But it was not an easy thing to find a canal-boat. There were none
advertised for rent--at least, not for housekeeping purposes.
We made many inquiries and took many a long walk along the water-
courses in the vicinity of the city, but all in vain. Of course,
we talked a great deal about our project and our friends became
greatly interested in it, and, of course, too, they gave us a great
deal of advice, but we didn't mind that. We were philosophical
enough to know that you can't have shad without bones. They were
good friends and, by being careful in regard to the advice, it
didn't interfere with our comfort.
We were beginning to be discouraged, at least Euphemia was. Her
discouragement is like water-cresses, it generally comes up in a
very short time after she sows her wishes. But then it withers
away rapidly, which is a comfort. One evening we were sitting,
rather disconsolately, in our room, and I was reading out the
advertisements of country board in a newspaper, when in rushed Dr.
Heare--one of our old friends. He was so full of something that he
had to say that he didn't even ask us how we were. In fact, he
didn't appear to want to know.
"I tell you what it is," said he, "I have found just the very thing
you want."
"A canal-boat?" I cried.
"Yes," said he, "a canal-boat."
"Furnished?" asked Euphemia, her eyes glistening.
"Well, no," answered the doctor, "I don't think you could expect
that."
"But we can't live on the bare floor," said Euphemia; "our house
MUST be furnished.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25