irely unruffled tone. "Your old
boarder is there, with his wife and child."

Euphemia and I looked at each other in dismay.

"They came early this afternoon," continued Pomona, "by the 1:14 train,
and walked up, he carrying the child."

"It can't be," cried Euphemia. "Their child's married."

"It must have married very young, then," said Pomona, "for it isn't over
four years old now."

"Oh!" said Euphemia, "I know! It's his grandchild."

"Grandchild!" repeated Pomona, with her countenance more expressive of
emotion than I had ever yet seen it.

"Yes," said Euphemia; "but how long are they going to stay? Where did
you tell them we were?"

"They didn't say how long they was goin' to stay," answered Pomona. "I
told them you had gone to be with some friends in the country, and that
I didn't know whether you'd be home to-night or not."

"How could you tell them such a falsehood?" cried Euphemia.

"That was no falsehood," said Pomona; "it was true as truth. If you're
not your own friends, I don't know who is. And I wasn't a-goin' to tell
the boarder where you was till I found out whether you wanted me to do
it or not. And so I left 'em and run over to old John's, and then down
here."

It was impossible to find fault with the excellent management of Pomona.

"What were they doing?" asked Euphemia.

"I opened the parlor, and she was in there with the child,--putting it
to sleep on the sofa, I think. The boarder was out in the yard, tryin'
to teach Lord Edward some tricks."

"He had better look out!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, the dog's chained and growlin' fearful! What am I to do with 'em?"

This was a difficult point to decide. If we went to see them, we might
as well break up our camp, for we could not tell when we should be able
to come back to it.

We discussed the matter very anxiously, and finally concluded that
under the circumstances, and considering what Pomona had said about
our whereabouts, it would be well for us to stay where we were and for
Pomona to take charge of the visitors. If they returned to the city that
evening, she was to give them a good supper before they went, sending
John to the store for what was needed. If they stayed all night, she
could get breakfast for them.

"We can write," said Euphemia, "and invite them to come and spend some
days with us, when we are at home and everything is all right. I want
dreadfully to see that child, but I don't see how I can do it now."

"No," said I