"Someone must have capsized me," he soliloquized. "If it weren't for the fact that we're not in our own quarters, I'd get my own back."
Ten minutes later most of the lads were asleep. Roche drowsily turned over, when to his surprise the camp-bed again deposited its occupant upon the ground.
This time all lights were out, and no one saw Dick's unpremeditated tumble. Mystified, he groped for his bedding and once more turned in.
At seven the lads were aroused by the old sea-cry of, "Show a leg and shine!" Already the sun was pouring down upon the dew-covered canvas. In the woods near by the birds were singing blithely.
"Been digging yourself in, Dick?" asked Hepburn.
"No—why?" asked Roche.
Alan pointed to Dick's bed. The wooden trestles had sunk a good foot into the ground. The mystery of Dick's double eviction was solved. The camp-bed had been placed immediately above a mole's tunnel, and, as the earth gave way, the bed had tilted sufficiently to deposit its occupant upon the ground.
"I thought that you had had a hand in it," declared Roche. "But come-back-all-I-said. Who's cook? Where's the galley?"
No one knew. The mess-traps had been brought ashore, but apparently their host had made no provision for cooking breakfast.
"We're in France, remember," said Mr. Armitage, "and in France we must to a certain extent do as France does. The first meal of the day—petit dejeuner it's called—is a very light repast—usually coffee, roll, and butter."