“Sometimes,” answered truthful Jack, and there was another laugh. Good-nights were said, and soon, with the flaps of their tent tightly drawn the girls prepared for their first night in the woods. They had thoughtfully filled a lantern that had been among their camp-stuff, and its gleam through the white sides of their tent could be seen amid the trees even as far as the canvas shelter of the boys. “Last one under the covers put out the light,” called Alice, as she made herself comfortable on her cot. “Let’s burn it all night,” suggested Mabel. “I can’t sleep with a light,” declared Marie. “You are just like Cora Janet,” complained Mabel, “she doesn’t like a light either.” “Wouldn’t it be nice if Gertrude, Sadie, Margaret, Edna and Cora were with us?” murmured Alice. “Fine!” agreed Mabel. “But Cora never would have a light.” “Nor I,” said Marie. “I’ll put something before it, so it won’t shine in your eyes,” promised Mabel. “But really—the first night you know—it’s so dark, and we don’t know exactly where to find things——” “What do you want to find things in your sleep for?” demanded Natalie. “I don’t know as I will, but if I do awaken I like to see a light—especially in a strange place,” replied Mabel. “Perhaps it will be a good plan to let it burn low,” suggested Mrs. Bonnell, and they did. At first there was so much laughter and talk that even sleepy Alice declared she felt wide awake. They joked about every happening of the day, from the young man who had tried to flirt with Natalie on the boat, to the strange actions of Old Hanson. Then the laughter became less frequent, and the jokes seemed to lose their point. The Camp Fire Girls were asleep. It was Natalie who awakened. There seemed to be some one scratching at the side of the tent near the head of her cot. She sat up, not knowing, for a moment or two, where she was. Then as she saw the gleam of the white walls of their shelter it came back to her. The others were calmly sleeping, as their deep breathing indicated. The scratching was repeated. Then came an unmistakable sneeze, and Natalie saw the wall of the tent shake. “Oh!” she screamed. “Some one is trying to get in! Oh, Alice—Mabel—Marie—Mrs. Bonnell! Some one is trying to get in!” CHAPTER VIII THE OLD MILL Cots creaked as four forms rose to sitting positions on them. There were gasping intakes of breath. Natalie, cowering amid the coverings pointed with a shaking finger toward the tent wall near her. “There—there!” she hoarsely whispered. “Boys! Boys!” screamed Marie. “Oh, Jack—Blake!” “Where’s that am—am—ammonia gun?” demanded Mabel, in shivering accents. “I—oh, where did I put it—under my pillow? No, here it is,” and from an upturned box near her cot—a box that served as bureau and chiffonier, Mrs. Bonnell caught up her weapon. “Where is he?” she demanded of Natalie. “There—there—he was trying to crawl under the tent! Oh, shoot!”