. But she declined. We would keep together, whatever happened, she
said.

We unpacked our cooking-utensils and provisions, and had supper. There
was no milk for our coffee, but we did not care. The evening did
not pass gayly. We were annoyed by the conduct of old John and the
express-boy, though, perhaps, it was not their fault. I had given them
no notice that I should need them.

And we were greatly troubled at the continuance of the secrecy and
subterfuge which now had become really necessary, if we did not wish to
hurt our friends' feelings.

The first thing that I thought of, when I opened my eyes in the morning,
was the fact that we would have to stay there all day, for we could not
move on Sunday.

But Euphemia did not agree with me. After breakfast (we found that the
water and the milk had been brought very early, before we were up) she
stated that she did not intend to be treated in this way. She was going
up to old John's house herself; and away she went.

In less than half an hour, she returned, followed by old John and his
wife, both looking much as if they had been whipped.

"These people," said she, "have entered into a conspiracy against us. I
have questioned them thoroughly, and have made them answer me. The horse
was at home yesterday, and the boy did not go after the express-wagon.
They thought that if they could keep us here, until our company had
gone, we would stay as long as we originally intended, and they would
continue to make money out of us. But they are mistaken. We are going
home immediately."

At this point I could not help thinking that Euphemia might have
consulted me in regard to her determination, but she was very much in
earnest, and I would not have any discussion before these people.

"Now, listen!" said Euphemia, addressing the down-cast couple, "we are
going home, and you two are to stay here all this day and to-night, and
take care of these things. You can't work to-day, and you can shut up
your house, and bring your whole family here if you choose. We will pay
you for the service,--although you do not deserve a cent,--and we will
leave enough here for you to eat. You must bring your own sheets and
pillowcases, and stay here until we see you on Monday morning."

Old John and his wife agreed to this plan with the greatest alacrity,
apparently well pleased to get off so easily; and, having locked up the
smaller articles of camp-furniture, we filled a valise with our persona