"Very funny." Fuller turned to Ellen again. "Do you think it's decent of Andy to worry his friends like this?"
She studied Pearce a moment, her dark eyes solemn. Then she moved her slim shoulders in a philosophical shrug. "Since we've come this far, I guess we'll just have to put up with it."
"That's the spirit!" Pearce said. "Just put your lives in my hands, little ones—and let the insurance premiums fall where they may." He bent to pick up the suitcase and the record player, hoping that he had moved quickly enough to hide the pain and unhappiness that had momentarily showed in his face. The situation was proving more difficult than he had thought it would be. He had hoped to make the picnic a light-hearted affair, to keep Fuller and Ellen from suspecting at the very outset that something unusual was taking place.
He strode into the woods. Fuller followed with the blankets and the beer carton, and Ellen with the basket of food.
The glade proved easy enough to locate. It was smaller than Pearce remembered, but the semi-circle of large stones along one side was much the same. The trees that rose all around gave their old effect of seclusion, of shutting out the world. Beyond the enclosure they made were the shadows cast by inter-laced boughs, and through these came the plaintive cries of birds, somehow like the sound of waves on an island shore.
Pearce glanced around him slowly, relishing the familiarity of the scene, his thoughts leaping a chasm of fifteen years. One memory in particular was suddenly very vivid.
"So this is the place, Andy," Ellen said behind him. "Why, it's just perfect!" She swung to Fuller. "Don't you think this is worth the drive?"
"I refuse to give my opinion until I've had enough beer to put me in the proper mood," Fuller growled.
"Start opening it, then," Ellen said. "I'll get the food ready."