For four years after that, this old camp was kept stocked with eats all
the time. We would hike out Friday after school and stay till Sunday
night. At Christmas-time we would spend the week's vacation there.

Many times had I tried to get my Father to go out and stay overnight. But
he wouldn't go. One time, though, I did not come home when I had promised,
so Father rode out on Garnett to find me. Instead of my coming back with
him he just unsaddled and turned Garnett loose in the woods and stayed
overnight.

We gave him the big bunk with two red quilts, and he stuck it out. Next
morning we had fried apples, ham and coffee for breakfast.

What there was about it I did not understand, but John was a very frequent
visitor after that.

You know we called Father, John, because he said that wasn't his name.

He used to come up in the evening and would bring the Red One or Sammy the
Artist or Saint Jerome the Sculptor. Once he brought Michael Monahan and
John Sayles the Universalist preacher.

Mike didn't like it.

The field-mice running on the rafters overhead at night chilled his blood.
He called them terrible beasts.

From then on we youngsters were gradually deprived of our freedom at camp.
These visitors were too numerous for us and we had to seek other fields of
adventure.