woods close in upon them, and when
at the summit of a hill they anxiously look for some other shelter than
the thronging pines, they can see nothing but the long, winding,
lightish streak of road and the endless outlines of monotonous
pine-trees on either side against the dark sky.

"Six miles to Curtin Harbor!" cries Starrett at last. "That boy's a
fraud. I believe it's sixty."

"Reckon dey're Cape Cod miles, Mas'r Starrett," says Joe. "Dey say down
yer, yo' know, dat one on 'em 's equal to two ob good trav'lin' in any
uthah part ob de worl'."

If it were only clear now, coasting merrily down these hills would be
royal fun, but in this state of the weather caution is necessary. A halt
is called for consultation. The six composedly dismount and sit down on
the clumps of "poverty grass," beneath the doubtful shelter of the
pines.

"Well, now," asks Starrett, "what are we going to do? I know you girls
are tired and drenched; you needn't deny it. And there's no sign of a
house this side of Jericho or Jerusalem."

Suddenly Charley has an idea. "O girls," she says, "let's camp out,
right here! We're not badly off, for we all have our waterproof cloaks;
but you've all been longing for an adventure, and here's one for a
_finale_. We'll at least make a tent and have supper. It'll be just
splendid!"

The club vociferously acquiesce. Joe alone, dubious, shakes his head.
But he is outvoted and overruled.

A quantity of pine boughs are piled, by Joe and Starrett, tent-fashion,
across and around four of the tricycles; a heap of dry leaves, carefully
collected, makes a fragrant couch, whereon the young ladies compose
themselves, wrapped and snugly covered with shawls and capes from the
"luggage-carriers." Lastly Joe spreads the rubber waterproofs securely
over the wheels and boughs, and the young campers are completely
sheltered.

A rummage in the lunch-boxes and "luggage-carriers" of the six machines
brings to light half a dozen soda crackers, two bananas, six pieces of
gingerbread, a slice of dry cheese, three apples, and--this is Joe's
surprise!--a small can of chicken.

A chorus of delight greets this last discovery, and Joe is at once
besieged.

"Now, yo' jes' sot down, ef yo' please, young ladies," says Joe, holding
the can above his head. "I'll 'tend to yo' d'reckly. Yo' jes' gib me de
tings and I'll serve supper in fus'-class style."

When the chicken,--delicately served on the soda crackers,--the apples,
bana