. "They're sure to stay all night if we go up to the house,
and then I should have to have the tent and things hauled away, for I
couldn't leave them here."

"The fact is," said Euphemia, "if we were miles away, in the woods
of Maine, we couldn't leave our camp to see anybody. And this is
practically the same."

"Certainly," said I; and so Pomona went away to her new charge.

CHAPTER XI. THE BOARDER'S VISIT.

For the rest of the afternoon, and indeed far into the night, our
conversation consisted almost entirely of conjectures regarding the
probable condition of things at the house. We both thought we had done
right, but we felt badly about it. It was not hospitable, to be sure;
but then I should have no other holiday until next year, and our friends
could come at any time to see us.

The next morning old John brought a note from Pomona. It was written
with pencil on a small piece of paper torn from the margin of a
newspaper, and contained the words, "Here yit."

"So you've got company," said old John, with a smile. "That's a queer
gal of yourn. She says I mustn't tell 'em you're here. As if I'd tell
'em!"

We knew well enough that old John was not at all likely to do anything
that would cut off the nice little revenue he was making out of our
camp, and so we felt no concern on that score.

But we were very anxious for further news, and we told old John to go to
the house about ten o'clock and ask Pomona to send us another note.

We waited, in a very disturbed condition of mind, until nearly eleven
o'clock, when old John came with a verbal message from Pomona:

"She says she's a-comin' herself as soon as she can get a chance to slip
off."

This was not pleasant news. It filled our minds with a confused mass of
probabilities, and it made us feel mean. How contemptible it seemed to
be a party to this concealment and in league with a servant-girl who has
to "slip off!"

Before long, Pomona appeared, quite out of breath.

"In all my life," said she, "I never see people like them two. I thought
I was never goin' to get away."

"Are they there yet?" cried Euphemia.

"How long are they going to stay?"

"Dear knows!" replied Pomona. "Their valise came up by express last
night."

"Oh, we'll have to go up to the house," said Euphemia. "It won't do to
stay away any longer."

"Well," said Pomona, fanning herself with her apron, "if you know'd all
I know, I don't think you'd think so."

"What do you m