“So am I,” declared Jack. “What’s good for the bites?” “They don’t bite, they sting,” Reuben informed them as he tied the boat in which he had arrived, and walked up to the tents. “If they’ve left their stinger in it’s worse, too.” “How do you tell that?” Jack wanted to know. “You rub your finger over the place, and if it hurts more than when you don’t rub it, and if it feels like there was a sliver in it, that’s the sting. Or you can see it with a magnifying glass. I worked for a feller once that kept bees, and I got stung regular. They say it’s good for rheumatism,” he added cheerfully. “Give me the rheumatism,” said Blake as he tenderly felt of a swelling on his cheek. “Say, maybe they didn’t come for us!” “Are they gone?” demanded Natalie, peering from between the tightly-held tent-flaps. “Pretty much,” replied Jack. “Cæsar’s pineapples! How they hurt though!” “Be careful, girls,” cautioned Mrs. Bonnell. But a little observation told them that the hornets had gone back to repair the damage done by Phil’s stone thoughtlessly tossed into their nest. “What do you do for the stings?” asked Blake of the farm lad. “I always puts mud on ’em.” “Ammonia is better,” volunteered Mrs. Bonnell. “Wait and I’ll get you boys some. I have a bottle of the strongest kind for my little pistol.” “I wish we’d had that when they came at us,” murmured Phil, clasping a wrist that was rapidly getting to be twice its natural size. The ammonia made the stings feel a little less painful, and then the boys went back to their camp to don dry clothes. “I wonder if they found any evidence of those who have been helping themselves to things in our camp?” observed Natalie, as she and her companions left the large tent. “We’ll ask them later,” said Marie. “Have you folks been missing things?” asked Reuben, as he overheard the talk. “Yes,” answered Alice, “Whom do you think could have taken the stuff?” “It’s them Gypsies!” declared Reuben. “Lots of folks around here are complainin’ of missing things. Not only the farmers but some cottagers and campers. Them Gypsies ought to be driven away. They’re a regular nuisance comin’ here every year.” “But where are they?” asked Mabel. “Over at Bear Pond, some one told me. Did you girls find it that day all right?” “Oh, yes—we _found_ it,” answered Marie, for they had agreed that they would not needlessly admit their failure to select the right road home. “And did you see ’em?” “No,” answered Mrs. Bonnell. And then, wishing to change the conversation she asked: “Where are you going, Reuben, with your good clothes on?” “Nowheres,” and he blushed painfully. “Oh, you must be going somewhere,” she insisted, for he seemed but a little boy. “Oh, I jest took half a day off and come over to see you folks,” he went on, and this time his ears were included in the general red color scheme of his face. “That was nice of you,” went on the Guardian, while the girls tried hard not to giggle. “Won’t you sit down?”