“We’ll ask that constable the first time we see him,” added Jack. “He’ll probably know.” “If he doesn’t we’ll find it ourselves,” declared Alice. “I’m not afraid—if we all go together—I mean we girls!” she quickly added. The doings of the day were talked over, and plans made for both parties to go next day to the nearest store for some needed camp supplies. Then followed a delightful hour around the fire for which the faithful Wood Gatherers had provided plenty of fuel. There was the singing of some simple choruses, which they all knew, or in lieu, hummed. Stories were told and then came the farewells. In the middle of the night Mrs. Bonnell was awakened by a queer, thumping sound that seemed to come from the space between the cooking and sleeping tents—where a canvas shaded a wooden platform, on which the table was placed. “I wonder if that can be my ammonia-fox?” she murmured as she reached for her trusty little weapon. “I think I’ll take a look before I fire,” she thought. None of the girls was awakened. Cautiously peering out through the tent flaps, the Guardian saw a curious sight. She could not restrain a laugh, at the sound of which Natalie suddenly sat up on her cot. “What is it?” she demanded in a whisper. “Come and see!” answered Mrs. Bonnell. “It’s too odd—the poor creature!” Natalie glided to her side, while the queer thumping sound continued. CHAPTER XII THE GIRLS WILL TRY “My vase!” gasped Natalie. “He’ll break it!” “I guess that’s the only way to get it off his head,” answered Mrs. Bonnell, still laughing. “Poor little fellow! He must have thought it contained something good to eat.” This is what the two saw. A little raccoon was backing about the platform under the eating table, his head thrust into the now dried neck of the clay vase which Natalie had moulded. She had brought it up on the boards, under the canvas, to keep the dew from moistening it. The raccoon, either through curiosity or hunger, had thrust his slender snout into the opening, and now could not withdraw it. It went just far enough over his eyes so that he could not see, and the creature was rushing aimlessly about, doubtless wondering what queer trap he had blundered into. The banging of the clay vase against the legs of the sawhorses which held the table boards, and the thumping on the wooden floor had aroused the sleepers. “I’m going to get my vase!” exclaimed Natalie determinedly as she thrust her feet into a pair of bathing shoes and glided from the tent. “Come back!” cried Mrs. Bonnell! “He’ll bite you!” “He can’t,” answered Natalie coolly. “His mouth is inside the vase.” “Then’ll he scratch you!” “I don’t believe so. He’s too busy trying to paw that vase off. Anyhow I’ll grab him by the tail and pull. It won’t hurt him, and I don’t want my vase smashed, after all my work.” “What’s the matter?” gasped Mabel, now awake. “Is—is it the Gypsies?” demanded Marie.