Days later, Peggy was still confused. She knew she should be doing something to unmask the perverted creature lurking somewhere in the cabins, ready to pounce on her and perhaps on others. But no clue had developed—no one had made advances, there had been no hint or implication of anything out of the ordinary. Camp activity proceeded normally. Counselors had become accustomed to duties, and campers had become accustomed to counselors.

Maybe she had somehow misconstrued the conversation in the bathhouse. Maybe it had been a couple of girls playing a trick on Peggy. Maybe she had just dreamed the whole thing. These were the doubts assailing Peggy one afternoon during rest period, as she lay pondering the situation once more. Could be she ought to give up suspecting everyone who talked to her, stop her silent accusations.

As she weighed and worried, a bugle echoed through the hills, signaling the end of the rest interval. Peggy managed her usual, “Okay, kids!” But the girls were already off their cots and scrambling into shoes.

“Hi, Miss Mike,” a number of voices chorused as a rap sounded at the screen door and the husky counselor stepped inside.

Mike gave the youngsters a wink and a wave, then joined Peggy. “Talk to you a minute?”

“Sure.”

Peggy swung her lovely bare legs over the edge of the cot, pulled the tangled rubber band from her snarled ponytail.

When the last camper had departed from the cabin, she said, “What’s up?”

“Grocery day, you know, and Duncan had to

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