He had promised his mother that he would not until he was a man, and something brought her back home now with overwhelming force; that was the beds they had made of fragrant balsam boughs.

"Cho-ko-tung or blister tree" as Quonab called it.

His mother had a little sofa pillow, brought from the North--a "northern pine" pillow they called it, for it was stuffed with pine needles of a kind not growing in Connecticut.

Many a time had Rolf as a baby pushed his little round nose into that bag to inhale the delicious odour it gave forth, and so it became the hallowed smell of all that was dear in his babyhood, and it never lost its potency.

Smell never does.