impossible to fill him up. You girls have heard of the Sheep Eaters?” he asked suddenly, looking from one to the other.

“Yes,” chorused the Winnebagos, not wishing to appear ignorant, but not sure whether the Sheep Eaters were beasts of prey or persons overfond of mutton.

“Well,” continued the spokesman, pointing to the “Bottomless Pitt,” “he’s a Pie Eater, he is. He eats ’em whole.”

Hinpoha’s glance strayed nervously to the shelf where the apple pie stood awaiting the end of the Ceremonial Meeting. The tall boy’s eyes followed here and his teeth showed in a wide smile, as he seemed to read her thoughts. Hinpoha blushed fiery red and dropped her eyes. But he looked away again immediately and did not increase her embarrassment.

“This,” he said, drawing forward a spidery little fellow with red hair and freckles all over his face, “is Munson K. McKee, called for short, Monkey, and those,” indicating the other three, “are Dan Porter, Peter Jenkins and Harry Raymond. We seven boys have always gone together, so we decided to form a club, and we all like sandwiches so well that we named ourselves the Sandwich Club. There, now you know all about us.”

“But you haven’t told us your name,” said the Winnebagos, who were beginning to like the spokesman very much, and were anxiously waiting to hear him introduce himself.

“Haven’t I?” he asked. “That’s right, I haven’t. My name,” he said solemnly, but with that suggestion of a twinkle in his eye again, “is Cicero St. John—and the fellows don’t call me Cissy for short.” Here the corners of his mouth twitched as at some humorous memory.

“You bet they don’t call him Cissy!” put in the Bottomless Pitt.

Hinpoha’s eyes met Gladys’ in comical dismay. How could anyone in their right senses name a boy—an American boy—Cicero! The St. John part sounded very fine, but that awful Cicero!

“How do you keep them from calling you—Cissy?” ventured Sahwah.

“He licked the tar out of them!” spoke up the Monkey. “And he dumped one fellow overboard out in the lake when he tried it. Everybody calls him ‘Cap’ now, because he’s captain of the football team.”

“Indeed,” murmured the Winnebagos, looking at Cicero St. John with fresh interest and great respect, for all the world loves a football player.

And then the boys wanted to know all about the Winnebagos, and thought their symbolic names and “queer duds” even funnier than the girls had considered theirs. But they all voiced their unqualified approval of the Camp Fire Girls when they heard that the Ceremonial Meeting was to be topped off with a feast of apple pie, doughnuts and cider, and did not need to be asked more than once to stay, and share the feast.

“Say, this is a peach of a meeting place,” said the Captain with his mouth full. “How did you happen to get it, and whoever thought of putting a fireplace upstairs in a barn?”

“We got it as the result of a sort of wager,” explained Hinpoha. “Gladys’ father promised that if we could go on an automobile trip all by ourselves without once telegraphing to him for aid he would build us a Lodge to hold our meetings in, and we did and so he did.”

“‘So they did, and he did, and the bears did,’” quoted Nyoda teasingly.

Hinpoha laughed and went on. “He owned this empty barn out here in the field and he turned it over to us. But we just had to have a fireplace or it wouldn’t have been a regular Camp Fire Lodge, so he built this splendid chimney. We have named the Lodge ‘The House of the Open Door,’ or the ‘Open Door Lodge,’ to signify hospitality. Mr. Evans wanted to build a fine stairway, too, but we wouldn’t have it. It’s lots more fun to climb the ladder.”

“Why don’t you use the ground floor?” asked Slim, who could never see the sense of exerting one’s self needlessly.

“It’s much cosier up here,” replied Hinpoha. “We have these adorable peaks and gables to hang things on. Besides, we wanted to leave the big floor downstairs clear for dancing.”

“Dancing? Do you dance?” cried the boys, pricking up their ears.

“We surely do,” replied the girls. “Would you like to come down and try?”

Down the ladder they went in a hurry, Slim being pushed from above and pulled from below, and landing on the floor in his usual breathless state. A few lanterns were hung around the walls and the big door opened wide to let in the bright rays of the full moon and the place was nearly as light as day. Nyoda played her banjo and the twelve pairs of feet shuffled merrily to the lively strains. As there were only five girls, Slim and Peter Jenkins were left without partners and consoled themselves by dancing together. Peter came just to Slim’s shoulder and weighed ninety-five pounds against Slim’s two hundred and thirty, and the result was so ludicrous that the rest could hardly dance for laughing. It was like a monkey dancing with an elephant. Slim took mincing little steps and looked down at his partner with a simpering, languishing expression, while Peter strained heroically to encircle his fair one’s waist with his arm. Rocking back and forth in exaggerated rhythm, Slim tripped over a board and fell with a great crash, pinning his gallant partner under him. The rest flew to the rescue and propped Peter up against the wall, fanning him vigorously.

“He’ll recover,” pronounced the Captain, after a thorough going over of his bones, “but he’ll never be the same again.”

“All is over between us,” said Slim, wringing his hands in mock despair. “Miss Kent, won’t you dance with me?”

“It’s time we were going home,” said Nyoda calmly. “Come, girls.”

“Go home!” echoed the Captain. “I thought you lived here.”

“But how about all the beds upstairs?” asked the Captain.

“Oh,” explained Nyoda, “we all constructed different kinds of beds to win honors, and left them there in case we might want to stay some time.”

“It’s a pretty fine clubhouse, I’ll say,” remarked the Bottomless Pitt in a tone of envy. “I wish we Sandwiches had one like it. We have no place to call our own.”

Hinpoha’s thoughts leaped to the Fire Song, the words of which hung beside the fireplace up above:

She spoke impulsively. “Oh, Nyoda, couldn’t we let them use the ground floor to hold their meeting in?”

A cheer burst from the seven boys’ lips. “Hooray! May we, Miss Kent?”

Nyoda was silent and looked at the boys with a troubled expression, and her glance as it rested on Hinpoha held a reproof. There was an awkward silence. Then the Captain spoke up.

“I understand what you mean, Miss Kent,” he said simply and straightforwardly. “You don’t know anything about us and of course you wouldn’t want to share your club house with us on such short acquaintance. We wouldn’t think much of you if you did. It was all right of course for you to ask us to stay and dance with the girls this one evening when you were here with us, but that doesn’t mean that you’re willing to adopt us. But we like you girls first rate, and want to know you better if you will let us. You can go to any of the teachers at Carnegie Mechanic and find out all you want to know about us. Pitt’s father is Math teacher there and my father is Dr. Cicero St. John. It was simply great of