“They've got a big platform chiefly, where they put up a tent. The cook-house ain't nothin' but a little two by four shanty, with a big stove in it.” “How big is it?” I cried. “It's about half o' this here room, I reckon.” (“This here room” was about six of my rooms in New York!) “And where is it?” I cried. “How can I get there?” “Oh, you don't want to go to no sech place ez that!” said the farmer. “There ain't no bed nor nothin' in it! An' it's two mile out there in the woods!” Let anybody imagine how my heart was going! “Who can show it to me?” I panted. “Why,” said he, “I'm the man that's in charge of it; but I--” “And can you rent it to me for a month?” “Why, I don't know any reason why I can't rent it to you for a year--only it ain't worth nothin', an'--” “Then rent it to me! The less it is worth the better it will suit me. But come, show me where it is!” “I reckon I can show you,” said the man, looking perplexed. “But what in the world do you want to go into that lonesome place for? Why, boy, nobody goes there in a month! An' what you goin' to do for somethin' to eat, an' some place to sleep, an'--” * * * * * I managed to get him started at last. And now, oh just look at me! I've been roaming around staring at it--inside and outside. The gods love me after all. The infinite relief that it is! The infinite exultation that it is! And all to myself--not a soul near me! And out in the woods! _And mine for a month!_ Oh blessed 'cello player that moved away; blessed landlady's sister that talked--! And oh blessed cook-house! We will make thee a consecrated cook-house before we get through--we will! We will cook a dish in thee that will warm the hearts of a goodly company--oh blessed cook-house! --And outside a great white moon streaming through the forest trees! * * * * * The “cook-house” is about ten feet square. It is about one-third stove, now covered with a newspaper and serving as a table. Besides that there is one chair, for which I have just improvised a leg, with the help of my knife. Besides the knife I have a fork, a plate, a cup, and a spoon--borrowed from the farmer. I have a blanket and a bed consisting of an old carriage robe, rented from the farmer. I have a lamp and a kerosene-can--ditto. I have a frying-pan--ditto. But I haven't my little oil-stove, so I fear I shall eat mostly cold things. I have a pail of milk, a loaf of bread, a ginger-cake, some butter, some eggs, some bacon, some apples and some radishes; also a tooth-brush, a comb, a change of clothing, two handkerchiefs, some pencils and paper, Prometheus Bound, Prometheus Unbound, Samson Agonistes, faith, hope, and charity! --I believe I have named all the necessaries of life. * * * * * June 15th.