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