So at last I gave up—or gave in. We went to the mountains, following up the trail along Calapooia Creek; we camped and hunted and fished to the hearts' content. We learned to cook hotcakes out-of-doors, and how to make sourdough biscuit, and to frizzle bacon before a bonfire, and to bake ham in a bread pan, such as our mothers fitted five loaves of bread in; we learned to love hash, and like potatoes boiled in their jackets, and coffee with the cream left out. We went three miles to borrow a match; we divided salt with the stranger who had forgotten his; we learned that fish is good on other days than Friday and that trout crisps beautifully in bacon grease; we found eleventeen uses for empty lard pails and discovered the difference between an owl and a tree toad. We gained a speaking acquaintance with the Great Dipper, and learned where to look for the north star, why fires must be put out and what chipmunks do for a living. We learned—
Last night we came home.
"Now, mother, aren't you really glad you went?" quizzed Daddy.
"Yes-s," said I, slowly, "I'm glad I went. It has been a new experience. I feel like I'd gained a degree at the State University."
My understanding mate merely chuckled—and went on unpacking the tinware. But Ted spoke up:
"Gee! Bet I make good in English III this year. Got all sorts of ideas for themes. This trip's been bully."
"We'll go again, won't we, Mother?" asked my oldest.
"I think we'll always go again," answered I—some sober thinking I was doing, as I folded away the blankets.
"Let me get supper"—it was Laura, my middle girl, speaking—"surely I can cook on gas, if I can over a campfire." And Laura had never wanted to cook! Strange tendencies develop when one lives out in the open a space of time.
But Curlylocks was undisturbed. "Kitty—kitty—kitty! My 'ittle kitty!" he reiterated. And truly, so my neighbor told me, Sir Christopher had beat us home by a scant twenty-four hours. He rubbed about us in turns, happily purring.