"
"I'd stay here now," said Euphemia, when they had gone, "if it
rained pitch."
"You mean pitchforks," I suggested.
"Yes, anything," she answered.
"Well, I don't know about the pitchforks," I said, looking over the
creek at the sky; "but am very much afraid that it is going to rain
rain-water to-morrow. But that won't drive us home, will it?"
"No, indeed!" said she. "We're prepared for it. But I wish they'd
staid at home."
Sure enough, it commenced to rain that night, and we had showers
all the next day. We staid in camp during the morning, and I
smoked and we played checkers, and had a very cosy time, with a
wood fire burning under a tree near by. We kept up this fire, not
to dry the air, but to make things look comfortable. In the
afternoon I dressed myself up in water-proof coat, boots and hat,
and went out fishing. I went down to the water and fished along
the banks for an hour, but caught nothing of any consequence. This
was a great disappointment, for we had expected to live on fresh
fish for a great part of the time while we were camping. With
plenty of fish, we could do without meat very well.
We talked the matter over on my return, and we agreed that as it
seemed impossible to depend upon a supply of fish, from the waters
about our camp, it would be better to let old John bring fresh meat
from the butcher, and as neither of us liked crackers, we also
agreed that he should bring bread.
Our greatest trouble, that evening, was to make a fire.
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