guin campfire so that
the Penguins in their open tents could see the flames dance. And as
they got better, Pip-Emma would start them singing--"We are the happy
Penguins."

Pip-Emma had a song of her own which she'd learned from Pop, who had
sung it on Salisbury Plain:

"I'm 'Enry the Eighth, I am.
I've 'ad seven wives before,
And I don't mind if I 'ave one more--"

It was a ribald, not very intelligible song. But it had a rousing
chorus. Miss Thornton, in her tent writing reassuring letters to
anxious parents, looked up at Prissy, who was helping in her
wheelchair.

"Is that a Camp song?" she asked.

"No," Prissy said. "But it's all right."

* * * * *

And then came the last night of all. And Pip-Emma sat alone by the
campfire for the last time. Everything was packed and ready. Tomorrow
they were all going home. Tomorrow Pip-Emma would be back with Pop and
Ma and the old Gang. She'd have an awful lot to tell them--about their
Great Adventure, and the Camp powwows and singsongs and marshmallow
feasts. She'd learned some things, too, that she'd have to break to
Pop and Ma very gently--the way you wore your napkin, for instance,
and not picking your teeth, or making noises with your soup.

She'd never see Janet again or Clara or Prissy or Miss Thornton or the
trees or the stars or the lake shining under them. She wasn't going to
cry about it, though.

She was trying so hard not to that she didn't know she wasn't alone
any more. There was a little scuffling sound. She looked up. And there
were the Penguins, all around her, wrapped in their blankets and
looking just like Penguins.

Clara VanSittart was making a speech again. "We want to give you this,
Pip-Emma," she said, "and we hope you'll always wear it."

It was the sacred Penguin Badge.

"Gee, you bet," Pip-Emma said huskily.

They were gone, as quickly, as silently as they had come. It was as
though they knew how Pip-Emma felt.

But little Janet crouched beside her. "Don't cry, Pip."

"I ain't--I'm not crying."

"Yes, you are. I'm crying, too. Listen, Pip. Next year you're to come
back. Miss Thornton says so. 'Cause you're a real Penguin."

"Honest?"

"Honest. And Daddy wrote. He says that was a swell idea about not
staying mad in two rooms. He says you must be a swell kid. You're to
spend the Christmas holidays with us--and p'raps I can stay with you.
Daddy says your Pop and Ma might be able to knock some sense into us
all."

P