Mrs. Burton only said, "I am glad you had such a nice afternoon, dear. It is one you will always remember. You were fortunate that nothing happened to spoil the pleasure of it. I am glad I was not at home, however, for I fear I would have been very uneasy about you."
CHAPTER XIV.
ARBOR DAY.
In nearly every household of the big city the children were astir early, all wearing an air of excitement, from the six-year-old in the primary school to the "big brother" or sister in the intermediate, for there was at last something new under the sun—the celebration of "Arbor Day" for the first time in their city and State.
It was a day to be devoted to the trees and their planting. Every school in the city had had a plot of ground set aside for its use, and every school had had at least one tree planted, beside those in memory of the teachers who had passed away to the unknown land.
There was no set time for departure and no special gathering place, so that at almost any hour after nine o'clock on that lovely May morning groups of children might have been seen wending their way toward the eastern hills. Those in the vicinity of Eden Park walked, a few drove over with their parents or friends, but the great majority filled the street cars to overflowing, laughing and chattering and enjoying a holiday as only school children can.
Forming a portion of the last class were the pupils of the "First Intermediate," that old landmark which has guided so many embryo citizens of our great Republic through the intricate paths of fractions, decimals, and so on, to the crowning difficulty of cube root; through grammar and history and geography, before bidding them "Godspeed" as they entered the high-school or took up the story of their lives in some other direction.
Among these last, lunch baskets in hand, were the five young warriors, but with their armor off and as great an air of being on pleasure bent as though they had never thought of anything more serious. Miriam as usual had the floor, and the entire car-load of girls and boys, nearly all of them her classmates, were laughing at her remarks.
There was a change of cars at Fountain Square and again at the foot of the Mt. Adams incline, but the five girls managed to keep from being separated. Arrived at the top of the hill, they stopped to breathe in the fresh air and admire the beautiful landscape—the Kentucky hills far away in the distance, with the beautiful Ohio flowing placidly at their feet; Cincinnati, in its hill-encircled cup, making, with Covington and Newport and the various smaller villages, part of one great whole, linked by the bridges across the Ohio and the Licking.
"This reminds me," said Ernestine, who was the historian of the little company, "of the name first chosen for our city—Losantiville, the town opposite the mouth of the Licking; 'ville,' town; 'anti,' opposite; 'os,' mouth; 'L,' initial of Licking."