“A bad beginning makes a good ending,” quoted Mrs. Havel, brightly. “This is only for one night.”
“Excuse me! I don’t want another like it, Auntie,” declared her niece.
They could have no lamp to see to go to bed by, save Wyn’s pocket electric flash.
“And it’s so plaguey awkward!” cried Frankie. “Here one of us has to hold the snapper shut so the others can see. Here, Mina! I’ve played Goddess of Liberty long enough; you hold the lamp awhile.”
Wyn slung a line from one end of the tent to the other, and on this they hung their clothes. All the girls were provided with warm pajamas as being safer night garments under canvas than the muslin robes they wore at home.
“I do feel so funny,” cried Percy, hopping into her own nest. “I can’t curl my toes up in my nightgown–they stick right out at the bottom of these trousers!”
“And doesn’t the grass tickle your feet?” cried Frank, dancing about between the cots. “My, my! this is camping out in real earnest. O-o-o! Here’s a trickle of water running under the side of the tent, Wyn.”
“You can thank your stars it isn’t running through a hole in the tent right upon your heads,” responded the captain. “Do get into bed, Frank.”
Even Frank was quiet at last. The day had been a strenuous one. The muttering thunder in the distance lulled them to sleep. Soon the big white tent upon the knoll by the lake was silent save for the soft breathing of the girls and their chaperone.
And–odd as it may seem, considering the strangeness of their surroundings–all the girls slept soundly through the night. It was Wyn Mallory herself who first opened her eyes and knew, by the light outside, that it must be near sunrise.