silk tie bound around one knee to gather up the fullness of her bloomer leg, for the elastic band had burst from the strain of accommodating two feet at once; and Tiny had one white sneaker and one red Pullman slipper on.  Glancing around at the rest they saw many others in the same plight—­middies on hindside before, odd shoes and stockings, sweaters instead of middies, and various other parodies on the regular camp uniform—­and immediately they ceased to feel conspicuous.  Taking their places around the table the campers proceeded to sing one of the morning greetings: 

  “Good morning to you,
  Good morning to you,
  Good morning, dear comrades,
  Good morning to you!”

“Did you have a good night’s sleep?” was a question that made the rounds of the table, with many droll replies, as the cereal was being passed.  Hilarity increased during the meal, as the absurdity of eating cereal and fruit and toast at eight o’clock in the evening overcame the girls one after the other, and the room rang with witty songs made up on the spur of the moment.

At “Morning Sing” which followed breakfast, they solemnly sang “When Morning Gilds the Skies,” “Awake, my soul, and with the sun,” “Kathleen Mavourneen, the grey dawn is breaking,” and other morning songs; the program for the day was read, and Dr. Grayson gave a fatherly lecture on the harmfulness of staying up after dark.  Getting the tents ready for tent inspection without lights was a proceeding which defies description.  Tiny Armstrong was still on the hillside searching for her runaway bed when the Lone Wolf reached Bedlam in her tour of inspection, and was given a large and black zero in consequence.  She finally gave up the search and wandered into Mateka, where, with lanterns hanging above the long tables, Craft Hour was in full swing, the girls busily working at clay modeling, wood-blocking and paddle decorating, while the moon, round-eyed with astonishment, peeped through the doorway at the singular sight.  Still more astonished, the same moon looked down on the tennis court an hour later, where a lively folk dance was going on to the music of a graphaphone; couples spinning around in wild figures, stepping on each other’s feet and every now and then dropping down at the outer edge of the court and shrieking with laughter, while the dance continued faster and more furiously than before, till the sound of the bugle sent the dancers flying swiftly to their tents to wriggle into clammy, wet bathing suits that seemed in the dark to be an altogether different shape from what they were in the daylight.

Standing on top of the diving tower when Tiny’s cry of “All in!” rang out, Sahwah leaped down into the darkness and had a queer, thrilling moment in mid air when she wondered if she would ever strike the water, or would go on indefinitely falling through the blackness.  Laughing, shouting, splashing, the campers sported in the water until all of a sudden a red canoe shot into their midst and the director of Camp Altamont, accompanied by two assistants, came in an advanced stage of breathlessness to find out what the matter was.  They heard the noise and the splashing of water and thought some accident had occurred.