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  CHAPTER X. WET BLANKETS.

  We certainly enjoyed our second day in camp. All the morning, and agreat part of the afternoon, we "explored." We fastened up the tentas well as we could, and then, I with my gun, and Euphemia with thefishing-pole, we started up the creek. We did not go very far, for itwould not do to leave the tent too long. I did not shoot anything, butEuphemia caught two or three nice little fish, and we enjoyed the sportexceedingly.

  Soon after we returned in the afternoon, and while we were gettingthings in order for supper, we had a call from two of our neighbors,Captain Atkinson and wife. The captain greeted us hilariously.

  "Hello!" he cried. "Why, this is gay. Who would ever have thought ofa domestic couple like you going on such a lark as this. We just heardabout it from old John, and we came down to see what you are up to.You've got everything very nice. I think I'd like this myself. Why, youmight have a rifle-range out here. You could cut down those bushes onthe other side of the creek, and put up your target over there on thathill. Then you could lie down here on the grass and bang away all day.If you'll do that, I'll come down and practice with you. How long areyou going to keep it up?"

  I told him that we expected to spend my two weeks' vacation here.

  "Not if it rains, my boy," said he. "I know what it is to camp out inthe rain."

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Atkinson had been with Euphemia examining the tent, andour equipage generally.

  "It would be very nice for a day's picnic," she said; "but I wouldn'twant to stay out-of-doors all night."

  And then, addressing me, she asked:

  "Do you have to breathe the fresh air all the time, night as well asday? I expect that is a very good prescription, but I would not like tohave to follow it myself."

  "If the fresh air is what you must have," said the captain, "you mighthave got all you wanted of that without taking the trouble to come outhere. You could have sat out on your back porch night and day for thewhole two weeks, and breathed all the fresh air that any man couldneed."

  "Yes," said I, "and I might have gone down cellar and put my head in thecold-air box of the furnace. But there wouldn't have been much fun inthat."

  "There are a good many things that there's no fun in," said the captain."Do you cook your own meals, or have them sent from the house?"

  "Cook them ourselves, of course," said Euphemia. "We are going to havesupper now. Won't you wait and take some?"

  "Thank you," said Mrs. Atkinson, "but we must go."

  "Yes, we must be going," said the captain. "Good-bye. If it rains I'llcome down after you with an umbrella."

  "You need not trouble yourself about that," said I. "We shall rough itout, rain or shine."

  "I'd stay here now," said Euphemia, when they had gone, "if it rainedpitch."

  "You mean pitchforks," I suggested.

  "Yes, anything," she answered.

  "Well, I don't know about the pitchforks," I said, looking over thecreek at the sky; "but am very much afraid that it is going to rainrain-water to-morrow. But that won't drive us home, will it?"

  "No, indeed!" said she. "We're prepared for it. But I wish they'd staidat home."

  Sure enough, it commenced to rain that night, and we had showers allthe next day. We staid in camp during the morning, and I smoked andwe played checkers, and had a very cosy time, with a wood fire burningunder a tree near by. We kept up this fire, not to dry the air, but tomake things look comfortable. In the afternoon I dressed myself up inwater-proof coat, boots and hat, and went out fishing. I went down tothe water and fished along the banks for an hour, but caught nothing ofany consequence. This was a great disappointment, for we had expected tolive on fresh fish for a great part of the time while we were camping.With plenty of fish, we could do without meat very well.

  We talked the matter over on my return, and we agreed that as it seemedimpossible to depend upon a supply of fish, from the waters about ourcamp, it would be better to let old John bring fresh meat from thebutcher, and as neither of us liked crackers, we also agreed that heshould bring bread.

  Our greatest trouble, that evening, was to make a fire. The wood, ofwhich there was a good deal lying about under the trees, was now all wetand would not burn. However, we managed to get up a fire in the stove,but I did not know what we were going to do in the morning. We shouldhave stored away some wood under shelter.

  We set our little camp-table in the tent, and we had scarcely finishedour supper, when a very heavy rain set in, accompanied by a violentwind. The canvas at one end of our tent must have been badly fastened,for it was blown in, and in an instant our beds were deluged. I rushedout to fasten up the canvas, and got drenched almost to the skin, andalthough Euphemia put on her waterproof cloak as soon as she could, shewas pretty wet, for the rain seemed to dash right through the tent.

  This gust of wind did not last long, and the rain soon settled down intoa steady drizzle, but we were in a sad plight. It was after nine o'clockbefore we had put things into tolerable order.

  "We can't sleep in those beds," said Euphemia.

  "They're as wet as sop, and we shall have to go up to the house and getsomething to spread over them. I don't want to do it, but we mustn'tcatch our deaths of cold."

  There was nothing to be said against this, and we prepared to start out.I would have gone by myself, but Euphemia would not consent to be leftalone. It was still raining, though not very hard, and I carried anumbrella and a lantern. Climbing fences at night with a wife, a lantern,and an umbrella to take care of, is not very agreeable, but we managedto reach the house, although once or twice we had an argument in regardto the path, which seemed to be very different at night from what it wasin the day-time.

  Lord Edward came bounding to the gate to meet us, and I am happy to saythat he knew me at once, and wagged his tail in a very sociable way.

  I had the key of a side-door in my pocket, for we had thought it wise togive ourselves command of this door, and so we let ourselves in withoutringing or waking Pomona.

  All was quiet within, and we went upstairs with the lantern. Everythingseemed clean and in order, and it is impossible to convey any idea ofthe element of comfort which seemed to pervade the house, as we quietlymade our way upstairs, in our wet boots and heavy, damp clothes.

  The articles we wanted were in a closet, and while I was making a bundleof them, Euphemia went to look for Pomona. She soon returned, walkingsoftly.

  "She's sound asleep," said she, "and I didn't think there was any needof waking her. We'll send word by John that we've been here. And oh!you can't imagine how snug and happy she did look, lying there in hercomfortable bed, in that nice, airy room. I'll tell you what it is, ifit wasn't for the neighbors, and especially the Atkinsons, I wouldn't goback 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'sthings out there to take care of themselves."

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

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

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

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

  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, Icannot say.

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

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

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

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

  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 with threeof her children,--all too young to leave behind, she said,--and tookcharge of the camp.

  Our day proved to be as delightful as we had anticipated, and when wereturned, hungry and tired, we were perfectly charmed to find that Mrs.Old John had our supper ready for us.

  She charged a quarter, extra, for this service, and we did not begrudgeit to her, though we declined her offer to come every day and cook andkeep the place in order.

  "However," said Euphemia, on second thoughts, "you may come on Saturdayand clean up generally."

  The next day, which was Friday, I went out in the morning with thegun. As yet I had shot nothing, for I had seen no birds about the camp,which, without breaking the State laws, I thought I could kill, and so Istarted off up the river-road.

  I saw no game, but after I had walked about a mile, I met a man in awagon.

  "Hello," said he, pulling up; "you'd better be careful how you gopopping around here on the public roads, frightening horses."

  As I had not yet fired a single shot, I thought this was a very impudentspeech, and I think so still.

  "You had better wait until I begin to pop," said I, "before you makesuch a fuss about it."

  "No," said he, "I'd rather make the fuss before you begin. My horse isskittish," and he drove off.

  This man annoyed me; but as I did not, of course, wish to frightenhorses, I left the road and made my way back to the tent over some veryrough fields. It was a poor day for birds, and I did not get a shot.

  "What a foolish man!" said Euphemia, when I told her the above incident,"to talk that way when you stood there with a gun in your hand. Youmight have raked his wagon, fore and aft."

  That afternoon, as Euphemia and I were sitting under a tree by thetent, we were very much surprised to see Pomona come walking down thepeninsula.

  I was annoyed and provoked at this. We had given Pomona positive ordersnot to leave the place, under any pretense, while we were gone. Ifnecessary to send for anything, she could go to the fence, back of thebarn, and scream across a small field to some of the numerous membersof old John's family. Under this arrangement, I felt that the house wasperfectly safe.

  Before she could reach us, I called out:

  "Why did you leave the house, Pomona? Don't you know you should nevercome away and leave the house empty? I thought I had made you understandthat."

  "It isn't empty," said Pomona, in an entirely unruffled tone. "Your oldboarder is there, with his wife and child."

  Euphemia and I looked at each other in dismay.

  "They came early this afternoon," continued Pomona, "by the 1:14 train,and walked up, he carrying the child."

  "It can't be," cried Euphemia. "Their child's married."

  "It must have married very young, then," said Pomona, "for it isn't overfour years old now."

  "Oh!" said Euphemia, "I know! It's his grandchild."

  "Grandchild!" repeated Pomona, with her countenance more expressive ofemotion than I had ever yet seen it.

  "Yes," said Euphemia; "but how long are they going to stay? Where didyou tell them we were?"

  "They didn't say how long they was goin' to stay," answered Pomona. "Itold them you had gone to be with some friends in the country, and thatI didn't know whether you'd be home to-night or not."

  "How could you tell them such a falsehood?" cried Euphemia.

  "That was no falsehood," said Pomona; "it was true as truth. If you'renot your own friends, I don't know who is. And I wasn't a-goin' to tellthe boarder where you was till I found out whether you wanted me to doit or not. And so I left 'em and run over to old John's, and then downhere."

  It was impossible to find fault with the excellent management of Pomona.

  "What were they doing?" asked Euphemia.

  "I opened the parlor, and she was in there with the child,--putting itto sleep on the sofa, I think. The boarder was out in the yard, tryin'to teach Lord Edward some tricks."

  "He had better look out!" I exclaimed.

  "Oh, the dog's chained and growlin' fearful! What am I to do with 'em?"

  This was a difficult point to decide. If we went to see them, we mightas well break up our camp, for we could not tell when we should be ableto come back to it.

  We discussed the matter very anxiously, and finally concluded thatunder the circumstances, and considering what Pomona had said aboutour whereabouts, it would be well for us to stay where we were and forPomona to take charge of the visitors. If they returned to the city thatevening, she was to give them a good supper before they went, sendingJohn to the store for what was needed. If they stayed all night, shecould get breakfast for them.

  "We can write," said Euphemia, "and invite them to come and spend somedays with us, when we are at home and everything is all right. I wantdreadfully to see that child, but I don't see how I can do it now."

  "No," said I. "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 Icouldn't leave them here."

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

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