frances, led on by tim’s interested questions, had been giving that wounded young man a glowing account of the camp fire movement in general and of their own group in particular. she had told him of the splendid effect it had on the spirit of the girls at hillside, of the wonders it had worked on the characters of blanche shirley and emmeline cerrito.

“and you have no idea how much fun we have had together. even work is fun when we all work together. last year, we were all down on jane’s big farm in kentucky when the harvest had just begun. it happened that there was an excursion for the negroes scheduled for the same day and all the hands, house servants, yard boys, stable boys, even down to the smallest pickaninnies on the place, just took temporary french leave. mr. pellew was terribly upset. you see, he had engaged the machines and everything. anyway, ellen and mabel got busy in the kitchen and cooked for simply rafts of people, the rest of us went out in the fields with jack and mr. pellew and he said that we worked just as well as the men and that we were lots more conscientious.” frances said this with a rather defiant air, because she had often found that the young men of her acquaintance were inclined to doubt female prowess in any line other than fancy sewing.

“you sound like a dandy bunch of girls. no one could realize that fact more keenly than i. but don’t you think it is rather unusual for girls to be as capable as that? and don’t you suppose the novelty of the affair had a great deal to do with the girl’s conscientiousness?” seeing frances’ indignant expression, tim hastened to add, “i am not stating this as facts. like will irwin’s japanese school boy, ‘i ask to know’.”

“all right, then,” said frances, relenting at his meek tones, “if you come to the discussion with an humble open mind, i’ll continue to be pro, and after i have finished i’ll listen to your con.”

“like a lamb to the slaughter,” announced tim, folding his brown arms over his chest. “i’m ready. the battle may begin.”

“heavens! you have me all confused now. how am i to know whether you are going to listen like a meek lamb or whether you have entered the ranks, arrayed in glittering armor, ready to fight to the death. don’t be so contradictory in your statements.”

“i crave your indulgence for my mixed metaphors. in the crude parlance of these modern times, ‘shoot’,” said tim.

“resolved: that the female of the species can do as much work as the male and do it in almost as many branches as the aforesaid male. two cousins of mine were with the vassar college farm unit for twelve weeks, summer before last, and at the end of the twelve weeks, the head of the farmerettes mailed out questionnaires to the different men who had employed the girls as farm hands during the summer. these questionnaires asked the farmers if the girls were equal to the men as to strength, interest, conscientiousness and so on. all of the farmers answered that they were perfectly able to do all the work that had been set them to do, and that they had been given the work of the men that were overseas, and that they had accomplished it well; and, further, that they showed a quickness in learning that the men did not, and that they were more interested in their work, and far more conscientious than the men they had formerly employed. when asked if they would consider employing the vassar girls at another time, all the men who had employed the girls said that most assuredly they would,” and frances stopped rather out of breath but smiling triumphantly at her adversary. “we will now hear the other side.”

“madame, i have the honor to announce that your worthy opponent is absolutely convinced and begs your forgiveness for his former unbelief. there will be no rebuttal, ladies and gentlemen,” said tim with a grin at a make-believe audience.

he looked at frances in open admiration, for the vivid pink that the excitement of a chance argument always brought had flushed her cheeks and her gray eyes sparkled with amusement at his defeat.

just then there was a thud on deck and mabel’s cheery voice called to find out how the patient was getting along. after making the tender fast to the boat boom, jack and ellen and mabel and charlie, followed by mr. wing, came down into the little saloon to tell tim that the telegram assuring his family of his safety had been duly sent.

“the girls insisted on our bringing you candy and magazines, but i have a hunch that it wasn’t you alone they had in view,” said jack, unloading himself of many bundles.

“but i knew you would want something to smoke, so i brought along a couple of cartons of piedmonts. i hope that it is what you use,” said charlie with the complacency of one who has done well.

“speaking of unselfish devotion,” ellen spoke up in defense of herself and mabel, “who likes piedmonts more than our own dear charlie?”

frances jumped up, grabbed ellen’s arm and lifted it high over her head and in her best referee manner began, “one, two, three, four, five—”

tim raised a protesting hand, “i’ll report the match to the authorities, as not one word was said about the ‘gentlemen being members of this club.’”

“what in the world is society coming to, when its younger members of both sexes are so familiar with the expressions of the boxing ring?” mr. wing asked.

“oh, daddy, daddy! as if you don’t go to every fight that comes off, not to speak of the wrestling matches! who was it i heard saying to breck not long ago that he would ‘lay five to one’ on dempsey in the willard-dempsey fight?” and, withering before mabel’s onslaught, mr. wing retreated up the companion.

“listen to this,” said jack, who had been running through the magazines while the bout was going on, “it’s called ‘sails’:

“if he had seen

a barkentine

beating off a blowy head,

or, all a-sheen,

a brigantine

running free by trade-wind sped,

how could fulton have dared to dream

of steam?”

“that’s rather nice,” tim said as jack finished the little verse, “and it’s just the way i feel. wouldn’t it have been fine if there wasn’t any machinery and we could all have gone on living in the woods, in leopard skins—i rather fancy myself in a leopard skin—”

“you are just the person to make the most fuss if your train happens to be the least bit late,” frances broke in on him.

“and sail around all summer in a fast little yacht,” tim went on, with a grin at frances.

“then about the first of october eat enough to last you until spring and crawl into your little cave and sleep till warm weather.”

“what a pretty picture,” laughed mabel. “glimpse tim, draped in leopard’s skin, nimbly going up the shrouds, with a telescope, development of the modern time, to sit in the crosstree and watch the races in the sound.”

“people always imagine that whatever time they live in is the very worst time, and, as for clothes, what could be more uncomfortable than a leopard’s skin. it would always be getting in the soup or something,” objected jack.

“you would hardly have to worry about soup in connection with a leopard’s skin. what you would probably do would be skip along the shore and hunt for mussels or hide behind the bushes and jump out on a frightened little pig and sit down on your haunches and devour him raw,” decided frances.

“consider the bristles,” shuddered ellen.

“dinghy abaft our stern, sirs,” announced mr. wing to the little group in the saloon.

the dinghy slipped up to the “boojum” and jane went down to join her friends in the saloon. breck, after making fast the dinghy, went forward to the galley. it had been decided between them that it would be better not to say anything about their plans until after frederick gray made his appearance and the subject of tim’s boat had been settled, then jane had planned to talk to mr. wing about the feasibility of turning hurricane island into a summer resort. as to their proposed partnership, that could wait. in the meantime it was nobody’s business but theirs.

“how ’bout my little boat?” tim demanded with such a motherly expression that they all laughed.

“right as rain,” jane assured him. “and, oh! tim, she is a darling, isn’t she? breck and i snugged ship for you and we have got a boy coming over tonight to see you about taking her back to nantucket for you. ‘sabrina’ is a lovely name for her too.”

“what sort of boy, plain jane?” inquired mr. wing.

“a perfect peach of a boy. breck and i went bats about him. in the first place, he is a dream to look at—”

“something more substantial than a dream is going to take my ‘sabrina’ home,” said tim.

“beautiful people have sense sometimes, tim. anyhow, he is coming over tonight and you can see for yourself. he is plenty big and strong enough to handle her if he is able to get a friend of his to go along with him. he is awfully interesting and well read and made me feel awfully ashamed because he didn’t use one drop of slang the entire time we talked to him, and it must have been at least three hours. his father is an inventor. his name is frederick gray and i asked him to come to supper. you don’t mind, do you, skipper?” jane appealed to mr. wing.

“what about the island—you haven’t said a word about it?” asked jack.

“heavens, don’t get me started on the island. i don’t ever want to stop talking about it. we, i mean i’ve got the most wonderful plan, but i am not going to talk about it till fred comes over tonight,” jane put them off.

“what about my lobsters?” demanded mabel.

“we brought you back a whole dinghy full of them. the steward is getting them out now. fred gave them to us.”

“i have changed my mind about fred, then,” said tim. “i am that fond of lobsters.”

“anybody in his right mind would have to like fred. but wait till you see him. in the meantime, how long before lunch? i am simply starved!” and jane pounced on the candy.