There was a kitchen, a living-room, a parlor and
bedrooms. There were all sorts of conveniences--carpets on the
floors, pictures, and everything, at least so it seemed to us, to
make a home comfortable. This was not all done at once, the
oyster-man told me. They had lived there for years and had
gradually added this and that until the place was as we saw it. He
had an oyster-bed out in the river and he made cider in the winter,
but where he got the apples I don't know. There was really no
reason why he should not get rich in time.
Well, we went all over that house and we praised everything so much
that the oyster-man's wife was delighted, and when we had some
stewed oysters afterward,--eating them at a little table under a
tree near by,--I believe that she picked out the very largest
oysters she had, to stew for us. When we had finished our supper
and had paid for it, and were going down to take our little boat
again,--for we had rowed up the river,--Euphemia stopped and looked
around her. Then she clasped her hands and exclaimed in an
ecstatic undertone:
"We must have a canal-boat!"
And she never swerved from that determination.
After I had seriously thought over the matter, I could see no good
reason against adopting this plan. It would certainly be a cheap
method of living, and it would really be housekeeping. I grew more
and more in favor of it. After what the oyster-man had done, what
might not we do? HE had never written a book on housekeeping, nor,
in all probability, had he considered the matter, philosophically,
for one moment in all his life.
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