We slept soundly that night, in what was probably the best bedroom
of the house, and awoke with a feeling that we were about to enter
on a period of some uncommon kind of jollity, which we found to be
true when we went down to get breakfast. I made the fire, Euphemia
made the coffee, and Mrs. Carson came with cream and some fresh
eggs. The good woman was in high spirits. She was evidently
pleased at the idea of having neighbors, temporary though they
were, and it had probably been a long time since she had had such a
chance of selling milk, eggs and sundries. It was almost the same
as opening a country store. We bought groceries and everything of
her.
We had a glorious time that day. We were just starting out for a
mountain stroll when our stage-driver came along on his down trip.
"Hello!" he called out. "Want to go back this morning?"
"Not a bit of it," I cried. "We wont go back for a couple of
weeks. We've settled here for the present."
The man smiled. He didn't seem to understand it exactly, but he
was evidently glad to see us so well satisfied. If he had had time
to stop and have the matter explained to him, he would probably
have been better satisfied; but as it was, he waved his whip to us
and drove on. He was a good fellow.
We strolled all day, having locked up the house and taken our lunch
with us; and when we came back, it seemed really like coming home.
Mrs. Carson with whom we had left the key, had brought the milk and
was making the fire.
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