He sauntered once more to the river’s brink, where a short distance down stream could be seen the Lebanon, the family rowboat.  Surely the place did warrant the boy extravagant use of “a correct adjective,” and did look “adjectivey” away into the superlative.

Nat found just the spot for the tent, Roger and Joe were racing about like little human greyhounds, intent upon the scent of fun, and Dorothy took time to decide that perhaps this camp would prove as delightful as she expected that one to be, whither, in a few days, she must journey, and leave the dear home-folks, reluctantly, indeed.  But then boys’ fun always seemed like their idea of Fourth of July—­just as noisy and just as unreliable.  At the same time they always managed to put it off with a roar, and this roar had already set in for the Blanket Indians of “Cut-it-out-Camp.”

Dorothy had promised her Aunt Winnie not to stay too long away from her, as there were so many things to be discussed before the aunt and her favorite niece should part for the summer.  So that, now, Dorothy was hurrying to finish up her part of the camp map, and go back to the Cedars.

“We fellows must get a few good strong poles over there on the knoll,” said Nat, “and I see no better time to get them than right now.”

“Then I must go home,” spoke Dorothy.  “I have already overstayed my leave of absence.”

“Can you go back alone?” asked Ned.  “If not, I’ll cut the trees by cutting out the work.  See how well we have named the camp.  It’s in working order already.”

“No you don’t,” interrupted Nat.  “You’ve got to do your share of everything.”

“I’ll run back while you are talking about it,” declared Dorothy.  “I’m sure I know the way perfectly well.”

“Be sure,” called Ned, “for there are turns and twists in that woodland, that I think you are scarcely familiar with.”

But Dorothy was gone.  She ran along through the twilight-tinted woods, stopping now and then to look at the gray squirrels that capered up and down the trees, some making so bold as to run along the fence at her very side.

“This will make an ideal camping grounds,” she was thinking.  “I wonder the boys never thought of using it before.”

Suddenly she heard a rustle in the brush.  She stopped and listened.  It sounded again, this time nearer.  She looked about her, and, for the first time, realized that she was, indeed, in deep woods.

To call for the boys, Dorothy knew would be worse than useless, for it would simply notify any listener of her fears, so, instead, she walked along boldly enough, even whistling lightly as any Glenwood girl would do “when in doubt,” according to the Glenwood code.

But she had not more than crossed the first small stream, made up of a number of springs, running through this wood toward the river, when something—­a most grotesque figure—­stepped out in her path!