ple did go camping, most
people, even groups to the number of nine (the right count for our
family), and they seemed to enjoy it. They fought with mosquitoes, and
fell into creeks; they were blotched with poison oak, black from
exposure, lame from undue exercise, and looked worse than vagrant
gipsies--but they came home happy. Even those who spent days in bed to
rest up from their rest (I have known such) seemed happy. And every one
sighs and says, "We had such a good time! We're planning to go back
again next summer."

So at last I gave up--or gave in. We went to the mountains, following up
the trail along Calapooia Creek; we camped and hunted and fished to the
hearts' content. We learned to cook hotcakes out-of-doors, and how to
make sourdough biscuit, and to frizzle bacon before a bonfire, and to
bake ham in a bread pan, such as our mothers fitted five loaves of bread
in; we learned to love hash, and like potatoes boiled in their jackets,
and coffee with the cream left out. We went three miles to borrow a
match; we divided salt with the stranger who had forgotten his; we
learned that fish is good on other days than Friday and that trout
crisps beautifully in bacon grease; we found eleventeen uses for empty
lard pails and discovered the difference between an owl and a tree
toad. We gained a speaking acquaintance with the Great Dipper, and
learned where to look for the north star, why fires must be put out and
what chipmunks do for a living. We learned--

Last night we came home.

"Now, mother, aren't you really glad you went?" quizzed Daddy.

"Yes-s," said I, slowly, "I'm glad I went. It has been a new experience.
I feel like I'd gained a degree at the State University."

My understanding mate merely chuckled--and went on unpacking the
tinware. But Ted spoke up:

"Gee! Bet I make good in English III this year. Got all sorts of ideas
for themes. This trip's been bully."

"We'll go again, won't we, Mother?" asked my oldest.

"I think we'll always go again," answered I--some sober thinking I was
doing, as I folded away the blankets.

"Let me get supper"--it was Laura, my middle girl, speaking--"surely I
can cook on gas, if I can over a campfire." And Laura had never wanted
to cook! Strange tendencies develop when one lives out in the open a
space of time.

But Curlylocks was undisturbed. "Kitty--kitty--kitty! _My_ 'ittle
kitty!" he reiterated. And truly, so my neighbor told me, Sir
Christopher had beat us ho