“We’ll do that—only give us tea!” begged Natalie, and soon five cots, with the accompanying bedclothes, stood neatly arranged about the walls of the larger tent, while all around were the trunks and suit cases, with a more or less indiscriminate collection of garments leading into and out of them. “Never mind!” consoled Mrs. Bonnell, as she saw the girls’ looks of dismay at the upset condition, “we can take all day to-morrow to straighten out. To-night we must get some supper and rest, and it’s getting late.” “Oh, for the glorious camp fire!” cried Alice. “We must have a big one in honor of our arrival!” “Not too large,” remarked the cautious Guardian. “We must remember that we are in the woods, and there isn’t an alarm box on every tree.” Merrily they sat about the table—some boards over saw horses, the same that the former campers had used. “We’ll put oilcloth on to-morrow,” promised Marie, as she “poured” while the others acted as “floaters”, as Natalie laughingly expressed it. Fortunately for the girls, who had never gone camping before, there were no hitches after that one about the tents. All their baggage had arrived, which is not always the case in summer outings, the camp paraphernalia was on hand, including the food-stuff they had ordered. The outfit they had hired was particularly well equipped as to cooking utensils, and the man who brought them from the place where they had been stored, seemed to have forgotten nothing. There was even condensed milk for the tea, and sugar for those who wished it. The oil stove burned well, and this was a blessing. “No dish-washing to-night!” exclaimed Marie, when some one proposed it. “We’re all too dead tired. We’ll have enough for breakfast. After that we’ll make out a schedule, and get down to a system.” It was now drawing on toward dusk, but the June evenings were so long, that even after the sun was out of sight it would be light enough to see to go about. “Wood gatherers this way!” called Natalie, when they arose from the dining table, which had been set under a canvas shelter between the two tents. “Ho, wood-gatherers! Let us see if we are worthy of the name!” “Wo-he-lo!” warbled Marie. “Dogwood Camp Fire!” echoed Mabel. “Remember, not too big a blaze,” cautioned Mrs. Bonnell, as the four set about gathering fagots and bits of dry bark for the fire. “We ought to have a camp kettle boiling on a tripod over the flames, as the Gypsies do,” suggested Marie, when they had collected a pile of fuel. “Don’t say Gypsy to me!” cried Mabel. “Every time I hear the word I nearly cry, thinking of poor mother’s ring.” “Perhaps you’ll get it back some day,” suggested Alice. “Never!” declared Mabel. “But don’t think about it. I wonder where the boys are?” “Who’ll light the fire?” asked Natalie, when the pile was ready for the match. “Let Mrs. Bonnell have the honor,” suggested Marie, and to the Guardian it went.