We did not decide on one day where we
would go the next; we did not even decide in the morning where we would
go in the afternoon. If we found a brook where the trout bit, and there
was no inhospitable "poster" warning us away, we said, "Let's stay! who
cares whether we get on or not?" And we tied Kit to a tree, took out our
rods and baskets, and followed the brook. If noon found us still
fishing, we came back to the wagon, fed Kit, got out our camping-outfit,
and cooked our fish for luncheon. It did not take long. I collected
kindling and firewood while Jonathan was laying a few big stones for a
fireplace shaped like a squared letter "C," open towards the wind and
big enough to hold our frying-pan. Then we started the fire, and while
it was settling into shape Jonathan dressed the fish and cut a long
stick to fit into the hollow handle of the frying-pan, and I had time to
slice bits of pork and set out the rest of the luncheon--bread and
butter, milk if we happened to have passed a dairy farm, a pineapple or
oranges if we happened to have met a peddler, strawberries if we had
chanced upon one of the sandy spots where the wild ones grow so thickly.

Then the pan was set over, the pork was laid in, and soon the little
fish were curling up their tails in the fragrant smoke. If they were big
and needed long cooking, I had time to toast bread or biscuit in the
embers underneath for an added luxury, and when all was ready we sat
down in supreme contentment. And we never forgot to give Kit a lump of
sugar, or some clover tops, that she might share in the picnic. But
every now and then she would turn and regard us with eyes that expressed
many things, but chiefly wonder at the queerness of folks who could
prefer not to go back to their own stable to eat. When luncheon was
over, the dishes washed in the brook, and the wagon repacked, we ambled
on, leaving our little fireplace, with its blackened stones and its
heart of gray ashes.

No one who has never tried such an aimless life can realize its charm
and its restfulness. Most of us spend our days catching trains, and
running to the telephone, and meeting engagements. Even our pleasures
are seldom emancipated from these requirements; they are dependent on
boats and trolley cars and trains, they are measured out in hours and
minutes, and we snatch them running, as the Israelites did their water.
But this trip of ours was bounded only by the circle of the week, and
conditioned o