"A splendid idea!" I cried. "By all means let us have it."
"And so say I," said Mr. Faulkner.
"Can you spare the time?" I asked.
"I will spare the time," was his reply.
"We should not go till after luncheon," said my aunt. "Mr. Dicks proposes taking us all to have tea at the Warren—in proper gipsy fashion, of course. We will take a kettle and all the necessary paraphernalia, and make a fire on the common to boil the kettle. We can get milk and water at the farm."
It sounded charming to me. The Warren was a beautiful, high common, about seven miles away, the haunt of innumerable rabbits, and yielding a rich harvest of blackberries in their season. Olive and I had loved going there as children, for its wild, broken ground and clumps of Scotch firs had made a delightful playground. A full, deep stream ran on one side of it, and, descending to the valley below, turned the wheel of a picturesque mill which stood there, and was the delight of artists.
Colonel Hyde had expressed his willingness to join the excursion, and Alan Faulkner and I had just decided that we would go on our bicycles, when Agneta entered the room. She apologised for her lateness as she listlessly took her seat. Mr. Dicks made haste to tell her of his grand project, but her face evinced no pleasure as she heard of it.
"I will ask you to excuse me," she said, "I am not fond of picnics."
"Oh, but you must go," said Mr. Dicks. "We cannot leave you at home by yourself. You shall have Paulina's bicycle if you would like to ride."
"Thank you, but I would rather not," she said. "I do not feel at all inclined to ride in this heat."