Tom got out the bedding, consisting of a blanket apiece, and a tarpaulin for a cover, while Woo busied himself with cutting browse which he placed on the ground and laid blankets on it. It was not a particularly soft bed at that. While they were preparing their beds, Stacy poked about with a stick, covering a radius of several rods.
“What in the world are you doing?” demanded Nora Wingate.
“He is beating up the landscape to drive out the serpents,” answered Emma. “You are a tenderfoot, aren’t you?”
“I don’t like the fleas to get next to my skin,” explained the fat boy lamely. “They tell me that these California fleas are awful.”
“Were I as tough as you, I do not believe I should worry about a little thing like that,” retorted Emma.
Stacy made no reply, but poked the fire savagely, then piled on more wood, occupying all the time he could before preparing for bed, and the others had turned in long before he was ready.
“Stop that fussing and come to bed!” ordered Hippy.
“Yes, for goodness sake, do,” added Miss Briggs. “Woo Smith, aren’t you ready to turn in?”
“Les. Me savvy glub first.”
“You might fetch Uncle Hip and myself a bite to eat while you are on the food question,” suggested Stacy.