Maxim was prodigious. He blared forth rollicking airs, he did scenes from _La Bohème_, posturing picturesquely against the flame, his long black locks sweeping his face. Starr improvised while they listened, rapt. Benton climbed high into a beech tree and there, invisible, he recited _Cynara_ and quoted _The Song of the Sword_, while Dougal jeered and fed the blaze. Mabel listened entranced and appreciative, and ventured occasionally on one more long, dull story—her tale always growing melodramatically exciting, as the attention of her listeners wandered. Elsie sat and smiled and smiled, wide awake till three. Forgotten tales, snatches of song, jokes and verses surged into Fancy’s head and one after another she shot them into the night. She, too, arose and sang, dancing. Not since her vaudeville days had she attempted it, but mounting to the spirit of the occasion, she thrilled and fascinated them with her drollery. She and Dougal were the last ones awake. They spoke now in undertones. Maxim was snoring hideously, so was Benton. Starr lay with his mouth open, Mabel was curled into a cocoon of blankets, flushed Elsie was still smiling in her sleep. At four the dawn appeared. They watched it spellbound, and as it turned from a glowing rose to straw color, the birds began to twitter in the boughs. Fancy shook off her lassitude. "I’m going in swimming," she exclaimed, starting up. "Stay here, Dougal—I trust to your honor!" "I’ll not promise," he replied. "One doesn’t often have a chance to see a nymph bathing in a fountain nowadays, but I have the artist’s eye; it will only be for beauty’s sake—go ahead!" He kept his place, nevertheless; the pool was invisible from the level of the camp-ground. Fancy darted down the path to the wash of pebbles below. Dougal shook Elsie into a dazed wakefulness. Mabel’s eyes opened sleepily. "Fancy’s gone in swimming," he whispered. "Don’t wake up the boys." Like shadows the two girls slid after her. Dougal lay down to sleep. In half an hour he was awakened by their return, fresh, rosy, dewy and jubilant. Elsie crawled to his side under the blankets; Fancy and Mabel scrambled up the bank to greet the sun, chattering like sparrows. Maxim rolled over in his sleep. Benton and Starr, back to back, dreamed on. The sun rose higher and smote the languid group with a shaft of light. The men rose at last, and, dismissing Elsie from the camp, took their turns in the pool. At seven Dougal announced breakfast.