om head to foot,
with long ears on their brown hoods and long, pointed toes curling up at
the ends of their brown shoes. They looked exactly like the little iron
figures of brownies that every Harding girl who kept up with the
prevailing fads had put on her desk that spring in some useful or
ornamental capacity. They danced indefatigably, pausing now and then to
heap on fresh wood or to poke the fire into a more effective blaze, and
looking, in the weird light, quite fantastic enough to have come out of
the little hillside behind the fire, tempted to upper earth by the
moonlight and the great pile of dry wood left ready to their hands. For
a few minutes after the Moonshiners' arrival the trolls resolutely
refused to speak.

"'Cause now you'll know we ain't real magic," explained Billy Henderson
indignantly, when his chum had fallen a victim to Bob's wiles and
disclosed his identity.

The fire was so big and so hot by this time that it threatened to burn
up the whole grove, so the small boys were persuaded to devote their
energies to toasting thin slices of bacon, held on the ends of long
sticks, and later to help pass the rolls and coffee that went with the
bacon, and to brown the marshmallows, which, with delicious little
nut-cakes, made up the last course.

The Moonshiners had spent so much time admiring Babbie's brownies that
they had to hurry through the supper and even so it bid fair to be after
ten before they reached the campus. Betty, Bob, and Madeline happened to
get back to the horses first and were waiting impatiently for the rest
to come when Bob made a suggestion.

"Mr. Ware is helping stamp out the fire. Let's get on and start for home
ahead of the others. Then we can let most of them in if they're late.
Our matron will rage if she catches us again this week."

"All right," agreed Madeline. "Mr. Ware said he had told a man to be at
the Westcott, ready to take some of the horses. Let's not tell any one.
They'll be so surprised to find three horses gone."

"We shall have to hurry then," whispered Betty. "They'll be here any
minute."

"On second thought," said Madeline, "I don't believe I can pick out my
own horse. It's inky dark here under the trees." Madeline had ridden all
her life but she seldom went out at Harding, and so hadn't a regular
mount, like most of the other Moonshiners.

"Of course you can, Madeline," scoffed Betty. "You rode Hero, that big
black beast hitched to the last post, next