“Yes, a young shaver of about nine or ten. I asked him what he was doing here, and he told me that this tent belonged to a gentleman who had gone away, and that he was here to watch it until he came back. Then I asked him how long the owner would probably be away, and he said he supposed for a day or two. Then a splendid idea struck me. I offered the boy a dollar to let me take his place: I knew that any sensible man would rather have me in charge of his tent, than a young codger like that. The boy agreed as quick as lightning, and I paid him and sent him off. You see how little he was to be trusted! The owner of this tent will be under the greatest obligations to me. Just look at it!” he cried. “Beds, table, stove,--everything anybody could want. I've camped out lots of times, but never had such a tent as this. I intended coming up this afternoon after my valise, and to tell your girl where we are. But here is my wife and little Adele.” In the midst of the salutations and the mutual surprise, Euphemia cried: “But you don't expect to camp out, now? You are coming back to our house?” “You see,” said the ex-boarder, “we should never have thought of doing anything so rude, had we supposed you would have returned so soon. But your girl gave us to understand that you would not be back for days, and so we felt free to go at any time; and I did not hesitate to make this arrangement. And now that I have really taken the responsibility of the tent and fixtures on myself, I don't think it would be right to go away and leave the place, especially as I don't know where to find that boy. The owner will be back in a day or two, and I would like to explain matters to him and give up the property in good order into his hands. And, to tell the truth, we both adore camping-out, and we may never have such a chance again. We can live here splendidly. I went out to forage this morning, and found an old fellow living near by who sold me a lot of provisions--even some coffee and sugar--and he's to bring us some milk. We're going to have supper in about an hour; won't you stay and take a camp-meal with us? It will be a novelty for you, at any rate.” We declined this invitation, as we had so lately dined. I looked at Euphemia with a question in my eye. She understood me, and gently shook her head. It would be a shame to make any explanations which might put an end to this bit of camp-life, which evidently was so eagerly enjoyed by our old friend. But we insisted that they should come up to the house and see us, and they agreed to dine with us the next evening. On Tuesday, they must return to the city. “Now, this is what I call real hospitality,” said the ex-boarder, warmly grasping my hand. I could not help agreeing with him. As we walked home, I happened to look back and saw old John going over the fields toward the camp, carrying a little tin-pail and a water bucket.