If the crowning whistle, and energetic _bang_ with which the strapped
books came down, were any indication of what was coming after the
"then!" it must be something unusual. And so it was--for Ned, Tom and
Con, who were the greatest of chums, as well as the noisiest, merriest
boys in Curryville Academy--were to go into camp for the next two
weeks, by way of spending part of their vacation. They could hardly
wait for school to close, and over the pages of Greenleaf danced,
those last two days, unknown quantities of fishing tackle, tents, and
the regular regalia of a camping out-fit. They talked of it by day and
dreamed of it by night.
At last the great day dawned--dawned upon three of the most
grotesque-looking specimens of boyhood, arrayed in the oldest and
worst fitting clothes they could find; for, as they said, in the most
expressive boy language--"We are in for a rattlin' good time, and
don't want to be togged out." They and their effects were taken by
wagon over to the Lake Shore, about four miles distant, to establish
their camp under the shadow of old Rumble Sides, a lofty crag or
boulder.
Boys, I wish you could have seen them that night, in their little
woodland home; really, it was quite attractive. They worked like
beavers all day--cutting away the brush, driving stakes to tie down
the little white tent, digging a trench all around in case of rain,
and building a fire-place of stone, with a tall, forked stick on which
to hang the kettle. A long board, under the shady trees, served as
table.
Too tired to make a fire that night, they ate a cold lunch, and threw
themselves on their bed--which was a blanket thrown over pine
boughs--untied the tent flaps to let in air, and slept a happy,
dreamless sleep.
The next morning, early, they were up, and, after taking a cold plunge
in the lake, built a brisk fire, boiled coffee, and roasted potatoes
for breakfast. They then bailed out the punt, which was their only
sailing craft, and put off for an all-day's fishing excursion. Several
days, with fine weather, passed, and the boys declared they were
having a royal time, and that camping was the only life to lead.
They had much difficulty to settle upon a name, but finally decided
that "Camp Trio" was most appropriate.
One night they were suddenly awakened by a deep, roaring sound; the
wind blew fiercely, it rained hard, but the noise was not of thunder,
it seemed almost human; nearer and nearer it came! The three lads sat
up in the semi-darkness, and peered at each other with scared faces.
"It's Old Rumble broke loose and coming down on us," said Con, in a
ghostly whisper. "Hush!" and the trio clutched in a cold shiver, as a
crackling of twigs was heard outside, a heavy tread, a long, low moan,
a horrible silence.
"It was the Leviathan, I guess," said Tom, with a ghastly attempt at
smiling, as the early morning light stole through the flaps. At length
they moved their stiffened limbs and peeped out. Oh, how it did pour!
No fire, no fishing, no any thing to-day. Pretty soon a shout from
Ned, who had been cautiously prowling around to find the cause of
their late fright.
"Oh, boys, it's too rich! Why, it was Potter's old cow, down here last
night, bawling for her calf that was after our towels, as usual--look
here!" and he held up three or four dingy, chewed-looking articles,
which had hung on a tree to dry, and might have been towels once. The
boys broke into a hearty laugh at their own expense. The day was very
long and dull, and the next, stories and jokes fell flat, cold
victuals didn't relish, they began to feel quite blue. The third day
Farmer Potter appeared upon the scene.
"What on airth ye doin' here; trespassin' on other folks' grounds?
Mebby ye don't know it's agin the law!"
The boys felt a trifle uneasy, but answered him politely.
"Hevin' _fun_, be ye! Wall, I'll vow, settin' in the wet, eatin' cold
rations, haint _my_ idee of _fun_." And away he stalked.
The boys looked at each other.
"I say, fellers," said Con, "a piece of pie and a hunk of fresh bread
_wouldn't_ go bad--eh?"
The two answered with a hungry look.
"But let's tough it out over Sunday, or they'll all laugh at us." And
so they did; but it was the longest, dreariest Sabbath they ever
spent.
"I'd rather learn ten chapters in Chronicles," Tom affirmed, "than put
in another such a Sunday."
They had, in the main, a jolly time, but the ending was not as
brilliant as they had looked for. They never regretted going, but the
next year took a larger party, and went for a shorter time.