With the incoming tide, the “Boojum” had righted herself and was soon under way. The tremendous rain had ceased as abruptly as it had begun and the sun shone valiantly as if to make up to the little party for the trick the tide, vassal of the moon, had played on them the past night. The winds had churned the water into choppy little waves that foamed against the “Boojum’s” eager bow.

“I just adore this jerky motion,” Jane confided to Frances. “But I wonder how long I’ll adore it. It reminds me of the time I went on a hunt on a Standard-bred trotter. I got there in time to see the dogs nab the poor fox, but I’m here to say I took an oath that that was the last time I would ride anything but a saddle horse.”

“I like this too,” agreed Frances. “It’s the most exciting sail we have had yet. We are certainly scooting along. Whee! look at the spray come flying up over the bowsprit. Let’s go and get on the grating. I don’t believe either one of us is going to be sick, ’specially if we stay up on deck.”

These two were nearly always to be found lying flat on the grating in the bow when they were sailing. As a concession to Mr. Wing, they had agreed to hold on to each other with one hand and on to the grating with the other.

“Are you two young tars feeling fit still!” Mr. Wing asked them. “Ellen and Jack are below looking pretty miserable and, of course, no power on earth will drag them up in the air. Ellen said that, if she saw the waves, she knew it would be all over with her.”

“Yes, we saw them, when we went below to get extra sweaters. I believe Jack would like to come up, but he doesn’t want to leave Ellen. Ellen would be much better off by herself, but she doesn’t like to hurt Jack’s feelings. There is nothing to do with people like that so we might as well forget them. It won’t be so long before we fetch Provincetown and then they will be all right.” And Jane dismissed the tragedy of the seasick lovers with a grin.

Mr. Wing had been watching a fast little schooner ahead of them. “Hey you, Charlie!” he called to the man at the wheel. “You stop talking to Mabel, and watch what you are about. We are pointing lots higher than that white schooner. Mabel, you come up here and play with these kids and Charlie and I will see if we can’t overhaul that boat on our next tack.”

Obediently Mabel slid and skidded along the slippery, slanting deck, and sat down with one arm around the mast.

“Daddy is so funny,” she said. “We would have got there just as quickly if we had gone on as we were. We are a little off our course now, but Daddy likes to use every puff of wind.”

“And I am going to as long as I sail a yacht. If I ever get to running a steamboat or a ferry to Jersey, I might change, but as long as I run the ‘Boojum’ she sails.”

“Well hush your fuss and run along now. You can sail backward if you want to,” giggled Mabel, who always had the attitude that her father was her kid brother.

“Honestly, Mabel, this is the most wonderful day of all, but then it seems that every day is better than the last,” said Jane.

“And won’t it be fun to see old Betty Wyndham? We ought to have some kind of Camp Fire party. The only thing that I have against the ‘Boojum’ is that we can’t have a camp fire on her.”

“But s’pose Betty has got too grown-up to like that sort of thing,” ventured Frances.

Jane shook her head at this. “I had a letter from her just before we left and she told me that she had just been to a clambake with some of the players, and, if she likes that, I know she will like to have a regular old-timer with us.”

“She will be surprised to see us. Can’t you just see her eyes widening behind those big bone glasses?” Mabel stretched her own eyes wide. “And look, I can just see the monument to the Pilgrim Fathers now. We will be there soon.”

“Oh!” Frances sighed. “Much as I want to see Betty I wish this sail would never end. I get so excited I can hardly stand it and, when the spray lands on me, I want to shout.”

“You are just a modern pagan,” said Mabel looking at Frances’ vivid color and sparkling eyes, “and a mighty pretty one too.”

“Away, thou perfidious flatterer. And me freckled as a guinea egg! Jane, pinch her for me.”

“You young’uns get the anchor free. We are going to drop it soon as we lose our way,” called Mr. Wing.

Jane jumped up from her place and took off the ropes that held the anchor, and, balancing it with one hand in a thoroughly professional manner, began spitting over the side in the way she had found so ridiculous in Breck and Mr. Wing a few days since.

“All the way is lost now,” Jane cried in semi-nautical tones that made Breck smile as he pushed the anchor over the side.

Little fishing boats were moored and anchored all around the “Boojum” and soon men had come up on all the decks after the fashion of sailors to see what the latest ship looked like.

Jane and Frances were at the davits, letting down the dinghy as Jack and Ellen came up from below, looking as Frances said rather “pale and pellucid.”

“Now, gents,” began Mabel bouncing up to the little group at the davits, “we girls are going ashore and see Betty and we are going to have a regular reunion of the Camp Fire Girls and we don’t want any of you, much as we love you separately and collectively, to bother us. We’ll take the dinghy and spend the night with Betty if there is room and if there isn’t we’ll take her to a hotel for, goodness knows, there isn’t room on board for another thing.”

“And Jane and I are the ablest little seawomen in the bunch so we are going to row you and Ellen, Mabel,” and Frances steadied the dinghy with a far-reaching foot and leg, while Jane dropped over the side and put in the rowlocks. These two had long since waived the formality of the sea-ladder.

“Breck!” called Jane to the sailor, “you put over the sea ladder and we’ll row around to starboard and take on our middle-aged passengers.”

“Middle-aged passengers nothing,” shrieked Mabel. “You just hold the dinghy steady and we’ll get over here. As if I wasn’t doing this long before you were born!”

“Well, doesn’t that prove your middle age?” teased Frances.

“I’d drop this little grip on your head, Captain Kidd, if I wasn’t afraid I’d upset my fellow sufferer, Mabel,” announced Ellen, as she handed the little grip that held their nighties down to Frances. “I am so thoughtful, none of you remembered that you ought to have toothbrushes and combs if we are going to stay on shore tonight. How would you get on in this world without useful me to think about everything for you?”

“Be sure to allow enough rope for the drop in the tide,” Jane cautioned Frances as she made the painter fast to a big iron ring sunk in the dock.

“Plain Jane, now you just hush up. I’d like to know who it was that tied the dinghy at Newport the time we came back from the movies and found the poor thing standing on its stern with its nose up in the air?”

“Let’s go to the post office first, and see if there is any mail for us at general delivery,” suggested Ellen. “Then we can set about the search for our little pal Betty.”

Just as the girls were going into the post office, a hurrying girl ran into them. “Pardon—well of all things!” she cried.

“Why, Betty, what luck. Why didn’t you knock us down?”

“What fun to see you again,” they all said at once and drew amused smiles from the group in the post office.

“Come on to my room. I’m staying with the dearest little old lady in the world. Several of the other players have rooms with her too and we tear off a lot of fun when we aren’t working,” Betty told them as they went along the street.

“What ducky little houses these are,” Jane said to Frances. “But not as charming as Plymouth do you think, Betty?”

“I think that the Greenwich Villagers, who come here for the summer, leave their mark just as they do everywhere. It is really more attractive in the winter when just the natives themselves are here,” explained Betty.

Soon they were all in Betty’s neat room, lolling about on the bed, eating chocolates, and examining Betty’s new snapshots and possessions and exchanging adventures. After Betty had been duly told of the upset at Plymouth, they all began to plan how they were to hold their reunion. At last, they decided on a clambake as the best.

The little old lady who owned the house agreed to let them have a room with a double bed in it and by doubling up in one room and tripling up in the other they thought they could pass the night ashore.

As soon as the sun set, the five friends trooped down to the beach and, gathering driftwood enough to bake all the clams in the world, started a huge campfire.

“Um, I think baked clams are the most delicious things in the world,” said Jane as she ate her last one.

“Honestly, children, I am just too glad that you came by to see me. I was wondering how I was going to get through the summer without seeing at least some of the Camp Fire Girls,” Betty smiled at the girls.

“I wish you had time to go for a few days’ sail with us. Don’t you suppose you could?” Mabel begged.

“It is dear of you to ask me and you know there is nothing in the world I would like better, but I really am too busy. You know I am working particularly hard so I can get to New York to hear Emmeline sing.”

“We will see you then at any rate, ’cause we are going to be back in time for that too,” and Mabel gave Betty a clammy hug.

“Doesn’t that driftwood make the most gorgeously colored flame?” Ellen asked dreamily. “I always wonder about driftwood, what it was before it was cast up on the beach.”

“It is rather terrible to think how much of it was once ships, and by the way, would you mind if I said you a piece I ran across the other day? It isn’t exactly cheerful but I like it,” and Betty began a weird minor wail in her rich deep voice—

“Whew! what a blood curdler!” interrupted Jane. “Stop it! stop it! It gives me the creeps.”

“Let’s save it until a sunny day and have something soothing to go to bed on,” suggested Ellen, shivering. “Why don’t we end this reunion by singing some of our own Camp Fire songs?”

The five Camp Fire Girls began their favorite Good Night song: