"We can write," said Euphemia, "and invite them to come and spend
some days with us, when we are at home and everything is all right.
I want dreadfully 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 I couldn't leave them here."

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

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



CHAPTER XI.

THE BOARDER'S VISIT.


For the rest of the afternoon, and indeed far into the night, our
conversation consisted almost entirely of conjectures regarding the
probable condition of things at the house. We both thought we had
done right, but we felt badly about it. It was not hospitable, to
be sure; but then I should have no other holiday until next year,
and our friends could come at any time to see us.

The next morning old John brought a note from Pomona. It was