"I never knew such a chap as you for getting ideas into your head," said Robin. "Mysterious! Why? you've got mysteries on the brain, it seems to me!"  
"Be prepared!" quoted Peter with twinkling eyes.
 
"Oh, all serene; but 'be prepared' for to-night too, if you've no objection," the old campaigner spoke dryly. "You don't exactly want to get a chill before morning, do you, and be compelled to sleep at the Cottage till the end of the camp?"
 
This idea struck Peter as sound; he fell to, therefore, with a will. Jan came along, too, having first set one of the boys' dixies on the now blazing camp-fire. "Suppose you'll want your supper after this, won't you?" she asked.
 
"Rather, I should say so," but the two boys were too busy to talk much. Already the night shelter was beginning to look quite professional. One of the scout-staves was laid against and bound to the trunk of a straight young tree; the framework thus formed was thatched very closely with leafy boughs and bracken, and the whole bivouac was complete.
 
"It's simply perfect," remarked Jan, surveying the results of their labours with glowing eyes.
 
"And perfectly simple," added Peter; but Robin, as Captain of the campers, was anxious to set them both to work again as soon as possible.
 
"We've got the temporary shelter pitched all right," he said, "with its back away from the wind; but we'll want a trench dug all round it. Suppose there's heavy rain in the night, and we get flooded out! Not that I think there will be, but we'll be prepared."
 
"Now I see why you would have the camp on a slope, old chap," said Peter, coming up. "The trench will carry the water straight down to the river. Jolly neat idea."
 
The digging of the small ditch took the rest of the boys' energies; about three inches deep they made it. Meanwhile Jan installed herself as camp-cook, and began preparations for the first meal of all. After a flying visit to Island Cottage she returned with a saucepan, a jug of milk, and a loaf of bread, as well as three new-laid eggs. The milk was boiled in the saucepan, and the eggs were cooked in the dixie of hot water. Jan was trying her best to make three slices of rather smoky toast, and burning her cheeks badly in the endeavour, when the boys—their labours over for a time—approached the camp-fire.
 
Suppers are nearly always welcome; but this particular supper was voted the rippingest on record. And, afterwards, as the day slowly faded to dusk, the three sat in the firelight saying very little but enjoying, every one of them, the magic of the late summer evening in their own particular way. The spell was broken at last by a little shiver from Jan, and Robin jumped up. "Here, it's time we fetched a rug or two, Peter, from the Cottage. And, Jan, Brownie will have your room ready by this time. We will take you home, and then we'll turn in ourselves."
 
Mrs. Brown was on the look-out for the three. "I've got Miss Jan's room ready," she announced, "but I suppose you young gentlemen are sleeping out? What with the lumber in that attic, my dears, I've not——!"
 
"It's all right, Brownie, we've just come for blankets," the boys assured her. "We'll help to turn out the attic ourselves on the first wet day. Don't worry about that, and thank you for the milk and eggs and things; they made a ripping supper, and they'll make a ripping breakfast too. But from then we'll be self-supporting. We can row over to the other side of the river for what things we need, and we'll be about, you know, if you want any odd jobs done." The boys, armed with a rug apiece, shouted a cheery good-night and were off again campwards, while Jan followed her hostess into the bedroom that had been prepared for her.
 
She went to the window when she was ready for bed and looked out; at first it seemed quite dark outside, but the moon was shining on the river between the Island and the Chase garden, and a bridge of moonlight seemed to span the water. Suddenly another light appeared too, a steady light from one of the windows of the Chase. "It's Mother, I expect," thought Jan sleepily. "She's lighted it for us to see. I wonder if the boys see it too. And I wonder if Mother——" she jumped into bed and curled herself up in the big old-fashioned feather mattress, and was asleep in a twinkling.
 
The boys were fast asleep already too. It hadn't taken long to cover the fire with ashes, and to collect a few logs in case a midnight stoking was required. Then they rolled themselves in their rugs and turned over, their feet towards the fire. Hours and hours seemed to have passed when Robin was suddenly awakened. "I say, old chap," said Peter's voice.
 
"What's wrong?" asked Robin sleepily; it was quite dark—for the moon had set early—perhaps the darkest part of the summer night.
 
"Don't you hear rather a peculiar noise?" inquired Peter.
 
"No! What sort?" Robin raised himself on his elbow to listen.
 
"A sort of thumping." Peter sat up too. "No, it's gone again. But it was quite loud—it woke me, and I thought——"
 
"You've been dreaming, old chap," said Robin sleepily; "it's nothing at all." He closed his eyes as he spoke and drew a deep breath, and after a minute or two his younger brother followed his example. "Suppose it must have been a dream," he muttered as he drifted off, "but——" There was a snore—Peter, too, was fast asleep.