of the wagon made a sort of tent in front, there was
more sailcloth draped round the wheels and the back part of the wagon,
while a waterproof sheet spread on the ground served as a sort of floor
on which to spread two mattresses. But, as Rumple said, it was very
hard, and it was a night or two before they were really comfortable.

The novelty of the thing kept them from complaining, however, and there
was not one of the seven who would have changed their quarters for the
most comfortable bed that was ever invented. It was great fun to lie
listening to Rocky munching alongside, and to fall asleep with the
out-of-door feeling, and the stars looking in from the rift in the
canvas covering.

But it was still greater fun to wake next morning, to wash in a bucket,
and then to hurry round, getting breakfast in the crisp, fresh air of
the early morning. It was going to be tremendously hot later on, so
breakfast was hurried over, and the start made before the cool breeze of
the sunrising had entirely died away.

It was the real start this morning, for the road turned inland from the
sea, and there was not one of the seven who did not feel as if they were
saying goodbye to an old friend when the last gleam of blue water was
hid from sight, and the hills, clothed with olive-green foliage, bounded
the horizon.

[Illustration: EARLY MORNING IN CAMP]

But it was not in their nature to be sad for very long, so ten minutes
later their laughter was ringing out once more, and they set their faces
towards the unknown with the cheerful determination to make the best of
things which always marked their doings.

Rumple had retired to the rack at the back of the wagon, because he
wished for quiet in which to write a poem to celebrate the occasion, and
the others forgot all about him until they drew under the shade of a
grove of trees for the noonday halt, when, to their extreme
consternation, it was found that Rumple was missing.

CHAPTER IX

In a Strange Place

Rumple opened his eyes and stared about him in amazement. He was lying
in a room which had big pink vases on the mantelpiece, a blue
firescreen, and a green paper on the walls. There was a centre table,
too, which was piled with books and strewn with photographs. There was
one--the portrait of a man--which had a silver-gilt frame, and stood in
the place of honour, and Rumple gazed at it in amazement, wondering
where he had seen it before.

"Why, I do believe it i