“I am all the more interested in hearing them described.  Go on, Enos.”

“The proposition was adopted.  We called ourselves The Arcadian Club; but in order to avoid gossip, and the usual ridicule, to which we were all more or less sensitive, in case our plan should become generally known, it was agreed that the initials only should be used.  Besides, there was an agreeable air of mystery about it:  we thought of Delphi, and Eleusis, and Samothrace:  we should discover that Truth which the dim eyes of worldly men and women were unable to see, and the day of disclosure would be the day of Triumph.  In one sense we were truly Arcadians:  no suspicion of impropriety, I verily believe, entered any of our minds.  In our aspirations after what we called a truer life there was no material taint.  We were fools, if you choose, but as far as possible from being sinners.  Besides, the characters of Mr. and Mrs. Shelldrake, who naturally became the heads of our proposed community, were sufficient to preserve us from slander or suspicion, if even our designs had been publicly announced.

“I won’t bore you with an account of our preparations.  In fact, there was very little to be done.  Mr. Shelldrake succeeded in hiring the house, with most of its furniture, so that but a few articles had to be supplied.  My trunk contained more books than boots, more blank paper than linen.

“‘Two shirts will be enough,’ said Abel:  ’you can wash one of them any day, and dry it in the sun.’

“The supplies consisted mostly of flour, potatoes, and sugar.  There was a vegetable-garden in good condition, Mr. Shelldrake said, which would be our principal dependence.

“‘Besides, the clams!’ I exclaimed, unthinkingly.

“‘Oh, yes!’ said Eunice, ’we can have chowder-parties:  that will be delightful!’

“‘Clams! chowder! oh, worse than flesh!’ groaned Abel.  ’Will you reverence Nature by outraging her first laws?’

“I had made a great mistake, and felt very foolish.  Eunice and I looked at each other, for the first time.”

“Speak for yourself only, Enos,” gently interpolated his wife.

“It was a lovely afternoon in the beginning of June when we first approached Arcadia.  We had taken two double teams at Bridgeport, and drove slowly forward to our destination, followed by a cart containing our trunks and a few household articles.  It was a sweet, bright, balmy day:  the wheat-fields were rich and green, the clover showed faint streaks of ruby mist along slopes leaning southward, and the meadows were yellow with buttercups.  Now and then we caught glimpses of the Sound, and, far beyond it, the dim Long-Island shore.  Every old white farm-house, with its gray-walled garden, its clumps of lilacs, viburnums, and early roses, offered us a picture of pastoral simplicity and repose.  We passed them, one by one, in the happiest mood, enjoying the earth around us, the sky above, and ourselves most of all.