Harriet watched the vessel for some moments.  She saw it swing around a long, narrow point of land a short distance to the south of the camp and boldly enter a bay.  She was unable to make out with any distinctness what was being done there, but she heard the creak of the boom as it swung over and the rattle of the tackle as the sails came down, though unable to interpret these sounds.  Soon there came a sharp whistle from human lips, answered by a similar whistle from the shore, then all was quiet.

Harriet Burrell crept back under the canvas, wondering vaguely what could be the meaning of this.  She was too sleepy to think much about it and soon dropped into a sound sleep, from which she was destined to be rudely awakened.

CHAPTER VII

A SUDDEN STORM

The canvas that covered the sleeping Meadow-Brook Girls was suddenly lifted from them, then whipped back with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of some of them.

A chorus of yells greeted the giant slap of the canvas, and a bevy of girls rolled and scrambled out of the way.

“Hold it down, or we shall lose it,” cried Harriet, her voice barely heard in the roar of the wind.  But no one of the party seemed inclined to act as an anchor for the canvas, which was rolled, then whisked out of sight.

“There, now you have done it!” shouted Crazy Jane McCarthy.  “We sleep on the ground for the rest of the night!” A gust of wind had thrown Jane off her balance and knocked her down.

“Take hold of a tree,” advised Harriet.

“I can’t get to one,” wailed Margery.  “I can’t walk.”

“Creep,” suggested Tommy shrilly.

“Yes, we must seek cover.  I fear there will be rain soon,” added Miss Elting.  “This is an awful blow.  I can feel the spray from the ocean.”

“Will the ocean come up here?” questioned Margery apprehensively.

“No.  Don’t be foolish,” answered Harriet.  “But we shall get wet, all the same.”

Half walking, half crawling, the Meadow-Brook Girls crept farther back among the small trees, through which the wind was shrieking and howling.  They saw the campfire lifted from the ground and sent flying through the air, leaving a trail of starry sparks in its wake.

“There go the tents!” cried Miss Elting.

A medley of shouts and cries of alarm followed hard upon the guardian’s words.  A gust more severe than any that had preceded it, and of longer duration, had rooted up the weakened tent stakes or broken the guy ropes.  A whole street of tents tipped over backward, leaving their occupants scrambling from their cots, now in the open air.

“Girls, see if you can lend the Wau-Wau girls assistance,” commanded Miss Elting.  “Hurry!”

About all that was necessary to get to the distressed campers was to let go of the trees to which the Meadow-Brook Girls had been clinging.  The wind did the rest, and they brought up in confused heaps near and beyond the uncovered tents.  Cots had been overturned by the sudden heavy squall, blankets and equipment blown away.  The cook tent was down and the contents apparently a wreck.