'And swallowing nineteen fresh eggs to clear his voice for the concert!'
'I say, Miss Underwood, what songs have you brought?'
'And what's to become of the Der Freischütz song without your brother Lance?'
'Can't the Squire take his part? His voice is a capital one.'
'Oh yes—he is thrush to Lance's nightingale—not so high—fuller in the lower notes—and he can't play such tricks with it,' said Angela; 'but whether you'll get him is another thing. That Countess of ours has no more music in her than an owl!'
'Can't she be suppressed? Whoever heard of a Penbeacon picnic without a song?'
The feast took place with all the merriment produced by the combined forces of seventeen people, not one of whom had reached the middle point of life; but when it was over, the sun was still so powerful, and the air so sultry, as to bring to mind that this festival had taken place earlier in the year than usual. No one was willing to quit the luxurious nests in the bracken, and the ceremony of mountain-scaling was deferred till after the songs for which the pupils clamoured, and Lady Caergwent heartily said how unlike fine old songs in the open air would be from the tiresome drawing-room performances, that seemed to her an invention for interrupting interesting conversation. In the pause of preparation, she made, however, some inquiries whether the arrow-head she had been told about grew on the intended path, and if not, how it could be reached.
'I'll show you the way,' cried Bernard eagerly. 'It is only down there,' when he heard the place.
'Only!—my dear Kate! I don't let him inveigle you—it is nearer two miles than a mile and a half,' said Robina; 'and all through stony thickets and bogs—and in this heat! We will try to drive you there, or send for it.'
'I'll go; I'll be back long before they've done singing,' said Bernard. 'What is it like?'