We declined this invitation, as we had so lately dined. I looked
at Euphemia with a question in my eye. She understood me, and
gently shook her head. It would be a shame to make any
explanations which might put an end to this bit of camp-life, which
evidently was so eagerly enjoyed by our old friend. But we
insisted that they should come up to the house and see us, and they
agreed to dine with us the next evening. On Tuesday, they must
return to the city.

"Now, this is what I call real hospitality," said the ex-boarder,
warmly grasping my hand. I could not help agreeing with him.

As we walked home, I happened to look back and saw old John going
over the fields toward the camp, carrying a little tin-pail and a
water bucket.

The next day, toward evening, a storm set in, and at the hour fixed
for our dinner, the rain was pouring down in such torrents that we
did not expect our guests. After dinner the rain ceased, and as we
supposed that they might not have made any preparations for a meal,
Euphemia packed up some dinner for them in a basket, and I took it
down to the camp.

They were glad to see me, and said they had a splendid time all
day. They were up before sunrise, and had explored, tramped,
boated, and I don't know what else.

My basket was very acceptable, and I would have stayed awhile with
them, but as they were obliged to eat in the tent, there was no
place for me to sit, it being too wet outside, and so I soon came