A FRIEND IN NEED 288 XXIX. THE SUNKEN TREASURE 296 XXX. STRIKING CAMP 306 WYN'S CAMPING DAYS CHAPTER I THE GO-AHEAD CLUB "Oh, girls! such news!" cried Wynifred Mallory, banging open the door of Canoe Lodge, and bringing into the living room a big breath of the cool May air, which drew out of the open fireplace a sudden balloon of smoke, setting the other members of the Go-Ahead Club there assembled coughing. Grace Hedges, who was acting as fireman that week, turned an exasperated face, with a bar of smut across it, exclaiming: "If another soul comes in that door and creates a back-draught until this fire gets to burning properly, I certainly shall have hysterics! I never did see such a mean old thing to burn." "Never mind, Gracie. We're all here now--all six of us. There are no more Go-Aheads to come," observed Bessie Lavine, yawning over her book in the only sunny corner of the room. "There! it's burning--finally," exclaimed Grace, with blended disgust and thankfulness. "I never was cut out for a fireman, girls." "Poor Gracie," purred Wyn, who had approached the blaze that was now beginning to curl through the hickory sticks piled more or less scientifically against the backlog. "Don't you know it needed just that back-draught to break the deadlock in the chimney and start your fire crackling this way?" "Bah! it was just hateful," grumbled Grace. "I hate fire making. And it does seem as though my week for playing fireman comes around twice as often as it should." Wyn had moved rather too near to the darting flames, and Grace suddenly pulled the captain of the club aside. "_Don't_ stand so near, Silly!" she cried. "Fireman! save my che-ild!" wailed "Frank" Cameron, coming forward and winding her long arms around Wynifred. "What's the news, Wyn, dear? Nobody had the politeness to ask you. Wherefore all the excitement?" "There must be a strike at the blacksmith shop," said Percy Havel, a curly-headed blonde girl. "No!" cried Frank, with a droll twist of her rather homely features. "I'll wager they've laid off one of the hands of the town clock. Business is dreadfully dull. I heard my father say so." She was a tall, lanky girl, was Frances Cameron, with a great mass of blue-black hair and flashing black eyes. She was thin, strong, and lacking in those soft curves of budding womanhood which girls of her age usually display. "Straight up and down, my dears," she often said. "Built upon the most approved clothespin plan, with every bone perfectly--not to say generously--developed." "Well," said Wyn, laughing, "if you girls will give me a chance I will divulge my news." "Be still!" commanded Frank. "The oracle speaks." "Oh, hurry up, Wyn!" exclaimed Percy, coming nearer the group before the now roaring fire. "I've been dying to tell them."