But this burly figure in the baggy blue uniform
had a face more like a wooden Indian than a human grown-up--and an
old, dyspeptic wooden Indian at that. Missy's eyes were to avail her
nothing that hour.
"Off you get at the watering-tank," he ordained. "The whole pack of
you."
And at the watering-tank off they got.
And then, as often follows a mood of high adventure, there fell upon
the festive group a moment of pause, of unnatural quiet, of "let
down."
"Well, what're we going to do now?" queried somebody.
"We'll do whatever Missy says," said Raymond, just as if he were Sir
Walter Raleigh speaking of the Virgin Queen. It was a wonder someone
didn't start teasing him about her; but everyone was too taken up
waiting for Missy to proclaim. She set her very soul vibrating; shut
her eyes tightly a moment to think; and, as if in proof that
Providence helps them who must help others, almost instantly she
opened them again.
"Rocky Ford!"
Just like that, out of the blue, a quick, unfaltering, almost
unconscious cry of the inspired. And, with resounding acclaim, her
followers caught it up:
"Rocky Ford! Rocky Ford!"--"That's the ticket!"--"We'll have a
picnic'.
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