Dotty and Genie had murmured sleepy good-nights and had snuggled down into their spicy-smelling nests of branches.
Dolly lay with wide open eyes staring out at the stars. She had never experienced this sort of thing before, and she was frightened and uncomfortable. Although mid-summer, the air was chilly, and she did not like the feeling of the rather coarse blankets. Moreover she was wearing a thick, clumsy, flannel nightgown, and the bed of branches seemed to be full of knots and lumps. She longed for her own pretty room with its dainty appointments and soft bed clothing.
She looked across at Dotty and Genie. She could see them but dimly, but she knew they were sound asleep. She felt alone, utterly alone in that dreadful place, with the forest trees making a sad murmur and the silent stars winking solemnly at her. She thought of her mother and father and Trudy and Bert and she had the most dreadful wave of homesickness roll over her. Then the tears came, hot, scalding tears that rolled down her cheeks in ever increasing number. She made no noise, lest she waken the other girls but the effort to stifle her sobs made her cry harder, and she buried her face in the rough worsted of the sofa pillow and wiped her eyes with the harsh blanket.
"Oh, Mother," she said, to herself, "I can't stay here. This is a dreadful place. Why did you let me come? I knew I would hate a camp. How can anybody like these awful beds? And I'm cold,—and I'm not cold either, but I'm all shivery and I feel horrid! I'm—I'm—oh, I'm just lonesome and homesick and I want Mother!"
After a time Dolly stopped crying from sheer exhaustion and spent with her sobs, she lay there gazing at the stars. She felt sure there were bears and wolves among the trees, and soon they would come out and attack the camp.
Moreover, she was dreadfully hungry. She had a box of candy in her suitcase, but that was upstairs in the bungalow. She could not get it without disturbing Mr. and Mrs. Rose and that was not to be thought of.
The poor child lay for a time in her misery, every moment getting more and more homesick and with a deeper longing to get back to her mother and never leave home again.
At last a spirit of desperation took hold upon her. It was characteristic of Dolly Fayre to endure patiently and bravely the greatest trials that might come to her, but when the strain became too great it was in her nature to rebel, suddenly and decidedly.
And now, when it seemed that she simply could not stand the dreadfulness another moment, she sat straight up in bed, and said clearly, "I'm going home."
The sound of her own voice startled her and she looked round quickly to see if the other girls had heard her. She fully expected to see one or both heads pop up in amazement at her speech. But neither dark head moved, and listening to their regular breathing, she knew the two Rose girls were still sound asleep.