It is lucky we were tired and wanted to go to bed early, for we had forgotten all about lamps or candles.
For the next week we were two busy and happy people. I rose about half-past five and made the fire—we found so much wood on the shore that I thought I should not have to add fuel to my expenses—and Euphemia cooked the breakfast. I then went to a well belonging to a cottage near by where we had arranged for water-privileges, and filled two buckets with delicious water and carried them home for Euphemia's use through the day. Then I hurried off to catch the train, for, as there was a station near Ginx's, I ceased to patronize the steamboat, the hours of which were not convenient. After a day of work and pleasurable anticipation at the office, I hastened back to my home, generally laden with a basket of provisions and various household necessities. Milk was brought to us daily from the above-mentioned cottage by a little toddler who seemed just able to carry the small tin bucket which held a lacteal pint. If the urchin had been the child of rich parents, as Euphemia sometimes observed, he would have been in his nurse's arms—but, being poor, he was scarcely weaned before he began to carry milk around to other people.
After I reached home, came supper and the delightful evening hours, when over my pipe (I had given up cigars as being too expensive and inappropriate, and had taken to a tall pipe and canister tobacco) we talked and planned and told each other our day's experience.
One of our earliest subjects of discussion was the name of our homestead. Euphemia insisted that it should have a name. I was quite willing, but we found it no easy matter to select an appropriate title.
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