especially the Atkinsons, I wouldn't go
back one step."

"Well," said I, "I don't know that I care so particularly about it,
myself. But I suppose I couldn't stay here and leave all Thompson's
things out there to take care of themselves."

"Oh no!" said Euphemia. "And we're not going to back down. Are you
ready?"

On our way down-stairs we had to pass the partly open door of our own
room. I could not help holding up the lantern to look in. There was the
bed, with its fair white covering and its smooth, soft pillows; there
were the easy-chairs, the pretty curtains, the neat and cheerful carpet,
the bureau, with Euphemia's work-basket on it; there was the little
table with the book that we had been reading together, turned face
downward upon it; there were my slippers; there was--

"Come!" said Euphemia, "I can't bear to look in there. It's like a dead
child."

And so we hurried out into the night and the rain. We stopped at the
wood-shed and got an armful of dry kindling, which Euphemia was obliged
to carry, as I had the bundle of bed-clothing, the umbrella, and the
lantern.

Lord Edward gave a short, peculiar bark as we shut the gate behind us,
but whether it was meant as a fond farewell, or a hoot of derision, I
cannot say.

We found everything as we left it at the camp, and we made our beds
apparently dry. But I did not sleep well. I could not help thinking that
it was not safe to sleep in a bed with a substratum of wet mattress, and
I worried Euphemia a little by asking her several times if she felt the
dampness striking through.

To our great delight, the next day was fine and clear, and I thought I
would like, better than anything else, to take Euphemia in a boat up the
river and spend the day rowing about, or resting in shady places on the
shore.

But what could we do about the tent? It would be impossible to go away
and leave that, with its contents, for a whole day.

When old John came with our water, milk, bread, and a basket of
vegetables, we told him of our desired excursion, and the difficulty in
the way. This good man, who always had a keen scent for any advantage
to himself, warmly praised the boating plan, and volunteered to send his
wife and two of his younger children to stay with the tent while we were
away.

The old woman, he said, could do her sewing here as well as anywhere,
and she would stay all day for fifty cents.

This plan pleased us, and we sent for Mrs. Old John, who came wi