So they worked, bearing wood and getting ready for the night, and when all was done, there was no protest to an early turning in.
“What’s that queer smell?” asked Isabel, as she lay down on her couch of spruce.
“That’s just the piney smell,” answered Polly, sleepily. “It’s very, very healthful, Aunty Welcome says. We ought to get a lot of pine needles and make pillows of them to take back home.”
“It doesn’t smell like pine,” Isabel insisted.
“Now, Isabel,” protested Ruth, already half asleep. “Don’t be fussy.”
“I’m not,” said poor Isabel, catching her breath, then she began to sneeze. “I’m not fus-u-s-u-s-u-s-y-choo! choo! choo!”
“The train’s starting,” called Sue from the next tent. “All aboard!”
“I think you’re all horrid,” said Isabel, sitting up. “And I don’t believe it is the piney smell at all. Oh, ker-choo!”
“Well, for the land o’ rest, what does ail the child,” exclaimed Mrs. Murray, coming to the tent entrance in her nightgown.
“She can’t stand the piney smell,” began Ruth.