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12 THE MONMAL. dropped the kettle, and ran to the stream. A bee had stung her! N. B. Don’t mention bees to Fran. It is evening now, and we are sitting around the fire singing and telling stories and fortunes. The Family Skeleton still barks. He is afraid of his own shadow but seems to think he could protect us if his protection were needed. He is no taller than a good- sized cat and much skinnier. His hair is short and white, and he has a poor excuse for a tail. But what he lacks in tail he makes up in voice. The impressive stillness of the night holds one in thrall. Nothing but the rush of the water in Roaring Brook can be heard. This only adds to the charm. Now and then we think we can see gleaming eyes a few feet away from us, and our im aginations succeed in making our hearts work double duty. We have put our fire our carefully, and Fran is hunting for the wea pons. to put at the head of the bed. It is quite cool these Septem ber nights. It is great to sleep out in the open with nothing but the sky and twinkling stars for a roof. September 7: This is our last evening. We had a delightful time today. We had already explored everything but Roaring Brook, and this