Once they were inside the cabin, it was not as bad as it appeared from the outside. True, it was lonesome. The cabin, made of logs, stood by itself in a weed-covered field and there were no other houses within sight.
There was nothing in the place save some broken boxes and some bunks, like low, broad shelves, built against the sides of the smaller of two rooms. There were only two rooms in the place, and no upstairs. In one of the rooms there was a fireplace.
“Would you be afraid to sleep here?” Mr. Bobbsey inquired of his wife. “We could cut some branches from the evergreen trees outside and spread them on the bunks. They would be a sort of spring and mattress together. Then with the auto robes you would have a pretty good bed.”
“Yes, I guess it would be all right,” assented his wife. “We’ll stay. It’s the only thing we can do,” she added, with a look at the gathering darkness outside. Indeed, night had now come and only that Mr. Bobbsey had brought a big electric flashlight in with him from the car they could have seen little in the lonely cabin.
“Well, then, come on, boys!” called their father to Bert and Freddie. “We’ll gather evergreen boughs and make the beds.”
“I’ll help,” offered Nan.
“So will I!” chimed in Flossie.
“No, you stay with Mother, dear,” suggested Mrs. Bobbsey. “You can help me make a fire. I’ll just build a little blaze on the hearth,” she told her husband. “It will give us light to see and make it more cheerful.”
“There’s another flashlight in the car,” he said.
“Better save that,” advised his wife. “A little blaze of pieces of the old boxes will do very nicely.”