A few minutes later Farmer Whitcomb, glancing across the fields, saw the soft glow of the lantern through the canvas walls of the tent disappear, and remarked, “Well, they get to bed early for city folks, but I’ve always thought myself nine o’clock was about the right time.” He cleared his throat, looked up to the sky to get a hint of to-morrow’s weather prospects, and went in and locked the door. Soon his light, too, was out. The last sound the campers heard was the wind fluttering through the beech leaves in the tree above. It was a great change from the city noises and surroundings with which they were familiar. On the following morning the campers were out at sun-up. Harry went over to their particular mud-hole and succeeded in scooping up a pailful of water, but he had not gone five steps before his foot slipped on a dewy hummock and the pail went flying. He returned to the original source of water-supply, but there was no chance of getting more just then, and the result was he wended his way across the fields and filled his pail at the Whitcomb well-sweep. [Illustration: HUSKING-TIME] “It’s no use,” he said on his return, “we’ve got to get nearer water. If matters go on as they’ve begun we’ll waste half our vacation over this one thing.” “Well, we’ll look around after breakfast.” said John. “I’ve been trying to make a fire, but everything’s so soaked with dew you can’t make anything burn. I wonder if they always have such dews up here. It’s just as if we’d had a heavy rain. We’ll have to get in our firewood the night beforehand.” “It’s a cold bite again this morning, is it?” said Harry. “I tell you, we’ve got to study up this matter. We must reform some way. Why, we’re getting right down to barbarism. By the way, how d’you sleep last night?” “First-rate,” John replied; “don’t remember a thing, only I feel a little sore in spots this morning.” “That’s it,” said Harry; “same way with me. Feel’s if I’d had a good licking. Now, see here.” He rolled down the bedclothes and exposed the ground. “See those humps? There’s a stone sticking up. Here’s another. There’s a stub where some little tree has been cut off, and there are several sticks and natural hummocks of the earth thrown in besides. Why, the worst savage, unless he was drunk, would be ashamed to use such a bed.” “Well,” said John. “let us be thankful that we’ve come through the thrilling experiences that we have so far met with alive; to-day we’ll hustle around and find a new camping-ground, and in the future we’ll live in a style properly becoming to our dignity as members of Bostonian civilization, etc. But, come now, you’ve been regarding that bed of torture long enough. Trials past are only so many myths and shadows. At any rate, that’s what Solomon or some other wise fellow has said. What you want to do is to fortify yourself for trials to come. Supposing we go over and see this Jules after breakfast.” [Illustration: SUNLIGHT AND SHADOW]