"That looks," said Saunders, with mock severity, "as if you'd been breaking the game laws."
"It's that rascal Dave," explained Mr. Black. "He has damaged them all; but please don't mention it in town."
Mr. Saunders was fed and escorted to bed; but before he had had time to unlace his shoes, there were wild shrieks from the girls' tent. Mabel, the first to plunge in, had collided with a horribly prickly object that grunted like a frightened pig and scratched like a thousand needles. Then, as girl after girl rubbed against Terrible Tim, who had somehow escaped and was calmly eating their tallow candle, a chorus of shrieks rang forth. This outcry, of course, sent Mr. Black flying to the rescue. And Mrs. Crane, roused at last and puzzled by the presence of Mr. Saunders, joined the relief party.
"It's Terrible Tim!" shrieked Marjory. "He's in all our beds!"
"We'll let him go," declared Mr. Black. "He's too troublesome a pet."
"No, no, no!" shrieked the alarmed girls. "He'll get in here again."
"And I'm sure," said Mrs. Crane, "that he isn't wanted in my tent."
"Well," agreed Mr. Black, "I guess it is wiser to tie him up than to attempt to chase him away—perhaps he's forgotten the way home."