Summer was almost over. It had passed quickly for Nancy, although at first her visit had threatened to be dull, monotonous and even a little unpleasant. But as soon as the conflict between Rosa and Orilla became of concern to her, just so promptly did her own days at Fernlode become absorbingly interesting.

Rosa’s worry over a few extra pounds of fat now seemed simply babyish, but so it is with most personal appearance worries. They may mean much to a sensitive girl, but to others they are usually accepted as they should be, as matters of small importance. It is character that always matters most.

All this was clear to Rosa finally, and with it had come the lesson in self-restraint: no candy, the lesson in self-discipline: long walks, and284 the lesson in common sense: to be sincere. All of which had developed a surprisingly attractive Rosa, and in her laudable cousin’s efforts Nancy had enjoyed an active and interesting part.

It had been thrilling—those hunts on the islands, those escapades of Rosa’s—and it had been fun when the worry was over. As Nancy repeatedly insisted she would not be called smart, because she wasn’t any smarter than most girls; it was simply because Rosa had been so oddly different that Nancy’s plain common sense shone forth.

The cousins now were affectionate chums indeed, for trouble and trials often bring forth the brightest flowers of true affection, especially where these troubles do not interfere with the rights of others and are strictly matters which belong in a girl’s world.

Having the little picnic proved a welcome change, and its success was marked by many pleasant memories of the children’s lovely time, besides the pleasure the report of the affair was sure to bring to Lady Betty.

285 There remained now but one more problem for the young girls to solve: they must reach Orilla and tell her that Margot had agreed to let her use her old room, under the grape vines, so that she would no longer be compelled to steal in and snatch a few precious moments in her coveted sanctuary.

But where to find Orilla?

Leaving the station Dell drove the smallest of the fleet of cars, with Nancy and Rosa, to hunt for the girl. Inquiring at Mrs. Rigney’s they found Orilla’s mother in great distress.

“Something must have happened,” she wailed. “Orilla has not been home to-day and I’ve even had the little boys and girls searching the woods for her. Where can she have gone? Do you girls know anything about her?” she implored, excitedly.

Nancy did not say that she too had expected to see Orilla, but the three girls assured the worried mother that they surely would locate her daughter, and once more they faced that almost continuous task of searching the woods.

286 Driving through the woodland roads at the rear of the lake front, was by no means as easy as sailing on its smooth waters, but this was the way the girls were now compelled to go.

“Those logs she cut down must have been for something,” Dell reasoned. “Have either of you found out what she did with those?”

“She intended to build a camp,” Rosa answered, “but I don’t know where. She was as secretive as a—fox.”

“She told me too she had a place in the woods, and spoke of loving the wilderness so much, but she never said anything to me about where it was,” Nancy also explained.

“Well, we’ll drive along toward Weirs,” Dell suggested. “But we can’t expect to get out onto the islands from the land side.”

Thus they journeyed in the late afternoon, over the rough hills, up and down, in and out, but among the camps picked out along the road, where summer folks had pitched their tents, no sign of Orilla was discovered.

“Could we hire a boat here at this landing and go along the water front?” Nancy suggested.287 “I feel we must have been near her place that afternoon we helped with the little trees.”

“Yes, we could do that,” agreed Dell. It was rather late for sailing parties, and the man in the sailor’s uniform literally jumped at the chance of taking them on his power boat.

“I believe she is on that island over there,” pointed out Nancy, “because when we were on the water that afternoon, I saw a flash of light in that clump of low pines.”

“A clue!” sang out Rosa gayly. “Depend upon Nancy to notice things. Tell the man to steer in there, Dell. And let’s hope for the best.”

Like the other islands this was small in area; and as the girls jumped ashore the boatman took out his “picture-paper” to look that over while he waited, for they all knew the search would take but a comparatively short time.

“Yes, she’s been here,” declared Rosa, almost as soon as she had stepped on land. “See these bushes? They’ve just been trampled down—”

288 “Here’s a regular path,” interrupted Nancy. “And see all these pieces of paper.”

“We are certainly on the trail,” agreed Dell. “Nancy, we’ll follow you; this was your clue, you know,” she pointed out tersely.

Quietly they followed Nancy. The little path was leading some place, certainly, for it was marked out clearly in the heavy grass and undergrowth.

Suddenly Nancy stopped. She felt she was near someone, and the path was opening into a cleared spot that was faced around from the other side with the low scrub pine trees.

“Orilla!” she said, instinctively.

“Nancy!” came a feeble, faint reply.

“Where—is—she!” demanded Rosa, close upon Nancy’s lead. “Oh, look!”

There she was, on a bed of pine needles, lying like an Hawaiian under the most picturesque hut. It was open on the side the girls were facing, but the thatched roof fell over the other sides in true tropical fashion.

“Orilla,” breathed Nancy, who was quickly289 beside the unhappy girl, “what has happened?”

“I’m sick, Nancy,” she replied, “too sick to walk and—and—I’ve been lying here—so long!”

“You want a drink, Orilla,” insisted Rosa, all excitement now. “Here’s your tin cup, but your water pail is—empty!”

“Yes. I couldn’t get to the spring—”

“The boatman may have some drinking water,” Dell suggested. “Give me the pail, Rosa.”

Immediately they set about to care for the sick girl, stifling their natural curiosity at the strange surroundings.

“Don’t go away, Nancy,” Orilla begged, as Nancy rose from her side to attend to something. “As I lay here I have been thinking of so many things. Just let me have a drink, Dell. Thank you for coming,” she said, noticing Dell Durand’s kind attention. “I’m not worth all this bother.”

“Hush,” ordered Nancy, “you don’t want290 us crying, do you? When folks talk that way—”

“It’s so like a funeral,” spoke up the impulsive Rosa, who was secretly looking over the hut, mystified and astounded.

“You had better not talk now,” Nancy cautioned Orilla.

“Oh, I must; I’m not so very sick, just weak and worried, and I’ll be better when I’ve told you,” Orilla insisted. “Girls, this is the camp I was building,” she began. “You see, my father was a carpenter and I love even the scent of freshly cut wood.”

A smile twisted Rosa’s face at this, but she quickly conquered it. She had disastrously followed Orilla in her quest for freshly cut wood.

“Yes, I always carried home chips,” Orilla went on, having risen on her queer bed and settled her head against an uncovered pine pillow. “When I was very small I would follow the men who chopped the trees, to carry the chips home in my little sunbonnet. I have always loved new wood.”

291 “This place is wonderful,” Dell interrupted. “Just like a picture. I can’t imagine you building it all alone. You are really a genius at it, Orilla.”

“My arms are very strong—I suppose I’ve trained them to be,” Orilla said, “but Rosa helped me with the wood—”

“You bet I did,” exclaimed Rosa, “and my hands still bear the marks.”

“Well, you see,” the sick girl continued, “I know what an attraction a real hut in a real woods would be, and I’ve worked at this all summer. I was going to bring parties here—”

“We had one of them to-day,” burst out Nancy, and that remark brought on a hurried report of the party just held at Fernlode.

“You did that! You girls!” exclaimed Orilla, who was too surprised to lie still. She was shifting to a sitting position, her thick, bright hai............