"So's mine!" came from Elena.
"I'm thankful to say that mine is dry, too!" said Miss Miller, prodding the mattress.
"I put the rubber blanket over mine, so I know it's dry as bones!" laughed Zan.
"That is what we all should have done, for the dampness will permeate even if the tents are water-proof," said the Guide, spreading the rubber over her cot.
The other girls followed Zan's idea and then came out to see what was to be done about supper.
Just as they sat down on some rustic stools that had been made by the Band during the past weeks, the sun shot forth a ray as if to say good-night. The birds refused to come out and greet it, however, and nature seemed too wet to rejoice at the tardy appearance of the sinking orb of day.
"Let's build a roaring fire of our dry wood and sit about it telling ghost stories!" suggested Jane, after supper.
So, it came to pass that at bedtime that night, five sought their cots in a shivery frame of mind, due to gruesome stories, at which each tried to outdo the other in relating.
It was quite dark and the wind, which had not shifted, was blowing weirdly through the forest, ever and anon sending a dripping leaf, or wet twig into the faces of the fearsome girls.
"I can't help thinking of that cheerful log we left burning in the fire-place at the house," called Jane.