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. “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. “I'd 'a' thought, sir, you'd 'a' asked him that before you came,” said old John, in a tone that seemed to indicate that he had his doubts about Mr. Ball. “Oh, there'll be no trouble about that,” cried Euphemia. “You can drive me past Mr. Ball's,--it's not much out of the way,--and I'll ask him.” “In that wagon?” said I. “Will you stop at Mr. Ball's door in that?” “Certainly,” said she, as she arranged herself on the board which served as a seat. “Now that our campaign has really commenced, we ought to begin to rough it, and should not be too proud to ride even in a--in a--” She evidently couldn't think of any vehicle mean enough for her purpose. “In a green-grocery cart,” I suggested. “Yes, or in a red one. Go ahead, John.” When Euphemia returned on foot, I had a fire in the camp-stove and the kettle was on.