best group of canoeists we've ever had in camp. Won't they make a
showing on Regatta Day, though!"

Oh-Pshaw longed with all her heart on floating supper nights to belong
to that illustrious company and go gliding up and down the river like a
swan instead of chugging around in the launch, sitting cramped up to
make room for the supper supplies that covered the floor on the trip
out, and baskets of used forks and spoons and cups on the trip back. It
was not a brilliant company that went in the launch. Jacob, Dr.
Grayson's helper about camp, ran the engine. Being desperately shy, he
attended strictly to business, and never so much as glanced at the girls
packed in behind him. Half a dozen of the younger camp girls, who never
did anything but whisper together, carve stones for their favorite
councilors, and giggle continually; three or four of the older girls who
sat silent as clams for the most part, and never betrayed any particular
enthusiasm, no matter what went on; Carmen Chadwick, who clung to
Oh-Pshaw and squeaked with alarm every time the launch changed her
course; and Miss Peckham, who from her seat in the stern kept shouting
nervous admonitions at the unheeding Jacob; these constituted the
company who were doomed to travel together on all excursions.

Oh-Pshaw labored heroically to infuse a spark of life into the company;
she wrote a really clever little song about "the Exclusive Crew of the
Irish Stew," but she could not induce the exclusive crew to sing it, so
her first poetic effort was love's labor lost. So she looked enviously
upon the canoes and resolved more firmly than ever to overcome her fear
of the water and learn to swim, and thus have done with the launch and
its uninspiring company for all time.

Migwan's eyes, as usual, went roving in search of Miss Amesbury, but