“It used to have that effect upon us at first, too,” replied Miss Judy. “We would all come racing down here with our hearts in our mouths, expecting we knew not what. It took a long time before we could believe it was a delusion.
“And now, come back to bed, or you’ll be taking cold, standing out here in your nightgown.”
Still looking back at the river and half expecting to see some agitation in its surface, Sahwah followed Miss Judy back to Gitchee-Gummee and returned to bed.
THE ALLEY INITIATION
Folk-dancing hour had just drawn to a close, and the long bugle for swimming sounded through camp. The sets of eight which had been drawn up on the tennis court in the formation of “If All the World Were Paper,” broke and scattered as before a whirlwind as the girls raced for their tents to get into bathing suits. Sahwah, as might be expected, was first down on the dock, but close at her heels was another girl whom she recognized as living in one of the Avenue tents. This girl, while broader and heavier than Sahwah, moved with the same easy grace that characterized Sahwah’s movements, and like Sahwah, she seemed consumed with impatience to get into the water.
“Oh, I wish Miss Armstrong would hurry, hurry, hurry!” she exclaimed, jigging up and down on the dock. “I just can’t wait until I get in.”
“Neither can I,” replied Sahwah, scanning the path down the hillside for a sight of the swimming director.
“Do you live in the Avenue or the Alley?” asked the girl beside her.
“In the Alley,” replied Sahwah.
“Gitchee-Gummee. Which one are you in?”
“That’s way up near the bungalow, isn’t it?”
“Yes, where are you?”
“The very last tent in the Alley, that one there, buried in the trees.”
“Oh, how lovely! You’re right near the path to the river, aren’t you? I wish I were a little nearer this end. It would save time getting to the water.”
“But you’re so near the bungalow that you only have to go a step when the breakfast bugle blows. You have the advantage there,” replied Sahwah. “We down in Gitchee-Gummee have to run for all we’re worth to get there before you’re all assembled. We have hard work getting dressed in time. We put on our ties while we’re running down the path, as it is.”
The other girl laughed, showing a row of very white, even teeth. “Did you see that girl who came running into the dining-room this morning with her middy halfway over her head?”
Sahwah laughed, too, at the recollection. “That was Bengal Virden, the one they call the Elephant’s Child,” she replied. “She lives in Ponemah, with some friends of mine. She had loitered with her dressing and didn’t have her middy on when the breakfast bugle blew, so she decided to put it on en route. But while she was pulling it on over her head she got stuck fast in it with her arms straight up in the air and had to come in that way and get somebody to pull her through. I never saw anything so funny,” she finished.