“How do you tell when it’s done?” asked Grace, joining her.  “You can’t stick a straw in through that clay as you stick a splint in a cake.”

“No,” admitted Cleo, “but I guess it must be ready now.  The book says it doesn’t take more than an hour before the fish is baked to a turn, whatever that is.”

The four girls stood about the fire hole, wondering how Cleo’s experiment would succeed.  Captain Clark joined them.  She was just going to suggest that perhaps the process was completed, when suddenly there was a loud explosion in the hole.

Up in the air flew blazing and half-burned sticks, ashes and portions of a clay ball, mingled with something white, in flakes.

“Look out!” cried Margaret.  But there was no need.  All the girls ducked for cover.

“What—­what was it?” asked Grace, when the shower of ashes and embers was over, without any casualties.

“I rather think that was the completion of Cleo’s experiment,” said Captain Clark.  “The clay ball exploded, girls.”

There was no question about that.  Steam, generated inside the mass of wet mud Cleo had plastered about the fish had caused the ball to burst, and it scattered into a hundred fragments, blowing the fish to flakes that were scattered about the surrounding trees and bushes.

“Oh, dear!” sighed Cleo.  “I just remember now, I should have made a little hole to let the steam out.  Oh, my lovely fish!”

“Never mind,” consoled Captain Clark.  “You have learned something.”

“Yes,” sighed Cleo.

“An’ hit’s a mighty good t’ing I saved de rest ob de fish t’ cook in mah own way,” murmured Alameda, as she served supper a little later.

And then, amid laughter at Cleo’s experiment, they all sat down in the dining tent, and as they ate, evening settled down over camp.

To say that their stay at Nomoko was a delight to the girls is putting it very faintly indeed.  They hiked and fished and finally Cleo succeeded in baking a specimen in a clay ball and it was voted most excellent, and credited to her scout record as “home cooking in the woods.”

The weather remained delightful, so that the week-end dashed by almost as a single day, so replete was the time with woodland joys.

Tuesday morning came, all too soon, and it was with genuine regret that they pulled up stakes to the extent of pecking grips for the home trip.

“Seems to me,” almost grumbled Madaline, “a few days in the woods just about make me want a whole month.  Think of going back to Flosston after just learning how to hunt, fish, chase flies—­”

“And blow up dug-outs!” assisted Captain Clark.  “Well, we really have learned a lot and had a good time, besides, you have each proved valiant to the extent of not being afraid of anything in the woods by day or by night, and that was well worth the trip.”

“Please don’t give us a bad mark on the black fly contest,” pleaded Cleo.  “Because you know, in the end, we did conquer them.”