After a month of "roughing it," my happy affiliation with those refined and cultured people acted like a healing balm to my wearied heart. Many and many a time thereafter on the tiresome, lonesome trail did my memory recall that pleasant evening. The daughters entertained me with music and song, the parents brought out refreshments, and, at last, with a hot foot-bath, and a hotter mustard leaf on my chest, I retired.
Next morning, Georgie, the little son, rushed into my chamber calling, "Get up, you people, the pancakes are getting cold!"
"All right," I answered meekly.
"Oh!" the little fellow gasped with astonishment, as he beheld Pod tucked neck-deep in eider-down. "I—I—I thought you was the girls."
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"We consumed a half hour in the gigantic task."
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