"Here, under this oak, is the place for the tent," said Euphemia,
her face flushed, her eyes sparkling, and her dress a little torn
by getting over the fence in a hurry. "What do we want with your
Adirondacks and your Dismal Swamps? This is the spot for us!"
"Euphemia," said I, in as composed a tone as possible, although my
whole frame was trembling with emotion, "Euphemia, I am glad I
married you!"
Had it not been Sunday, we would have set up our tent that night.
Early the next morning, old John's fifteen-dollar horse drew from
our house a wagon-load of camp-fixtures. There was some difficulty
in getting the wagon over the field, and there were fences to be
taken down to allow of its passage; but we overcame all obstacles,
and reached the camp-ground without breaking so much as a teacup.
Old John helped me pitch the tent, and as neither of us understood
the matter very well, it took us some time. It was, indeed, nearly
noon when old John left us, and it may have been possible that he
delayed matters a little so as to be able to charge for a full
half-day for himself and horse. Euphemia got into the wagon to
ride back with him, that she might give some parting injunctions to
Pomona.
"I'll have to stop a bit to put up the fences, ma'am," said old
John, "or Misther Ball might make a fuss."
"Is this Mr. Ball's land?" I asked.
"Oh yes, sir, it's Mr. Ball's land."
"I wonder how he'll like our camping on it?" I said, thoughtfully.
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