“Don’t you dare suggest such a thing!” threatened Marie. “After all our work, running away from the boys and all that. It simply _must_ be the right camp!” “Well, I wish we’d come to Bear Pond,” sighed Mrs. Bonnell. “Oughtn’t it to be near here, Marie.” “I think so,” and she seemed trying to recall the directions. “Why is it called Bear Pond?” Natalie wanted to know. “Because there used to be bears there,” answered Alice. “Why else?” “Bur-r-r-r! I hope there are none about now,” exclaimed Marie with a little shiver. “Nonsense!” came from Mrs. Bonnell. They scrambled up a rocky hill, saw before them a little path leading off to the right, followed it and came out on a sort of granite promontory. And there, almost at their feet, lay Bear Pond. It was more desolate than they had imagined. Not a house was to be seen, and only a leaky and battered boat drawn up on shore near the rock told that occasionally some one rowed on the water. Blackened and decaying stumps could be seen here and there, and across the tops of distant and dead trees circled a few hoarse-voiced crows. “Talk of the Dead Sea!” murmured Natalie. “This is it.” “It does remind one of that,” spoke Alice. “No wonder the Gypsies came here,” remarked Mabel. “It is the most lonesome spot I ever saw.” They stood looking at the black and uninviting water. Occasionally a fish moved in it, or leaped for a fly that ventured too close to the surface. The hoarse cawing of the crows added to the desolateness of the scene. There was no sound save that of the voices of the Camp Fire Girls. “Reuben said,” spoke Marie, “that few people come here. There is good fishing at times—catfish are plentiful, and there are lots of pond lilies. But I’d never venture out on that water,” and she could not repress a shudder. “Neither would I,” said Mabel. “I’d keep fearing that a long, bony hand was about to reach up from the depths and pull me down.” “Oh!” screamed Natalie. “What is it?” demanded Mrs. Bonnell with a little start. “Something—something moved.” “A bird in the bushes, likely. Silly! This place is getting on the nerves of all of us, I guess. Marie, can’t you locate the Gypsy camp, and then we’ll go?” “I don’t know. Let’s follow this path. If we don’t see their tents or wagons soon, we’ll go back.” They turned into a path that led down from the rock around the desolate patch of water. It appeared to have neither inlet nor outlet, and was doubtless fed by springs from below, though it was hard to imagine a pure spring bubbling up into those black and murky depths. “I don’t believe it’s here,” said Marie when they had gone on for some distance. “Let’s go back!” No one opposed her, and there were sighs of relief from all as they got back to the rock. Then, with a look over the calm and dead surface of the pond, they turned into the path again, while the rasping voice of a crow, perched in a lightning-blasted pine tree, seemed to laugh at their defeat.