But he merely waved his hand and went on.
"They are the largest crowd here, anyway, with the possible exception of the Mayflower descendants. They have a whole valley to themselves, beyond the second hill. Some say there are twelve million of them, but no one knows. Recently they applied for another valley, for theirs is full. You see it is so thickly planted with family trees that they have to live in deep shade all the time, and it is very damp and chilly. Then there are upwards of three hundred thousand tons of grandfather's clocks, brass warming-pans, cradles, chairs and tables, so they hardly can find standing room."
We walked down amongst the people who were giving the picnic. I wanted to see what was the object of this lawn party, for it struck me that it looked more like the Elysian Fields than any other place.
I soon discovered my mistake. Near the first group of tables was a sign with the inscription: "Grand Dames of the Pequot War," and at one of the tables sat Mrs. Cornelia Crumpet. I remembered the hours I had spent hunting up two ancestors to enable Mrs. Crumpet to join the Grand Dames. I had found them at last, and so, apparently, had Mrs. Crumpet, for there could be no doubt that the pair of sorry-looking rascals whom she was entertaining at luncheon were the long-lost ancestors. One of them was the most completely soiled individual I have ever seen. He was eating something or other, and he did not waste time with forks or any other implements. The other had finished his meal, and was leaning negligently back in his chair. He was smoking a large pipe, and he had his feet on the table.
Mrs. Crumpet wore an expression that showed that her past desire to discover these ancestors was as a passing whim, compared with her present deep, overpowering anxiety to be rid of them. I felt sorry for the poor lady; but she was not alone in her misery. All about her were Grand Dames of the Pequot War, engaged in entertaining their ancestors. Some of the ancestors were more agreeable, some far more distasteful to their descendants than Mrs. Crumpet's pair. None of the Grand Dames seemed to be having what could be called a jolly time.
My guide at last led me through the maze of tables and out into the open.
"We have a good many Japanese visitors in this section," said he. "They come to get some points from the Americans on ancestor-worship."
"What do they say?" I asked him.
"They just giggle and go away," he replied.
Beyond the genealogists we found a large group of people, who, the guide said, were the persons who borrow books and never return them. The complainants, in their case, were mainly private individuals rather than public libraries.