John sat upright and peered about him in the darkness, every nerve alert. He heard nothing, however. Perhaps he had been mistaken after all. George’s mishap that afternoon had been on his mind and probably he had dreamed of it.

Somehow the feeling that he had heard a cry still seemed very distinct, however, and it gave him a most unpleasant sensation. He listened intently. He could hear the deep and steady breathing of his three comrades lying asleep around him, and he heaved a sigh of relief. At least nothing had happened to them.

Not a sound came to break the silence of the night and John began to feel sure that he had been deceived. He prepared himself to lie down again and go to sleep. He must have had a nightmare, he thought. Who could be in trouble on a calm, still night like this? At any rate it was none of their party and undoubtedly was no one at all. It had all been a dream, though a most unpleasant one, and John shivered unconsciously at the recollection. His nerves had all been set on edge, but gradually he quieted down and once more settled himself to rest.

Barely had he closed his eyes, however, when the cry was repeated. There was no mistaking it this time, and John instantly was wide awake once more, the cold shivers dancing up and down his spine. Never had he heard such a voice. Some one evidently was in terrible distress mingled with fear with which hopelessness seemed combined. The voice trailed off in a wail of despair that brought John’s heart up into his mouth.

It seemed to him that the cry must have awakened his companions as well, but no, he could still hear their regular breathing even above the violent pounding of his heart. What should he do? There was no question about it this time; it had not been a dream. Some one was in trouble and needed help, and evidently needed it badly. Consequently it was needed quickly, too, and John was determined to do his best.

He leaned over in the darkness and felt for the boy who was lying next to him.

“Grant,” he whispered. “Grant, wake up.”

Grant merely groaned and stirred uneasily.

“Wake up, Grant,” he repeated, shaking his friend by his shoulder. “Wake up, I tell you.”

“What do you want?” demanded Grant sleepily. “What’s the matter?”

“Matter enough,” exclaimed John. “There’s somebody in trouble out here on the lake and he’s calling for help.”

“Is that so?” cried Grant, now wide awake. “Are you sure?”

“I heard him call twice.”

“Was it a man?”

“I think so. I never heard such a voice. It was awful.”

“We’d better go see what we can do then,” exclaimed Grant. “Which direction did the voice come from?”

“I couldn’t say; it seemed to come from all over. Oh, Grant, it was awful.”

“Sure you didn’t dream it?”

“Positive. I know I heard it.”

“Come along then,” said Grant. “We’ll go outside and get one of the canoes and see what we can find. Maybe we’ll hear it again.”

“I don’t know; it sounded to me as though it was the death cry of some one. I never heard such a thing in all my life.”

“Get your sweater and some trousers,” directed Grant. “Don’t wake Fred and Pop yet. We’ll see what we can do first.”

John and Grant rose carefully to their feet and laid aside their blankets. Feeling their way, they soon located their clothes and a moment later, partly dressed, they stepped forth from the tent. The night was clear, and the moon, in its last quarter, lighted up the trees and the water in a ghostly manner.

“Are the paddles—” began Grant, when the cry was repeated. This time it seemed only a short distance from their camp and out on the lake. Perhaps some one had upset a boat and was struggling in the water.

“There it is,” cried John, clutching Grant excitedly by the arm. “Did you hear that? Isn’t that terrible?”

“Is that what you heard before?” demanded Grant.

“Yes, the same voice. Hurry! We mustn’t waste a second.”

“Wait a minute, String,” and in Grant’s voice was the suggestion of a laugh.

“What’s the matter?”

“Well, if that’s what you heard the other times, I wouldn’t be in a great hurry if I were you.”

“Why not? Are you crazy, Grant? Can’t you tell by that voice that some one is in trouble? Aren’t you going to help him?”

“Did you ask me if I was crazy?”

“I did, and I think you are, too. Please hurry, Grant.”

“Oh, no, I’m not crazy,” said Grant, and there was no mistaking the fact that he was laughing now. “I’m not crazy, but you’re loony.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s a loon you hear out there.”

“A loon,” exclaimed John in amazement. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a bird. That noise you hear is made by a bird named a loon. Haven’t you ever heard one before?”

“Never. I don’t see how a bird could sound so like a human being.”

“That’s what it is just the same,” said Grant, and he was almost doubled up with laughter now. “I think I’d better wake up Pop and Fred and tell them about your friend that’s calling for help.”

“Are you positive it’s a loon?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then don’t ever tell a soul,” begged John eagerly. “I’d never hear the last of it as long as I lived. It would be awful if George ever knew.”

“You’re not the first one who’s ever been fooled,” laughed Grant. “You probably won’t be the last, either.”

“Please don’t tell on me, though, Grant. Promise me you won’t.”

“We’ll see,” said Grant evasively. “I can’t make any promises though.”

“How should I know that it was a loon?” demanded John. “I never heard one before and you yourself say that other people have been fooled the same way.”

“That’s true. Still it’s almost too good a joke on you to keep.”

“What is a loon, anyway?”

“It’s a bird; it belongs to the duck family, I guess. They live around on lakes and ponds like this and spend their nights waking people up and scaring them.”

“I should say they did,” exclaimed John with a shudder. “I never heard such a lonesome-sounding, terrible wail in all my life.”

“There it is again,” said Grant laughingly, as once more the cry of the loon came to their ears across the dark waters of the little lake.

“Let’s go back to sleep,” exclaimed John earnestly. “That sound makes my blood run cold, even though I know it is made by a bird.”

“Don’t you think we ought to tell Fred and Pop about it?” inquired Grant mischievously. “It seems to me they ought to be warned.”

“You can tell them about it if you don’t mention my name in connection with it,” said John. “If you tell on me though, I swear I’ll get even with you if it takes me a year.”

“All right,” laughed Grant, “I won’t say anything about it. At least, not yet,” he added under his breath.

“What did you say?” demanded John, not having caught the last sentence.

“I said, ‘let’s go to bed.’”

“That suits me,” exclaimed John, and a few moments later they had once more crawled quietly over their sleeping comrades and again rolled in their blankets, were sound asleep.

The sun had not been up very long before the camp was astir. Sleepy-eyed the boys emerged from the tent, blinking in the light of the new day. A moment later, however, four white bodies were splashing and swimming around in the cool waters of the lake, and all the cobwebs of sleep were soon brushed away.

“That’s what makes you feel fine,” exclaimed George when they had all come out and were dressing preparatory to eating breakfast. “A swim like that makes me feel as if I could lick my weight in wildcats.”

“You must have slept pretty well last night, Pop,” remarked Grant.

“I did. Never slept harder in my life.”

“Well, I didn’t,” exclaimed Fred. “It seemed to me I was dreaming all night long. Maybe my bed wasn’t fixed just right.”

“What did you dream about, Fred?” asked Grant curiously.

“Oh, all sorts of things. I thought I heard people calling for help. That seemed to be my principal dream for some reason.”

“That’s funny,” said Grant. “You didn’t dream anything like that, did you, String?”

“No, I didn’t,” said John shortly.