“It’s the camp version of a casserole,” explained Jack. “You take a chicken, wrap a cloth around it, and then plaster it all over with clay. Then you make a fire in a hole, put the clayed chicken in, cover it with embers, and go fishing.” “What has fishing got to do with it?” asked Mabel. “You don’t have to think any more about your dinner,” said Jack. “It’s like a fireless cooker, with the fire still in it. The clay bakes hard you see, and the heat cooks the chicken through and through. When you come back you take out the clay ball with the chicken for a center, crack it open, and you dine sumptuously. That’s a clayed-chicken.” “It sounds good,” said Natalie. “It is good,” declared Blake. “If you can get a chicken over at the store, we’ll fix it for you.” The girls voted to do so, and after putting the clay vases in the firing pit, and having told the boys of the scare of the night, they prepared for the trip after supplies. “You can cook an elephant’s foot the same way,” said Blake, seemingly appropros of nothing in particular, as the boys and girls were walking up from the lake shore to the grocery at the Point. “Kindly elucidate,” suggested Natalie. “I was thinking about the clayed chicken,” Blake explained. “I read somewhere that they do elephant’s feet the same way.” “I should think it would hurt the elephants,” remarked Marie innocently. “They don’t do it until the beasts have passed beyond all pain and suffering,” went on Blake. “Really, it’s said to be a delicious dish.” “We’ll have it for breakfast,” declared Jack. “Phil, kindly get an elephant for our camp-cook.” “At once, your majesty,” replied Phil, with a mock bow. The girls spent some time buying needful supplies, as did the boys, for their stocks had run low. There were some chickens to be had, a farmer having brought in some fresh ones, and the girls decided to let the boys experiment with the clay method of cooking one. “But I’ll fricassee the other to make sure of having a meal,” declared Mrs. Bonnell with a laugh. It was just as the girls were getting ready to go back in their two boats, and the boys were yet lingering in the store, that Natalie uttered an exclamation. “What is it?” asked Marie. “That man—the constable who nearly arrested me. There he is over by the rifle range. I’m going to ask him if he has located that Gypsy girl yet.” “Oh, don’t, Nat!” exclaimed Mabel. “Yes, I shall. I want to help get your mother’s ring. The boys don’t seem able to find the encampment. Perhaps we can,” and, before any one could stop her, Natalie hurried along the dock to where the constable was standing near a rifle range that served to while away time for some of the campers. “Mr. Jackson!” she exclaimed, “have you found Hadee, the Gypsy, yet?”