"All our girls are good sports," said Hinpoha.

"All but one."

"Which one?"

"You know."

"You mean Gladys?"

"Yes."

"She isn't a good sport, now," said Hinpoha, "but she may develop
into one before the summer is over. Let's hope so." Then she
added, "She surely has it in for you for some reason."

"I know it," said Sahwah, "and that's what gives me a pain. I
never touched her bed the night it fell down, but I might as well
have."

"But you did paint her face that night at Balsam Lake," said
Hinpoha, with a giggle at the remembrance.

"Yes, but I thought it was Migwan, and anyhow I apologized."

"Well," said Hinpoha with a burst of altruism, "it's this way.
Gladys is as shallow as a pie-tin and a big cry baby and all
that, but if she hadn't been like that her father wouldn't have
wanted her to be a Camp Fire Girl and we never would have come to