“Who’s hungry anyway after last night?” asked Nita.
“I am,” declared Eleanor. “They took away my salad before I was through with it, and K. stole my ice.”
“Well, you’re growing fat,” Katherine defended herself, “and you’ve got to save your lovely slenderness until after Mary’s wedding. She’ll tell everybody that you’re the college beauty and you must live up to the reputation or we shall be undone.”
Katherine knew that she couldn’t come on from Kankakee for that wedding, and Helen and Rachel knew that they couldn’t either, though they lived nearer. And Madeline was sailing on Saturday for Italy, “to stay until daddy’s paint-box runs out of Italian colors.” But they didn’t talk about those things at the picnic, nor on the swift ride home across the dark meadows, nor even at Cuyler’s, which looked empty and deserted when they tramped noisily in and ordered their ices.
“Everybody else is too busy to go on picnics,” said Bob.
“We always did know how to have the best kind of times,” declared Babbie proudly.
“Of course. Aren’t we ‘Merry Hearts’?” queried Babe. “Being nice to freaks was only half of being a ‘Merry Heart.’”
“Why, girls,” cried Nita excitedly, “as long as we didn’t give away the ‘Merry Hearts,’ we can go on being them, can’t we?”
“We couldn’t stop if we tried,” said Madeline. “Remember, girls, two is a ‘Merry Hearts’ quorum. Whenever two of us get together they can have a meeting.”
They said good-night with the emphasis strongly on the last syllable, and went at the neglected packing in earnest. Betty’s train didn’t go until nearly ten the next morning, but Helen left at nine and Madeline and Roberta ten minutes later, so there wouldn’t be much time for anything but the good-byes, that, do what you might, could not be put off any longer.