"Pleased, sir?" replied Pomona; "they're tickled to death."
"But how do you like having strangers telling you what to do?"
asked Euphemia.
"Oh, well," said Pomona, "he's no stranger, and she's real
pleasant, and if it gives you a good camp out, I don't mind."
Euphemia and I looked at each other. Here was true allegiance. We
would remember this.
Pomona now hurried off, and we seriously discussed the matter, and
soon came to the conclusion that while it might be the truest
hospitality to let our friends stay at our house for a day or two
and enjoy themselves, still it would not do for us to allow
ourselves to be governed by a too delicate sentimentality. We must
go home and act our part of host and hostess.
Mrs. Old John had been at the camp ever since breakfast-time,
giving the place a Saturday cleaning. What she had found to occupy
her for so long a time I could not imagine, but in her efforts to
put in a full half-day's work, I have no doubt she scrubbed some of
the trees. We had been so fully occupied with our own affairs that
we had paid very little attention to her, but she had probably
heard pretty much all that had been said.
At noon we paid her (giving her, at her suggestion, something extra
in lieu of the midday meal, which she did not stay to take), and
told her to send her husband, with his wagon, as soon as possible,
as we intended to break up our encampment. We determined that we
would pack everything in John's wagon, and let him take the load to
his house, and keep it there until Monday, when I would have the
tent and accompaniments expressed to their owner.
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