “I think Sandy’s goin’ to, too. Do stay to breakfast. We’ll have things out o’ your basket if you will.”

“No, thank you,” said Winona. “I think Louise is in a hurry to go home. Come over and see us. It isn’t far if you have a boat.”

“We’ll get somebody to bring us,” said Vicky. “I’d come now if I was dressed.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad plan if you dressed a little earlier,” said Winona frankly. “Are there just you two?”

“Nope,” said Vicky, “there’s Lancy, too. He’s eight. Uncle Will tries to bring us up, but he don’t know how so very well.”

“Well, when you come down to camp we can tell you a lot of things if you’d like us to,” said Winona.

“Maybe,” said Vicky indifferently. “But it’s all right this way. You can try telling us, though.”

“Well, good-bye,” said Louise—it was all she had contributed to the conversation, but she seemed to contribute it gladly.

So they went, still carrying the basket.

“Wait!” called Sandy’s voice behind them when they had gone a little way. “I’m goin’ back wiv you! You said you’d ’dopted me!”

“But we didn’t know your uncle wasn’t poor then,” said Louise. “We can’t take you away from him.”

“You ’dopted me,” said Sandy doggedly, “an’ I’m goin’ wiv you—so there!” And she thrust her wet little hand into Louise’s and trotted along beside them. “Louise—wasn’t there cake in the basket?”

“You have cake at home, dear,” said Louise. But she looked as if she felt a little better. After all, even if an orphan didn’t need adopting, it was a pleasure to find that she liked it.

“Like you best,” insisted Sandy. “Goin’ to stay wiv you. They don’t care!”

“Oh, let’s let her, just for to-day, anyhow!” said Winona. “I don’t believe anybody’ll mind.”

“All right,” said Louise rather as if she wanted to. They got into the boat again, and rowed to camp.

“Sandy,” asked Louise, “what did you mean by saying your father drank? You haven’t any father.”

“Well, I did have,” said Sandy. “And of sourse he did dwink when there was a him. Evvybody does. Little flowers do. My governess said so.”

“Your governess!” said Louise. “Is your uncle rich enough for you to have a governess—and you go trailing round in your underwaist and petticoat!”

“When he draws pictures an’ sells ’em he is. When he don’t he don’t. Gimme some cake?”

Sandy was evidently quite calm about her way of living.

“She mayn’t need adopting, but she certainly needs reforming,” said Louise vigorously.

They were paddling past the Scouts’ camp by now. Louise was quite willing to go past softly, but Sandy yelled, for she saw Billy.

“Hello, girls!” he called. “Back already? Got all the papers signed?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Louise. “And, Billy, if you ask me any more questions, I’ll jump over and drown!”