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  “Don’t tell stories,” said Brown Owl. “Right, I’m taking marks off for today’s inspection. Tomorrow I’ll expect a big improvement.” She turned to go. “Oh, and you could learn a lot from Tiffany’s group – their tent was spotless!” she said, striding off.

  Angela poked her head out of the tent. Tiffany and Alice were outside, eavesdropping.

  “Oh dear, ANG-ER-LA! Didn’t you sleep well?” jeered Tiffany. “We got up early for tent inspection.”

  Angela scowled. “I know it was you last night and you won’t get away with it,” she said.

  Tiffany did her wide-eyed “Miss Innocent” look.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she smirked. “Oh, and by the way, our tent got full marks, so there! I’ve always wanted a Camper badge, haven’t you, Alice?”

  Angela stuck out her tongue and ducked back into her tent.

  Right, she thought, if that’s how you want to play, Tiffany, then you better watch out.

  During the day the girls learned camping skills such as collecting firewood and how to tell a toadstool from a mushroom (one made you sick, the other didn’t).

  That night Angela waited until the campsite was quiet, then found her torch and woke the others.

  “Hurry up,” she whispered. “We’re going on a raid.”

  Maisie groaned. “Do we have to?”

  Laura hid in her sleeping bag. “Can’t I stay here? It’s raining,” she grumbled.

  “Have you forgotten last night?” asked Angela. “We’re not letting Tiffany’s lot win. Come on!”

  Laura and Maisie dragged themselves out of their sleeping bags and crawled outside into the drizzly rain. Angela led the way, shining her torch in the dark.

  “What are we going to do?” whispered Laura.

  “Same as they did,” said Maisie. “Let down their airbeds.”

  Angela shook her head. “Oh no, I’ve got a better idea,” she said.

  Angela shone her torch round the circle of tents. The beam picked out the largest tent, from which came small snuffly snores.

  “That’s Tiffany all right,” said Angela. Even her snoring sounded polite. When Maisie snored it sounded like a hippopotamus.

  Angela put a finger to her lips and quickly unzipped the tent. ZZZZZZZZIP!

  Laura got ready to run, but the snoring went on. Tiffany was a sound sleeper. Angela switched off her torch and crawled into the tent with Maisie. Laura waited outside.

  Inside, Angela could just make out three shapes in sleeping bags. On the nearest pillow she recognized Tiffany’s blonde curls. Three piles of clothes were arranged in a neat line, ready for inspection.

  Angela grabbed the pile nearest Tiffany’s bed and dashed for the tent flap.

  “Oww! Look where you’re going!” hissed Maisie.

  “SHH!” said Angela.

  They scrambled out of the tent, almost knocking over Laura.

  “So, what’s the idea?” whispered Maisie, as they scurried away.

  Angela held up the pile triumphantly. “They’re Tiffany’s clothes,” she grinned. “Think about it. Tiffany will wake up tomorrow and find she’s got nothing to wear. Imagine her face!”

  They hurried back past the campfire. Angela stopped. Wait, they couldn’t hide the clothes in their tent. What if someone found them? No, it had to be somewhere else. Angela looked up. She’d just thought of the perfect place. This was going to be brilliant!

  Next morning Angela was up bright and early, waiting for Tiffany to appear. Wouldn’t she wail and scream when she saw where her clothes were?

  Laura and Maisie crawled out of the tent.

  “Is she up yet?” asked Maisie.

  Just then, a tent was unzipped and Tiffany climbed out. Angela stared. Tiffany was fully dressed, wearing her sweatshirt, jogging bottoms and trainers.

  “Something the matter, Angela?” she asked.

  “N-no,” replied Angela. “Um, is anything missing from your tent?”

  “Oh, this isn’t MY tent,” said Tiffany.

  “What?” said Angela.

  “The rain dripped on my sleeping bag last night,” said Tiffany. “So I moved in with Brown Owl and Tawny Owl.”

  Angela gulped. Then it wasn’t Tiffany’s tent they’d raided last night! And it couldn’t have been Tiffany’s clothes they’d taken, since she was wearing them. But in that case – whose clothes were they?

  “ARGHHH!”

  Brown Owl stormed out of her tent wearing her nightie and a pair of boots.

  “HAS ANYONE SEEN MY CLOTHES?” she demanded. “They were…”

  She broke off, catching sight of the clothes hanging from a tree – jumper, jeans, socks, vest, and frilly knickers – all dripping wet. Brown Owl pointed a finger.

  “WHO DID THIS?” she bellowed.

  “Oh, Ang-er-la, you’ve gone all red!” smirked Tiffany.

  Brown Owl fixed Angela with a glare. “Angela Nicely, come here!” she yelled.

  Angela and her friends had to peg out the soggy clothes and underwear to dry. Worse still, Brown Owl put them on washing-up duty for the rest of the day.

  Angela sighed as she wiped another dirty breakfast bowl. How was she to know Tiffany had moved tents in the night? It wasn’t fair!

  Tiffany ran into the barn. “Hey, Brown Owl just finished inspection,” she said. “Guess whose tent won?”

  Angela groaned. “No idea,” she said.

  “MINE!” whooped Tiffany. “Well, Alice and Suki too, of course, but they just did what I told them.”

  “Congratulations,” said Angela, banging down a bowl. The washing-up water needed changing.

  “Thanks!” said Tiffany. “I’ll show you my Camper badge if you like. Poor you, you’ve hardly got any badges and I’ve got so many!”

  Angela gritted her teeth. That was it – she’d put up with all she could take.

  “Have you got your Hair-washing badge?” she asked.

  Tiffany frowned. “There isn’t a Hair-washing badge.”

  “Pity,” said Angela, emptying the washing-up water over her head.

  Copyright

  STRIPES PUBLISHING

  An imprint of Little Tiger Press

  1 The Coda Centre, 189 Munster Road,

  London SW6 6AW

  First published as an ebook by Stripes Publishing in 2014.

  Text copyright © Alan MacDonald, 2014

  Illustrations copyright © David Roberts, 2014

  eISBN: 978–1–84715–623–5

  The right of Alan MacDonald and David Roberts to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work respectively has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any forms, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  www.littletiger.co.uk

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