It is true that the much feared salted almonds were there but they crouched in shame under the spreading sides of a wooden hash-bowl camouflaged with crepe paper and piled with jellied doughnuts.  If there were any lady fingers they did not show their faces (if lady fingers have faces) but the jovial raspberry tart was there in all its glory a hundred strong.

“Oh, I think everything is perfectly scrumptious,” said Minerva Skybrow, completing a tour of inspection at this culinary paradise and allowing herself an olive or two.

“Goodness gracious, let them alone or there won’t be any left,” said Miss Dora Dane Daring.

“Silly!” said Minerva.  “There are oceans of them.  Doesn’t the river look perfectly lovely in the moonlight?”

“Oh, I think everything is perfectly adorable,” said another friend; “and the weather is just heavenly.  For goodness’ sakes, let the candy alone; that’s the fourth piece you took.”

“Listen,” said Minerva.  “I’m not going to let a single one of them come out here till they have all arrived.  We’re going to have the concert in the house first and they’ve just got to listen to Mrs. Wild speak about the Camp-fire movement, because she’s just perfectly wonderful.  Do you know, I wish I had put the refreshments in the summer house.  No, I don’t either—­yes, I do.  It would have been more romantic—­rustic.”

“Oh, I think this tent is perfect,” said another girl, slyly helping herself to a salted almond.

“I know,” said Minerva, her hand stealing unconsciously toward a box of marsh mallows, “I know, but what I wanted was something unusual—­symbolic.  A rustic platform in one of the big trees would have been nice; it would have been sort of—­sort of scoutish.  I want to have things different.  That’s why boys always make fun of the Camp-fire Girls, they think we’re tame.  Think how Roy Blakeley and his friends actually camped in that adorable old railroad car while it was traveling, goodness knows where.  When I went to the Aero Club reception with Harold Fall they had the refreshments in a great balloon; we had to go up to it on a ladder—­shh, listen!  Did you hear a noise?”

A chorus of excited whisperings followed her startled query.

“No, where?”

“What was it?”

“Was it a voice?”

“You mean on the river?”

“Shh, listen,” said Minerva; “look, do you see a light—­right there among the bushes? Shh.  Don’t run.”

There was indeed a light shining through the dark foliage alongshore and presently a voice was to be heard, a voice speaking words to strike terror to the stoutest Camp-fire Girl heart.

“I watched for the cops,” it said, “and as soon as I saw them I beat it across the field and told the gang and every one got away but it was a narrow escape.  One detective had me by the collar. This is going to be easy though.”