tent.

"Come, Frank," said some one, pulling him violently, "we are going to have some great fun. Hurrah!"

Frank jumped up. The boys were leaving the tent. He had already suspected that mischief was meditated, and, anxious to see what it was, he ran out after them.

He found the company assembled in a dark, mysterious mass in the street before the row of tents.

"Get a rope around his neck," said one.

"Burn the tent," said another.

"With him in it," said a third.

"What does it all mean?" Frank inquired of his friend Atwater, whom he found quietly listening to the conspirators.

"A little fun with the Gosling, I believe," said Atwater, with a shrug. "They'd better let him alone."

"The Gosling" was the nickname which the Blues had bestowed on their captain.

After a hurried consultation among the ringleaders, the company marched to the tent where the Gosling slept. Only Atwater, Frank, and a few others lingered in the rear.

"I hope they won't hurt him," said Frank. "Ought we not to give the alarm?"

"And get the lasting ill-will of the boys?" said Atwater. "We can't afford that."

The captain's tent was surrounded. Knives were drawn. Then, at a concerted signal, the ropes supporting the tent were cut. At the same time the captain's bed, which made a convenient protuberance in the side of the tent, was seized and tipped over, while tent-pole, canvas, and all, came down upon him in a mass.

"Help! guard! help!" he shrieked, struggling under the heap.

At the instant a large pile of straw, belonging to the quartermaster's department close by, burst forth in a sheet of flame which illumined the camp with its glare.