So says he to his wife, 'Won't that be a jolly lark?
We'll just keep house for them here till they come.

And he says he would go down to the store and order some things, if there wasn't enough in the house, and he asked her to see what would be needed, which she did, and he's gone down for 'em now.

And she says that, as it was Saturday, she'd see that the house was all put to rights; and after breakfast she set me to sweepin'; and it's only by way of her dustin' the parlor and givin' me the little girl to take for a walk that I got off at all." "But what have you done with the child ?" exclaimed Euphemia.
"Oh, I left her at old Johnses." "And so you think they're pleased with having the house to themselves ?" I said.
"Pleased, sir ?" replied Pomona; "they're tickled to death." "But how do you like having strangers telling you what to do ?" asked Euphemia.
"Oh, well," said Pomona, "he's no stranger, and she's real pleasant, and if it gives you a good camp out, I don't mind." Euphemia and I looked at each other.

Here was true allegiance.

We would remember this.
Pomona now hurried off, and we seriously discussed the matter, and soon came to the conclusion that while it might be the truest hospitality to let our friends stay at our house for a day or two and enjoy themselves, still it would not do for us to allow ourselves to be governed by a too delicate sentimentality.