"I'd stay here now," said Euphemia, when they had gone, "if it rained pitch."
"You mean pitchforks," I suggested.
"Yes, anything," she answered.
"Well, I don't know about the pitchforks," I said, looking over the creek at the sky; "but I am very much afraid that it is going to rain rain-water to-morrow. But that won't drive us home, will it?"
"No, indeed!" said she. "We're prepared for it. But I wish they'd stayed at home."
Sure enough, it commenced to rain that night, and we had showers all the next day. We stayed in camp during the morning, and I smoked and we played checkers, and had a very cosy time, with a wood fire burning under a tree near by. We kept up this fire, not to dry the air, but to make things look comfortable. In the afternoon I dressed myself up in waterproof coat, boots, and hat, and went out fishing. I went down to the water and fished along the banks for an hour, but caught nothing of any consequence. This was a great disappointment, for we had expected to live on fresh fish for a great part of the time while we were camping. With plenty of fish we could do without meat very well.
We talked the matter over on my return, and we agreed that as it seemed impossible to depend upon a supply of fish from the waters about our camp, it would be better to let old John bring fresh meat from the butcher, and as neither of us liked crackers, we also agreed that he should bring bread.
Our greatest trouble that evening was to make a fire. The wood, of which there was a good deal lying about under the trees, was now all wet and would not burn. However, we managed to get up a fire in the stove, but I did not know what we were going to do
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