Bengal promptly burst into tears. "I want to be in Pom-pom's tent!" she
wailed, and fled from the scene, to throw herself upon Pom-pom in the
next tent and pour out her tale of woe.

Migwan and Gladys looked at each other rather soberly as they went out
to fill their water pitcher.

"What a strange person to have as councilor," ventured Gladys. "I
thought councilors at camps were always as sweet as they could be. Miss
Peckham looks as though she could be horrid without half trying."

"Maybe it's just her way, though," replied Migwan good temperedly. "She
may be very nice inside after we get to know her. She's probably never
been a councilor before, and thinks she must show her authority."

"Authority!" cried Gladys. "But we're not babies; we're grown up. I'm
afraid she's not going to be a very agreeable proctor."

"Oh, well," replied Migwan gently, "let's make the best of her and have
a good time anyway. We mustn't let her spoil our fun for us. We'll
probably find something to like in her before long."

"I wish I had your angelic disposition," sighed Gladys, "but I just
can't like people when they rub me the wrong way, and Miss Peckham does
that to me."

"There's going to be trouble with the Elephant's Child," remarked Migwan
soberly. "She has already taken a strong dislike to Miss Peckham, and
she is still childish enough to show it."