“First-class,” said my brother, grasping eagerly at the idea. Picnics are very dear to those who are in the first stage of the tender passion.
“Well, how are we to go, Nell?” asked Elsie.
“I won’t go at all,” said I; “I’d like to awfully, but I have to plant those ferns Sol got me. You had better walk. It is only three miles, and young Bayliss can be sent over with the basket of provisions.”
“You’ll come, Jack?” said Bob.
Here was another impediment. The Lieutenant had twisted his ankle yesterday. He had not mentioned it to anyone at the time; but it was beginning to pain him now.
“Couldn’t do it, really,” said Jack. “Three miles there and three back.”
“Come on. Don’t be lazy,” said Bob.
“My dear fellow,” answered the Lieutenant, “I have had walking enough to last me the rest of my life. If you had seen how that energetic general of ours bustled me along from Cabul to Candahar, you’d sympathize with me.”
“Leave the veteran alone,” said Mr. Nicholas Cronin.
“Pity the war-worn soldier,” remarked Bob.