d make the closely surrounding
atmosphere uncomfortably warm.

Even the girls who had performed the hardest tasks in the "fencing in"
of their swimming place were by this time considerably rested and
enjoyed watching the fire seize the wood and then leap up into the air
as if for bigger prey.

"Let's sing," proposed Harriet Newcomb after the fire had grown into a
roaring, crackling blaze, throwing a brilliant glow far out onto the
water.

"What shall it be?" asked Ethel Zimmerman.

"Burn Fire, Burn," Hazel Edwards proposed.

"Marion, you start it," Miss Ladd suggested, for Marion Stanlock was the
"star" soprano of the Fire.

In a moment the well-trained voices of fourteen Camp Fire Girls were
sending the clear operatic strains of a special adaptation of the fire
chant of the Camp Fire ritual. The music had been composed and arranged
by Marion Stanlock and Helen Nash a few months previously, and diligent
practice had qualified the members of the Camp Fire to render the
production impressively.

This song was succeeded by a chorus-rendering of a similar adaptation of
the Fire Maker's Song. Then followed an impromptu program of
miscellaneous songs, interspersed here and there with such musical
expressions of patriotism as "America," "Star Spangled Banner," and
"Over There," in evidence of a mindfulness of the part of the United
States in the great international struggle for democracy.

Meanwhile dusk gathered heavier and heavier, the stars came out, and
still the fire blazed up brightly and the girls continued to sing songs
and tell stories and drink in the vigor and inspiration of the scene. At
last, however, the Guardian announced that it was 9 o'clock, which was
Flamingo's curfew, and there was a general move to extinguish the fire,
which by this time had been allowed to burn low.

Suddenly all were startled by an astonishing occurrence. A heavy object,
probably a stone as large as a man's fist, fell in the heap of embers,
scattering sparks and burning sticks in all directions. There was a
chorus of screams, and a frantic examination, by the girls, of one
another's clothes to see if any of them were afire.

CHAPTER XXI.

"SH!"

"Who in the world do you suppose did that?" Hazel Edwards exclaimed, as
she hastily examined her own clothes and then quickly struck out a spark
that clung to the skirt of Azalia Atwood.

"Quick, girls," cried Miss Ladd; "did any of you do that?"

There was a chorus of