“Why is it that everything tastes so good here?” demanded Will.  “At home I can’t always eat as much as I want to, and here I can always eat more than there is; and yet there is lots!” he added, surveying the broad table, heaped with substantial victuals of every sort.

“Ah! that’s the beauty of it!” cried Gerald, spearing a potato.  “The human capacity enlarges, my son, with every mile one retires from civilisation.  When I was a Kickapoo Indian, Willy, I ate for three weeks without stopping, and I had three buffaloes at a—­”

“Gerald, my dear!” said Mrs. Merryweather.

“Yes, Mater, my dear!” said the unblushing Gerald.  “I was only trying to expand his mind, like the Ninkum.  Excellent biscuits, Miss Hilda! three more, if you please.”

CHAPTER XI.

A night-piece.

It was clear moonlight when the girls went to bed; clear, that is, to Hildegarde’s unpractised eyes.  She saw only the brilliant stars overhead, and took no note of the low bank of cloud in the south.  Captain Roger (for Roger was in command at camp, Mr. Merryweather only coming out at night on his bicycle, and going in again to his business in the morning), after a critical survey of the sky, went the rounds in his quiet way before bedtime, making all secure, but said nothing to anybody.  Going to bed was a matter of some labour at the camp.  During the day the beds were piled one on top of another in the one bedroom, the blankets, after hanging in the air for two or three hours, being folded and laid over them.  Only in the tent where Mr. and Mrs. Merryweather slept the beds remained stationary all day, the sides of the tent being rolled high, to let the air circulate in every direction.

When nine o’clock came, or ten, as the case might be, the order was given, “Bring out the beds!” Straightway the boys made broad their backs, and walked about like long-legged tortoises, distributing mattresses here and there.  The three girls slept in the bedroom which opened off the living-room; the boys and Roger carried their beds into the second tent, or under the trees, or into the boat-house, as fancy suggested, and the wind favoured.  Then blankets were unrolled, and the business of bed-making went on merrily.

As I said, it was clear moonlight when the girls went to bed; but somewhere in the middle of the night Hildegarde was waked by a rustle and a roar.  Visions of lions ramped before her still-dreaming eyes; she shuddered awake, to find a gale raging round the camp.  Outside was one continuous roar of waves on the shore, while overhead the wind clutched and tore at the branches, and shook the frail hut to its foundations.  Hildegarde lay still and listened, with a luxurious sense of safety amid the wild tumult.

“But I am safe, and live at home!” she said softly.  Then suddenly a thought came, like a cold hand laid on her heart, and she sat up in bed, her breath coming quickly.