a sofa cushion.

“There’s nothing in here to steal,” said Nyoda. “Perhaps it’s a tramp.” Again came the noise from below. Leaving the curtain drawn over the opening, Nyoda went to the top of the ladder and called down, “Who’s there?” There was no answer but another thump. “We have a gun,” said Nyoda coolly, taking Sahwah’s little rifle down from the wall, “and if you put one foot on the ladder I’ll shoot.” Still no answer.

“I’m going down to investigate,” said Nyoda. “This is growing uncanny.”

“Don’t go down,” begged the girls, clinging to her, “something dreadful will happen to you.”

“If you go I’m going with you,” declared Sahwah when Nyoda appeared determined to rush into the jaws of danger. Nyoda threw aside the curtain and flashed her bug light on the floor below. Nothing was visible within the radius of the light, but over in the far corner where the old horse stall was something was moving and thumping about and a sound like a groan came from the darkness.

“Somebody’s hurt,” said Nyoda, hastening down the ladder. “Bring a lantern with you, Sahwah.”

Together they moved toward the corner while the girls above crowded around the opening and watched in breathless suspense. The light revealed a small donkey lying on the floor of the stall. He was kicking out with his hind feet against the partition wall and it was this sound that had frightened the girls above. At Sahwah’s shout the others came hurrying down to behold the find. The donkey made no effort to rise and looked at the faces around him with an imploring look in his eyes as if to say, “Help me, I’m in trouble.”

“What’s the matter, old chap?” asked Nyoda, kneeling down beside him. The donkey answered with a distressed bray that was more like a groan and pawed the air with his front feet, which seemed to be fastened together in some manner. Nyoda turned the lantern around so the light fell directly on him and then they saw what the matter was. A length of barbed wire had become tangled around his front legs, binding them together, and his frantic efforts to get it off had resulted in its becoming deeply imbedded in the flesh, lacerating it badly. The girls shuddered when they saw it and drew back.

“This won’t do, girls,” said Nyoda firmly; “we’ve got to get that wire off the poor animal’s leg. Medmangi, have you the nerve to do it? I’m afraid I can’t.”

“His hind legs would have to be tied together first, so he can’t kick,” said Medmangi. The girls looked at each other and all drew back. All but Veronica. She came forward quietly and took the rope which the others were afraid to use and skilfully slipped a noose over the tiny heels and fastened them down to a ring in the floor.

“I have done it before, when a horse was sick,” she explained in response to the girls’ expressions of amazement at the neat performance. The girls’ liking for her, which had suffered a sudden chill at the cooking episode, warmed again, and they were inclined to overlook that now that she had stepped so neatly into the breach when they were helpless.

Then Medmangi, the Medicine Man Girl who was going to be a doctor, and had no horror of surgery, bent calmly to her task while the others held the lantern for her. Quickly and skilfully she worked, removing the cruel points as gently as possible. Then she washed the wounds with an antiseptic solution from the First Aid Cabinet upstairs and bound them up with clean bandages. Then Veronica took the rope from the donkey’s hind legs and he struggled to his feet, plainly delighted to find his front legs in working order again in spite of the pain. He looked at the girls with a dog-like devotion in his intelligent eyes and when Medmangi patted him soothingly he laid his head on her shoulder affectionately. “My first lover—a donkey!” she said laughingly.

“Poor little mule,” said Hinpoha, stroking him from the other side. “He knew the right place to come to all right. ‘Whose house is bare and dark and cold, whose house is cold, this is his own,’” she quoted dramatically. “We certainly have succeeded in creating the right atmosphere of hospitality if even a lonely donkey can feel it and come straight to our ‘Open Portals!’”

“Now that he has come,” said Nyoda, rather puzzled, “the question is what to do with him. If he goes wandering off again he’ll have those bandages off in no time—he probably will anyhow—and his legs will get so sore he will have to be shot. He undoubtedly belongs to somebody—very likely some children’s pet—and I think we had better keep him right here in the barn until we find the owner. The boys will have to postpone their taking possession in favor of the other donkey if his presence interferes with their activities.” Here the “other donkey” leaned against the wall in such a pathetic attitude, as if his weight were too much for his sore legs, that if they had had any intentions of turning him out into the rain they would have speedily relented.

“It’s a good thing this old stall is still here,” said Gladys. “There isn’t any straw, but there is a box of excelsior and we can spread that out and cover it with a blanket and make him a soft bed. We can give him water tonight and bring food in the morning.”

“And I’ll telephone the Sandwiches about him,” said Nyoda, “so if they are coming over tomorrow they won’t turn him out.”

But that telephone message was unnecessary, for at that moment a number of dark figures appeared in the doorway and after a moment of hesitation, entered.

“Why, here are the Sandwiches,” exclaimed Nyoda cordially, advancing with extended hand. “We were just talking about you. Speaking of angels—you know the rest.”

“We were just going by,” said the Captain (it was likely that they were “just going by” that out of the way place in the rain!) “and saw your light now you’ve left the windows uncovered, and thought we’d just step in and inquire our fate. We just couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” he finished in a boyish outburst. “Is it going to be the Open Door for us?”

“Bless you, yes,” said Nyoda, smiling reassuringly at this manly lad who was already her favorite, “there wasn’t a dissenting vote in the jury box. We——” but the remainder of her sentence was drowned in an ear-splitting cheer that was decidedly less musical than the Winnebago cheers, but none the less hearty.

“Pedigrees satisfactory, and all that?” inquired the Captain.

“Perfect,” answered Nyoda with twinkling eyes. “I’ve dug up more facts about you than you know yourselves. So,” she added demurely, “if you’re still minded to ‘know us better,’ as you flatteringly remarked on the occasion of our first meeting, why, we’re perfectly willing to be known.

“But you can’t take immediate possession of your club room because we’ve rented it temporarily to another don—another fellow,” she said mischievously, turning the light of the lantern away from the stall where the donkey was. The boys’ eager faces fell a trifle.

“Of course,” they answered politely, “that’s your privilege.”

“He’s a very nice chap,” pursued Nyoda, with a warning glance at the girls behind her, who were stuffing their handkerchiefs into their mouths in an effort not to laugh.

“Yes,” assented the boys without enthusiasm.

“Is it anyone we know?” asked the Captain politely, trying to make conversation after a moment of silence.

“Maybe you do know him,” answered Nyoda. “He’s here tonight.