by being careful in regard to the advice, it didn't interfere with our comfort.
We were beginning to be discouraged—at least, Euphemia was. Her discouragement is like watercresses, it generally comes up in a very short time after she sows her wishes. But then it withers away rapidly, which is a comfort. One evening we were sitting, rather disconsolately, in our room, and I was reading out the advertisement of country board in a newspaper, when in rushed Dr. Heare—one of our old friends. He was so full of something that he had to say that he didn't even ask us how we were. In fact, he didn't appear to want to know.
"I tell you what it is," said he, "I have found just the very thing you want."
"A canal-boat?" I cried.
"Yes," said he; "a canal-boat."
"Furnished? " asked Euphemia, her eyes glistening.
"Well, no," answered the doctor; "I don't think you could expect that."
"But we can't live on the bare floor," said Euphemia; "our house must be furnished."
"Well, then, I suppose this won't do," said the doctor ruefully, "for there isn't so much as a boot-jack in it. It has most things that are necessary for a boat, but it hasn't anything that you could call house-furniture; but, dear me, I should think you could furnish it very cheaply and comfortably out of your book."
"Very true," said Euphemia; "if we could pick out the cheapest things and then get some folks to buy a lot of the books."
"We could begin with very little," said I, trying hard to keep calm.
9
