There were two trees in the back yard, and between them Tom strung a double strand of clothesline, through the rings on the top of the tent. Then he carefully raked the ground below, and with a shovel filled in a little hollow so that the rain water would drain away and not come in under. Then he stretched the tent, cut his pieces of wood into pegs, and pegged it down. After that, he unfolded and set up the cot bed, and with the help of Joe’s mother made up the bed with blankets, put an old rug on the ground beside it, brought out an old chair, a small table, a candlestick and candle, and a washbowl and pitcher.
“There!” he cried. “That’s good enough for anybody. Now, old Cod Liver, you can sleep outdoors, rain or shine.”
Joe insisted on coming down to see his “new room,” and while they were inspecting it three of the Moose Patrol came into the yard. They had heard the news about Joe—“by wireless, I guess,” Tom said, for he had not told anybody except his own father and mother—and had come to see what they could do to help.
“Say, that’s some swell bedroom, Joe,” said Bob Sawtelle. “Wish I had one like it. Ma wouldn’t always be callin’ me down for spillin’ water on the wall paper.”
“What do you mean, spillin’ water on the wall paper?” Joe demanded. “What do you do, throw it around the room?”
“Aw, no, but a feller splashes around washin’ his face, and dumpin’ the bowl into the slop basin, don’t he?”
“I guess you do,” Tom laughed. “Do you fellows really want to help old Joey?”
“That’s what we’re here for,” said all three.
“All right, we’ll get the kindlings split for the next week, and the coal brought up for Mrs. Clark. Where’s the axe, Joe?”
Joe showed them, and the four boys went at the wood-pile and the coal bin. They split enough kindlings to last at least a week, filled up the wood-box by the kitchen stove and piled more wood behind it and carried up three hods of coal besides a big basket full.