No one was sorry. Repairs were quickly undertaken, after the boys had donned some dry clothes; for the air was chilly after the rain, and being soaked to the skin they found themselves shivering.
William had managed to crawl out from under
his tent, with the help of others. He had several bumps to prove what a close call it had been. The others could not lose a chance to poke fun at him; for it was not often the opportunity came when the fun-maker of the troop could be caught napping.
"Next time, get a move on you, old slow poke!" one advised, when William ventured to complain that it was mean in their deserting him to his fate.
"Yes, Mr. Tortoise, you'll have to learn how to crawl better than that, if you expect to stay with this fast crowd," declared Tom Betts.
"But every time I started to get out," William declared, ruefully, "somebody would stick his foot in my face, and climb all over me. Then the blessed thing dropped flat, and left me swimming all alone. Of course I thought it was some more of Ted's fine sport, and I hoped you chaps were flagging 'em. After that the water came in on me. Ugh!"
"What did you think then, old molasses in Winter?" asked Bobolink; shaking the last of the water out of his precious bugle, and carefully wiping its brass mouthpiece with his handkerchief.
"Why," said William, grinning, "at first I thought the river had overflowed its banks, and was going to carry me all the way down to Stanhope. Then I heard the wind and the thunder,
when it struck me there was something of a storm. So I just laid still; for I knew you fellows wouldn't want me bothering around while you worked like fun to hold the rest of the tents from going by the board."
"Listen to him, would you, Paul?" exclaimed one of the others. "He knew all along we were hard pushed to hold out, and yet he just snuggled there, and wouldn't give a helping hand. What kind of a scout are you, anyway, William?"