But Mrs. Havel was angry. “They should be sent home for playing such a trick,” she said, “and I shall speak to Professor Skillings about it.”
“Pooh!” said Wyn. “They’re only boys. And of course they’ll be up to such tricks. The thing to do is to go them one better.”
“How, Wyn, how?” cried her mates.
“I do not know that I can allow this, Wynifred,” began Mrs. Havel, doubtfully.
“You wish to punish them; don’t you, Mrs. Havel?”
“They should be punished–yes.”
“Then we have the chance,” cried Wyn, gleefully. “You go back to the camp, Mrs. Havel, and we girls will take their canoes–every one of them. We’ll call them the trophies of war, and we’ll make the Busters pay–and pay well for them–before they get their canoes back. What do you say, girls?”
“Splendid!” cried Frank. “And they frightened me so!”
“Look out for the biscuits, Mrs. Havel, please,” begged Bess. “I am afraid they will be burned.”
The lady returned hurriedly to the camp on the top of the hillock. When she mounted the rise from the shore, there was a circle of giggling youths about the open fireplace and a pile of moth-eaten buffalo hides near by. Dave was messing with the Dutch oven in which Bess had just before put the pan of biscuit for breakfast.