Rudder Grange — Ch. 11: The Boarder's Visit, pt. 2
Old John and his wife agreed to this plan with the greatest alacrity, apparently well pleased to get off so easily; and, having locked up the smaller articles of camp-furniture, we filled a valise with our personal baggage and started off home.
Our house and grounds never looked prettier than they did that morning, as we stood at the gate.
Lord Edward barked a welcome from his shed, and before we reached the door, Pomona came running out, her face radiant.
“I'm awful glad to see you back,” she said; “though I'd never have said so while you was in camp.
” I patted the dog and looked into the garden.
Everything was growing splendidly.
Euphemia rushed to the chicken-yard.
It was in first-rate order, and there were two broods of little yellow puffy chicks.
Down on her knees went my wife, to pick up the little creatures, one by one, press their downy bodies to her cheek, and call them tootsy-wootsies, and away went I to the barn, followed by Pomona, and soon afterward by Euphemia.
The cow was all right.
“I've been making butter,” said Pomona, “though it don't look exactly like it ought to, yet, and the skim-milk I didn't know what to do with, so I gave it to old John.
He came for it every day, and was real mad once because I had given a lot of it to the dog, and couldn't let him have but a pint.
” “He ought to have been mad,” said I to Euphemia, as we walked up to the house.
“He got ten cents a quart for that milk.
” We laughed, and didn't care.
We were too glad to be at home.
“But where are our friends?
” I asked Pomona.
We had actually forgotten them.
“Oh!
they're gone out for a walk,” said she.
“They started off right after breakfast.
” We were not sorry for this.
It would be so much nicer to see our dear home again when there was nobody there but ourselves.
In-doors we rushed.
Our absence had been like rain on a garden.
Everything now seemed fresher and brighter and more delightful.
We went from room to room, and seemed to appreciate better than ever what a charming home we had.
We were so full of the delights of our return that we forgot all about the Sunday dinner and our guests, but Pomona, whom my wife was training to be an excellent cook, did not forget, and Euphemia was summoned to a consultation in the kitchen.
Dinner was late; but our guests were later.
We waited as long as the state of the provisions and our appetites would permit, and then we sat down to the table and began to eat slowly.
But they did not come.
We finished our meal, and they were still absent.
We now became quite anxious, and I proposed to Euphemia that we should go and look for them.
We started out, and our steps naturally turned toward the river.
An unpleasant thought began to crowd itself into my mind, and perhaps the same thing happened to Euphemia, for, without saying anything to each other, we both turned toward the path that led to the peninsula.
We crossed the field, climbed the fence, and there, in front of the tent sat our old boarder splitting sticks with the camp-hatchet.
“Hurrah!
” he cried, springing to his feet when he saw us.
“How glad I am to see you back!
When did you return?
Isn't this splendid?
” “What?
” I said, as we shook hands.
“Why this,” he cried, pointing to the tent.
“Don't you see?
We're camping out.
” “You are?
” I exclaimed, looking around for his wife, while Euphemia stood motionless, actually unable to make a remark.
“Certainly we are.
It's the rarest bit of luck.
My wife and Adele will be here directly.
They've gone to look for water-cresses.
But I must tell you how I came to make this magnificent find.
We started out for a walk this morning, and we happened to hit on this place, and here we saw this gorgeous tent with nobody near but a little tow-headed boy.
” “Only a boy?
” cried Euphemia.
“Yes, a young shaver of about nine or ten.
I asked him what he was doing here, and he told me that this tent belonged to a gentleman who had gone away, and that he was here to watch it until he came back.
Then I asked him how long the owner would probably be away, and he said he supposed for a day or two.
Then a splendid idea struck me.
I offered the boy a dollar to let me take his place: I knew that any sensible man would rather have me in charge of his tent, than a young codger like that.
The boy agreed as quick as lightning, and I paid him and sent him off.
You see how little he was to be trusted!
The owner of this tent will be under the greatest obligations to me.
Just look at it!
” he cried.
“Beds, table, stove,--everything anybody could want.
I've camped out lots of times, but never had such a tent as this.
I intended coming up this afternoon after my valise, and to tell your girl where we are.
But here is my wife and little Adele.
” In the midst of the salutations and the mutual surprise, Euphemia cried: “But you don't expect to camp out, now?
You are coming back to our house?
” “You see,” said the ex-boarder, “we should never have thought of doing anything so rude, had we supposed you would have returned so soon.
But your girl gave us to understand that you would not be back for days, and so we felt free to go at any time; and I did not hesitate to make this arrangement.
And now that I have really taken the responsibility of the tent and fixtures on myself, I don't think it would be right to go away and leave the place, especially as I don't know where to find that boy.
The owner will be back in a day or two, and I would like to explain matters to him and give up the property in good order into his hands.
And, to tell the truth, we both adore camping-out, and we may never have such a chance again.
We can live here splendidly.
I went out to forage this morning, and found an old fellow living near by who sold me a lot of provisions--even some coffee and sugar--and he's to bring us some milk.
We're going to have supper in about an hour; won't you stay and take a camp-meal with us?
It will be a novelty for you, at any rate.
” 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 away.
We were in doubt whether or not to tell our friends the true history of the camp.
I thought that it was not right to keep up the deception, while Euphemia declared that if they were sensitive people, they would feel very badly at having broken up our plans by their visit, and then having appropriated our camp to themselves.
She thought it would be the part of magnanimity to say nothing about it.
I could not help seeing a good deal of force in her arguments, although I wished very much to set the thing straight, and we discussed the matter again as we walked down to the camp, after breakfast next morning.
There we found old John sitting on a stump.
He said nothing, but handed me a note written in lead-pencil on a card.
It was from our ex-boarder, and informed me that early that morning he had found that there was a tug lying in the river, which would soon start for the city.
He also found that he could get passage on her for his party, and as this was such a splendid chance to go home without the bother of getting up to the station, he had just bundled his family and his valise on board, and was very sorry they did not have time to come up and bid us good-bye.
The tent he left in charge of a very respectable man, from whom he had had supplies.
That morning I had the camp-equipage packed up and expressed to its owner.
We did not care to camp out any more that season, but thought it would be better to spend the rest of my vacation at the sea-shore.
Our ex-boarder wrote to us that he and his wife were anxious that we should return their visit during my holidays; but as we did not see exactly how we could return a visit of the kind, we did not try to do it.
