“Not for some time,” replied Jack grimly. “You did for him good and proper. Some of that liquid ammonia must have gotten on him, Mrs. Bonnell.” “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to.” “It will be a good lesson,” went on Phil, while Jack tossed the fox into the bushes, the skin not being in good condition, and also too small to use. “He’ll be all right in a little while, and probably he won’t come prowling about the tent after dark again.” “There used to be lots of ’em, and—er—other animals of the forest about our tent in other years,” went on Phil, “until we found that leaving scraps of food brought them. After that we buried all our refuse and they didn’t come.” “Girls, we’ll dig a deep hole the first thing in the morning!” declared the Guardian. “We’ll do it for you,” offered Blake. “Can we do anything more?” “No, thank you,” murmured Natalie. “It was good of you to come.” “Why wouldn’t we; with all that yelling?” asked Jack. “We thought the ghost of the old mill was carrying you off,” explained Blake. “Ugh! Don’t speak of it—we’ll never get another wink of sleep,” declared Mabel. The boys departed, laughing and joking, and the girls tried to compose themselves to slumber, but it was not easy. However even a little rest in that glorious balsam-laden air was enough, and they awoke in the morning much refreshed. Water had been brought from the spring the night before, and after simple toilets, simple perforce, they arranged for breakfast. The boys had brought them eggs from their supply, pending arrangements the girls would make with a near-by farmer, and with crisp bacon and coffee there was a meal that even a jaded epicure might have partaken of with delight. All about was a freshness; the trees with their green leaves, the sparkling lake within a stone’s throw of their dining canopy and the birds flitting about overhead. “Glorious—glorious—most glorious!” murmured Natalie. “I feel like writing a poem.” “Compose it while you wash the dishes,” advised Marie with a laugh. “Oh, see the flowers, growing right back of our tent!” exclaimed Mabel, as she arose from the table to gather a clump of fern and some blue blossoms, which she arranged in a cracked pitcher. “Isn’t that artistic?” she demanded. “There’s condensed milk in that vase—pronounced vaase,” murmured Alice with a chuckle, and then a piece of bacon went down her “wrong throat,” and Mabel declared that it served her right. “Now to get our camp in order,” called Mrs. Bonnell after the simple meal. “We must decide who will be the hewers of wood and the drawers of water,” she went on. “We will take turns in doing the dishes, and cooking—in fact all the camp duties ought to run in a sort of rotation, for the work must be done.” “Law of the Camp Fire number two,” murmured Marie. “Give service.” “Exactly,” laughed the Guardian. The girls had donned their comfortable bloomer suits, for there was to be much activity.