urned toward the river. An
unpleasant thought began to crowd itself into my mind, and perhaps the
same thing happened to Euphemia, for, without saying anything to each
other, we both turned toward the path that led to the peninsula. We
crossed the field, climbed the fence, and there, in front of the tent
sat our old boarder splitting sticks with the camp-hatchet.

"Hurrah!" he cried, springing to his feet when he saw us. "How glad I am
to see you back! When did you return? Isn't this splendid?"

"What?" I said, as we shook hands.

"Why this," he cried, pointing to the tent. "Don't you see? We're
camping out."

"You are?" I exclaimed, looking around for his wife, while Euphemia
stood motionless, actually unable to make a remark.

"Certainly we are. It's the rarest bit of luck. My wife and Adele will
be here directly. They've gone to look for water-cresses. But I must
tell you how I came to make this magnificent find. We started out for a
walk this morning, and we happened to hit on this place, and here we saw
this gorgeous tent with nobody near but a little tow-headed boy."

"Only a boy?" cried Euphemia.

"Yes, a young shaver of about nine or ten. I asked him what he was doing
here, and he told me that this tent belonged to a gentleman who had gone
away, and that he was here to watch it until he came back. Then I asked
him how long the owner would probably be away, and he said he supposed
for a day or two. Then a splendid idea struck me. I offered the boy
a dollar to let me take his place: I knew that any sensible man would
rather have me in charge of his tent, than a young codger like that. The
boy agreed as quick as lightning, and I paid him and sent him off. You
see how little he was to be trusted! The owner of this tent will be
under the greatest obligations to me. Just look at it!" he cried. "Beds,
table, stove,--everything anybody could want. I've camped out lots of
times, but never had such a tent as this. I intended coming up this
afternoon after my valise, and to tell your girl where we are. But here
is my wife and little Adele."

In the midst of the salutations and the mutual surprise, Euphemia cried:

"But you don't expect to camp out, now? You are coming back to our
house?"

"You see," said the ex-boarder, "we should never have thought of doing
anything so rude, had we supposed you would have returned so soon. But
your girl gave us to understand that you would not be back for days, and
so we felt