ve and we have only three minutes. I
promised mother to be back at five, and punctuality is an unbreakable
rule of our camp. We made it so because we have always found that
tardiness is the ruination of all good summers; even camp life must
have rules," and Cologne urged the steed to a little faster gait.

"Is this your own horse?" asked Dorothy.

"No, but we have him for the summer. Mother insisted on us having a
real old timer--safer, she thinks."

"And he knows all the roads, that's something," added Dorothy. "If we
should get lost he could find our way home for us."

"Indeed, he could. I often give him the lines, and he goes along to
the post office, and back again, without the slightest prompting. Here
we are!"

Cologne drew up, not in front of a canvas tent, but beside a fine old
barn.

"Is that the--tent--the camp?" asked Dorothy.

"Yes, but just wait until you see how we have it settled. There's
mother," as Mrs. Markin appeared at the door and extended the most
cordial welcome to Dorothy.

Swinging aside the great old-fashioned door, that opened in two parts,
Cologne ushered Dorothy into the camp.

"Oh, how perfectly splendid!"

It was like a picture from an art magazine. The real rafters--no
boxed-shaped beams set up like an uncovered porch roof--but rafters,
that hung down low, fragrant with the scent of hickory, soft in tint,
and brown with the polish and glow of years. Then the big field stone
fire-place, with the "side walk" all around it, and the pieces of rag
carpet!

"I have never seen anything so perfectly splendid!" chimed Dorothy,
"how ever did you find such a camp?"

"The mater's idea," replied Cologne, enthused with Dorothy's delight.
"There used to be a big house on this farm, but it was burned down.
Mother knew the place and we got it. Isn't it a perfect mansion? Mater
would not hear of us sleeping in the open--says tents fly away in the
night. Let me show you the whole house."

The first floor--for there was a loft--was laid out in a living room,
with many luxuries even to a hired, old-fashioned, square piano; the
chairs, Cologne explained, had been bought at a second-hand shop along
the mountain road; and the man who kept the shop was so surprised to
have a call for such odd chairs and tables that Mrs. Markin was able
to pick up some splendid pieces for a mere trifle. Then the sleeping
rooms, Mrs. Markin's and her daughter's, besides the guest room, were
on the first floor, whi