On Sunday afternoon we took a little walk. Our minds were still
troubled about the spot toward which we ought to journey next day,
and we needed the soothing influences of Nature. The country to
the north and west of our little farm was very beautiful. About
half a mile from the house a modest river ran; on each side of it
were grass-covered fields and hills, and in some places there were
extensive tracks of woodlands.
"Look here!" exclaimed Euphemia, stopping short in the little path
that wound along by the river bank. "Do you see this river, those
woods, those beautiful fields, with not a soul in them or anywhere
near them; and those lovely blue mountains over there?"--as she
spoke she waved her parasol in the direction of the objects
indicated, and I could not mistake them. "Now what could we want
better than this?" she continued. "Here we can fish, and do
everything that we want to. I say, let us camp here on our own
river. I can take you to the very spot for the tent. Come on!"
And she was so excited about it that she fairly ran.
The spot she pointed out was one we had frequently visited in our
rural walks. It was a grassy peninsula, as I termed it, formed by
a sudden turn of a creek which, a short distance below, flowed into
the river. It was a very secluded spot. The place was approached
through a pasture-field,--we had found it by mere accident,--and
where the peninsula joined the field (we had to climb a fence just
there), there was a cluster of chestnut and hickory trees, while
down near the point stood a wide-spreading oak.
Pages:
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105