go very far then," said the boarder, "for it's not more than
two feet deep there."

Just then our attention was attracted by a voice from the shore.

"Will you please let down the gang-plank?" We looked ashore, and there
stood Pomona, dripping from every pore.

We spoke no words, but lowered the gangplank.

She came aboard.

"Good night!" said the boarder, and he went to bed.

"Pomona!" said I, "what have you been doing?"

"I was a lookin' at the moon, sir, when pop! the chair bounced, and out
I went."

"You shouldn't do that," I said, sternly.

"Some day you'll be drowned. Take off your wet things and go to bed."

"Yes, sma'am--sir, I mean," said she, as she went down-stairs.

When I reached my room I lighted the lamp, and found Euphemia still
under the bed.

"Is it all right?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered. "There was no burglar. Pomona fell out of the
window."

"Did you get her a plaster?" asked Euphemia, drowsily.

"No, she did not need one. She's all right now. Were you worried about
me, dear?"

"No, I trusted in you entirely, and I think I dozed a little under the
bed."

In one minute she was asleep.

The boarder and I did not make this matter a subject of conversation
afterward, but Euphemia gave the girl a lecture on her careless ways,
and made her take several Dover's powders the next day.

An important fact in domestic economy was discovered about this time by
Euphemia and myself. Perhaps we were not the first to discover it, but
we certainly did find it out,--and this fact was, that housekeeping
costs money. At the end of every week we counted up our expenditures--it
was no trouble at all to count up our receipts--and every week the
result was more unsatisfactory.

"If we could only get rid of the disagreeable balance that has to
be taken along all the time, and which gets bigger and bigger like a
snow-ball, I think we would find the accounts more satisfactory," said
Euphemia.

This was on a Saturday night. We always got our pencils and paper and
money at the end of the week.

"Yes," said I, with an attempt to appear facetious and unconcerned, "but
it would be all well enough if we could take that snow-ball to the fire
and melt it down."

"But there never is any fire where there are snow-balls," said Euphemia.

"No," said I, "and that's just the trouble."

It was on the following Thursday, when I came home in the evening, that
Euphemia met me with a glowing face. It rather su