--if such a thing were possible.

Betty's summing up of the room they were in was indeed well deserved, for
the place was charming. There was a dresser, a bed, and three chairs, and
all of these articles of furniture had been rough-hewed out of logs,
giving the place a delightfully rustic appearance. There was a grass rug
on the floor and in one corner a little table covered with books.

"Isn't it darling?" cried Mollie, following Betty's glance about the
place. "Uncle John built the lodge and made all of the furniture himself,
you know. And he bought the grass rugs from the Indians."

They were still exclaiming about the place when Mrs. Irving called to them
that breakfast was ready. With a whoop of delight they answered the
summons, and a moment later sat themselves down to a most satisfying meal
of omelet and toast and coffee with real cream in it. Also Mrs. Irving set
on the table a yellow-topped pitcher of milk fresh from the cow.

"Our friend, Lizzie Davis, brought it," their chaperon answered with a
smile, in response to the girls' curious questions. "Also some fresh
butter and eggs. I have an idea," she added, as she got up to refill the
butter plate, "that we shall live on the fat of the land while we are
here."

"Lizzie Davis," repeated Betty, pausing in the act of filling her glass
with fresh milk and regarding Mrs. Irving with dancing eyes. "Tell me,
chaperon dear. Didn't she have nice red cheeks, and wasn't she
delightfully plump?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Irving, smiling at Betty's flushed prettiness. "She was