“No accident, thanks, only Camp Keewaydin stealing a march on old Father Time and turning night into day,” Dr. Grayson called from the dock, and amid shouts of laughter from all around the messengers paddled back to their camp to assure the wakened and excited boys that nothing had happened, and that it was only another wild inspiration of the people at Camp Keewaydin.

At midnight, when the bugle blew for dinner, everyone was as hungry as at noon, and the kettle of cocoa and the trays of sandwiches were emptied in a jiffy.

“Now what?” asked Dr. Grayson, looking around the table with twinkling eyes, when the last crumb and the last drop of cocoa had disappeared.

“Rest hour,” replied Mrs. Grayson emphatically.  “Rest hour to last until morning.  Blow the bugle, Judy.”

“Wasn’t this the wildest evening we ever put in?” said Katherine, fishing her hairbrush out of the water pail.  “Where’s Tiny?” she asked, becoming aware that their Councilor was not in the tent,

“Down on the hill looking for her bed.” replied Oh-Pshaw.

“Goodness, let’s go down and help her,” said Katherine, and Oh-Pshaw and Jean streamed after her down the path.  They stumbled over the bed before they came to Tiny.  It had turned over sidewise and fallen into a tiny ravine, and as she had gone straight down the hill searching for it she had missed it.  Katherine stepped into the ravine, dragging the two others with her, and at the bottom they landed on top of the bed.

Getting an iron cot up a steep hill is not the easiest thing in the world, and when they had it up at the top of the hill they all sat down on it and panted awhile before they could make it up.  Then they discovered that the pillow was missing and Katherine obligingly went down the hill again to find it.

“I shan’t get up again for a week,” she sighed wearily as she stretched between the sheets.

“Neither will I,” echoed Tiny.

Jean and Oh-Pshaw did not echo.  They were already asleep.

Katherine had just sunk into a deep slumber when she started at the touch of a cold hand laid against her face.  “What is it?” she cried out sharply.

A face was bending over her, a pale little face framed in a lace boudoir cap.  Katherine recognized Carmen Chadwick.  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

“My Councy’s awful sick, and none of the other girls will wake up and I don’t know what to do,” said Carmen in a scared voice.

“What’s the matter with her?” asked Katherine.

“She ate too many blueberries, I guess; she’s got an awful pain in her stomach, and chills.”

Katherine hugged her warm pillow.  “Take the hot water bottle out of the washstand,” she directed, without moving.  “There—­it’s on the top shelf.  There’s hot water in the tank in the kitchen.  And have you some Jamaica ginger?  No?  Take ours—­it’s the only bottle on the top shelf.  Now you’ll be all right.”