The girls expected to get their dinners wherever it was most convenient, and Betty had drawn up a sort of schedule that, should they be able to keep up to it, would mean comfort at noon.  As I have explained, the breakfasts and suppers would be eaten at the homes of friends or relatives.

The girls had a little alcohol stove, a teapot and saucepan, and they expected, under favorable circumstances, to stop by the roadside and brew a cup of tea, each girl carrying an aluminum cup and saucer.  Evaporated cream and sugar, to be replenished from time to time, formed part of their stores.  Sandwiches, to be procured as needed, would form a staple food.

The day was a “perfect” one for June.  Clad in their new suits of olive drab, purposely designed for walking, with sensible blouses, containing pockets, with skirts sufficiently short, stout boots and natty little caps, the outdoor girls looked their name.  Already there was the hint of tan on their faces, for they had been much in the open of late.

They had assembled at Betty’s house for the start, and were about ready to leave, though there seemed to be much confusion at the last minute.

Their first stopping place, at least for the night, would be the town of Rockford, about sixteen miles away, where Betty’s aunt lived.  They expected to remain two nights there, using the second day to walk to a certain old historic mill that was said to be worthy of a visit.

The good-byes were said, over and over again, it seemed, and a number of friends called to wish the girls good luck.  Betty, who had been voted into the place of leader, looked over her small command.  What it lacked in numbers it made up in attractiveness, for certainly no prettier picture could have been viewed than the one the girls presented that June morning, beneath the trees in the big yard.

“Well, are we ready?” finally asked Betty.

“As ready as we ever shall be,” replied Grace.

“Then—­what shall I say—­forward—­march?”

“Just say—­hike!” cried the irrepressible Will.

“Don’t mind him!” cautioned his sister.  “Oh, I’ve left my handkerchief in your house, Betty!” and she hastened to secure it.

But, finally, after a few more forgotten articles had been collected, the girls were ready to start.  Mr. Nelson came out to wave a farewell, and his wife appeared, to add more to her already numerous cautions.

“What shall I do with that five hundred dollar bill?” asked Betty’s father.  “If the owner comes, shall I give it up?”

“Don’t you dare!” she cried.  “At least, not until we girls have a chance to see him.  We want to find out about the romance back of it.  Write to us if it’s claimed.”

“All right—­I will,” he said, with a laugh.

“But it doesn’t seem as though, after this lapse of time, that it would be called for.  Good-bye!”

“Good-bye!  Good-luck!”