"Won't we get bugs in our ears?" asked Ted, peeping into the queer little bedroom.
"Well, we'll tie our hankchifs over our ears. And we'll only take off our shoes, 'cause we're just emigrants, you know."
"I—I wish it wasn't quite so dark," said Ted, faintly.
"But the moon will be up right away," said brave Kitty; "and maybe we'll hear owls. We won't mind hearing owls, will we?"
"Course not," said Ted.
In a very short time the shoes were off, the handkerchiefs tied on, and the two tired children cuddled up in their wigwam, with Kitty's apron over their shoulders for a blanket.
"The Lord is here just as much as He's—He's in the Methodist church," said Kitty.
"Course He is," said Ted; and with this comforting thought they were soon asleep.
Morning came earlier in the woods than in the quiet bedrooms at home. Birds were twittering around the little camp before sunrise, the breeze blew noisily through the low-hanging branches, and the children were awake before the night shadows were quite gone.