Accordingly, shortly after Henry Burns had arisen that morning, and after he had gathered from a few villagers who were abroad some fuller details of the night’s adventures, he made his way to the camp on the point. There were no signs of life about the camp, and, softly opening the flap of the tent, he peered within. Tom and Bob lay stretched out, sound asleep. Henry Burns stepped noiselessly inside. He called them by name in a low tone, but they did not awaken. “Last night’s excitement was too much for one of them, at least, I guess,” was his comment. And then he added: “If my suspicions are true, their fun lasted later than mine, and was far more exciting—but I’ll find that out.” There was a camp-stool beside each bunk, upon which Tom and Bob had thrown their clothes before turning in. Henry Burns quietly removed the clothing from these chairs, made them into a bundle, and, tucking the bundle under his arm, walked out of the tent and lay down on the grass, just outside. It seemed to him as though another hour had passed before he heard a creaking of one of the bunks, and a voice, which he recognized as Bob’s, said: “Hulloa, there, Tom, wake up!” “Ay, ay,” growled Tom, sleepily, but made no move. Again Bob’s voice: “Say, Tom?” No answer. “Tom—hulloa, old fellow—come, let’s get up. It’s late.” “All right, all right, Bob, so it is.” And Tom roused up on an elbow and rubbed his eyes. Then he gave a prodigious yawn. “Whew!” he exclaimed. “What a night I had of it. I don’t wonder we slept late, do you?” “Well, hardly,” answered Bob. “My! But I can hear that explosion go off now, it seems to me. And wasn’t that an awful sight when the flame shot up against the sky? I’ll never forget it as long as I live.” “We’ll have to keep our eyes on Harvey after this for awhile,” said Tom. “Hulloa!” he exclaimed, suddenly, as they tumbled out on to the floor. “Where are our clothes? We left them right here when we turned in, didn’t we?” The boys looked at each other and stared in astonishment. “Of course we did,” answered Bob. “What can it mean?” gasped Tom. “Hope to die if I can guess,” said Bob. “It’s plain enough, though, that some one has been in here while we were asleep and cleaned out our wardrobe. Not a thing left. You don’t suppose that Harvey—” “Nonsense,” interrupted Tom. “It’s that young scoundrel of a Joe Warren. He’s always up to his monkey-shines. It’s some of his doings. He was the one, mind you, that proposed yesterday that we carry our change of good clothing up to his cottage for safe-keeping. Here we are, now, without a rag to put on.” “I suppose he thinks we’ll have to march up to his cottage in blankets, like Indians,” said Bob. “Well, if it comes to that, I’ll stay right here till night. You don’t catch me parading around in a blanket in the daytime, to be laughed at by everybody.” “We’ll have to pay him up for this,” said Tom. At this moment Henry Burns appeared at the doorway.