THE campers rose the next morning without suspecting that a very strange thing was about to happen; or that Mabel, who was still in disgrace because of her habit of half drowning her trusting companions, was, on that never-to-be-forgotten day, as they say in books, to cover herself with glory—instead of mud.
The inhabitants of Pete's Patch rose to find the sun shining, the wind gone, the lake settled back in its proper place.
"The sea began to subside before I turned in last night," said Mr. Black. "It's as gentle as a lamb to-day."
"Look at the shore!" cried Marjory. "It's different. The beach that was sandy before the storm is all pebbly now; and down there where the cobblestones were it's all beautiful, smooth sand."
"And look," supplemented Jean, "at the mouth of that surprising river. It's a lot wider than it was when we came."
"Some time to-day," said Mr. Black, "I want to go to the little cove about halfway between here and Barclay's Point. That seems to be the spot that catches everything that is cast up by the sea. I need some thin boards for your cupboard, Sarah. I noticed the other day that the sharp cleft in the rocks back of that cove was filled with boards."
"That's an awfully interesting spot," said Jean. "If sailors threw bottles overboard with letters in them, that's where you'd find them—everything washes in at that spot."
"Or," said Henrietta, "if the captain lashed his only daughter to the mast and threw her overboard, that's where she'd land."
"Oh, I hope not," breathed tender-hearted Bettie.