“We want you to bring no milk,” I cried, now quite angry. “I want you to go down to the station, and tell the driver of the express-wagon to come here immediately. Do you understand? Immediately.”
The boy declared he understood, and started off quite willingly. We did not prefer to have the express-wagon, for it was too public a conveyance, and, besides, old John knew exactly how to do what was required. But we need not have troubled ourselves. The express-wagon did not come.
When it became dark, we saw that we could not leave that night. Even if a wagon did come, it would not be safe to drive over the fields in the darkness. And we could not go away and leave the camp-equipage. I proposed that Euphemia should go up to the house, while I remained in camp. But she declined. We would keep together, whatever happened, she said.
We unpacked our cooking-utensils and provisions, and had supper. There was no milk for our coffee, but we did not care. The evening did not pass gayly. We were annoyed by the conduct of old John and the express-boy, though, perhaps, it was not their fault. I had given them no notice that I should need them.
And we were greatly troubled at the continuance of the secrecy and subterfuge which now had become really necessary, if we did not wish to hurt our friends' feelings.
The first thing that I thought of, when I opened my eyes in the morning, was the fact that we would have to stay there all day, for we could not move on Sunday.
But Euphemia did not agree with me. After breakfast (we found that the water and the milk had been brought very early, before we were up) she stated that she did not intend to be treated in this way. She was going up to old John's house herself; and away she went.
In less than half an hour, she returned, followed by old John and his wife, both looking much as if they had been whipped.
“These people,” said she, “have entered into a conspiracy against us. I have questioned them thoroughly, and have made them answer me. The horse was at home yesterday, and the boy did not go after the express-wagon. They thought that if they could keep us here, until our company had gone, we would stay as long as we originally intended, and they would continue to make money out of us. But they are mistaken. We are going home immediately.”
At this point I could not help thinking that Euphemia might have consulted me in regard to her determination, but she was very much in earnest, and I would not have any discussion before these people.