A platform had been built for the dancing, several little khaki-colored tents that had done service in the North Woods (north of Bridgeboro) dotted the lawn, the emblem of the Camp-fire Girls waved above the summer-house, bathed in the glow of a small search-light, and, glory of glories, a small tent nestling under a spreading elm near the moonlit river contained a table which looked like a snowy monument reared in tribute to the god of food.
Yes, Roy was right; the Skybrows did not do these things by halves.
Here indeed was a haven for the famished; here rescue awaited the starving scout.

In the center stood a pyramid of triangular sandwiches, rivalling in magnitude the pyramids of Egypt.

This was flanked by two gorgeous icing cakes, one white and one brown.

A bowl of chicken salad overflowed its cut glass confines, the same as Pee-wee's island had overflowed its trusty scow.
It is true that the much feared salted almonds were there but they crouched in shame under the spreading sides of a wooden hash-bowl camouflaged with crepe paper and piled with jellied doughnuts.

If there were any lady fingers they did not show their faces (if lady fingers have faces) but the jovial raspberry tart was there in all its glory a hundred strong.
"Oh, I think everything is perfectly _scrumptious_," said Minerva Skybrow, completing a tour of inspection at this culinary paradise and allowing herself an olive or two.
"Goodness gracious, let them alone or there won't be any left," said Miss Dora Dane Daring.
"Silly!" said Minerva.