“Take hold, you owl-faced sleepy-head!”

Jasper did so, and with difficulty elevated the cot a few inches above the body of Harriet.

But that was enough!  Like a flash Jane bent down and dragged Harriet from her perilous position and out into the open air.

Harriet lay on the wet ground gasping for breath.  She was completely exhausted.  Her hair was a tangled mass, her face was scratched and bloody, her wrapper was badly torn.

“Get away from here!” commanded Crazy Jane, turning on Jasper almost savagely, and Jasper lost no time in obeying her.  “Are you much hurt, darlin’?” she begged grasping one of Harriet’s hands in both her own.

“Oh!  Wa—­ait till I ge—­t my breath,” gasped Harriet.

“Take your time.  Oh, I’m so glad.  I thought I’d never get you out.”

Harriet roused herself.

“Is Harriet all right?” cried the anxious voice of Hazel Holland.

“Yes, she is, but don’t you bother her,” warned Jane.  “She’s all in.”

“I—­I’ll be all ri—­ight Don’t worry,” gasped Harriet.

She struggled to a sitting posture.  Then her head drooped forward.  Her arms fell limply at her sides, and with a little moan Harriet toppled over, unconscious.

CHAPTER XXI

A DAY OF EXCITEMENT

“Get back!” commanded Crazy Jane, pushing a crowd of girls away.  “Do you want to smother the poor child?”

“We must get her into one of the tents,” declared Mrs. Livingston.

“Wait till she comes to,” answered Jane, turning Harriet over on her back so that the rain, which was falling in a fine drizzle now, might beat on the face of the unconscious girl.

Now Harriet began to move her head from side to side to avoid the drizzle that was beating into her face.  Soon her eyelids began to quiver.  Her breathing became stronger.  Mrs. Livingston was kneeling beside her, chafing the girl’s hands and smoothing back the tangled hair from her white forehead.

“I think she should be carried in to one of the tents now,” said the Chief Guardian.

“Sure,” agreed Jane, gathering Harriet into her arms and staggering away.  She shook her head vehemently as half a dozen girls sprang forward to help her with her burden.

Harriet struggled from the friendly arms of Jane.

“I—­I can walk,” she said weakly.  Jane threw an arm about her waist and led her into the nearest tent, followed by Mrs. Livingston and more than twenty Camp Girls.

“You had better all go to your tents, dry yourselves and get into bed,” advised the Chief Guardian.  “We don’t want any of our Camp Girls to become ill, you know.  Miss Burrell will be all right now, I think.”

The Camp Girls obeyed reluctantly, though Harriet’s chums asked and received permission to remain with their fellow Meadow-Brook girl.  Upon entering the tent Jane saw the tousled head of Patricia Scott above the blankets of another girl’s col Patricia had crawled into the first cot she came to.