“I wonder if this is our street after all?” he asked himself.  “Let me see, we are the sixth tent from the top.  Or is it the seventh?  Six one way and seven the other, I guess.  Wait till I see.”

Then he went on, counting the tents one by one till he came to the sixth from the start.

The flap was thrown back, and Billy made up his mind that he was at the right one and went in.

When he found his cot, however, he found some one on it.

“H’m! that’s young J.W., and I must not awaken him,” he muttered.

As a natural consequence his own cot must be just opposite Jesse W.’s, and he turned and went in that direction.

To his surprise he found the other cot occupied also.

“Hello, who is that?” asked Harry Dickson.

“It’s me,” said Billy.  “I guess I must have got in the wrong tent.  Have I been walking in my sleep?”

“How should I know?” laughed Harry.  “You are in the wrong tent, that’s all I do know.  Arthur and I have this tent.  Aren’t you in with young Jesse W. Smith?”

“I thought I was,” said Billy dolefully, “but I seem to have got twisted up a bit to-night.  I’ve had the stomach ache.”

“That will twist any one,” chuckled Harry, “but really it is no laughing matter, my boy.”

“No, I should say not.  Well, I think I had better cut my call short.  Would you kindly show me the way to my own tent?”

This was said in such a comical, and at the same time doleful tone, that Harry was forced to laugh.

“Why, certainly,” he chuckled.  “You’ve got on the wrong street, that is all.  You can go through right here without having to go to the top or bottom and then down or up.”

“Who is on the other side of the street?” asked Billy.

“Jones and Robinson.”

“H’m! and they are right back of us.  All right.  I guess I can find the way now all right.”

Then Billy started to go between two tents so as to reach his own on the next camp street.

“Look out for—–­”

“Ouch! what’s that?”

Harry was about to warn him to look out for the tent ropes, but Billy tumbled over them before he could be warned.

“I am having all sorts of fun to-night!” he said in a tone of disgust, as he picked himself up and made his way through to the other street.

Then he found his own tent and went in, but to make sure, even after he had found his bed unoccupied, got out his pocket light and turned it on.

“That’s all right,” he muttered, “but the next time I go wandering about the camp of a night without a light I’ll stay at home!”

Either the light flashing in young J.W.  Smith’s face or Billy’s mutterings awoke that young gentleman, and he sat up in bed, asking in a very drowsy tone: 

“Is it time to get up, Billy?  What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing, I’ve been a bit restless, that’s all, but I feel better now, so go to sleep, J.W., and get a good night’s rest.”