Queenie’s face fell.
“Oh, how tiresome! Why can’t they arrange things differently? Are you sure, Phil?”
“About the young birds, Queenie? Yes, I’m afraid I am sure.”
For a few minutes she looked a good deal cast down, but then a brighter look crossed her face.
“I’ll tell you what we can do, Phil,” she said, with energy. “We can have a good look at the place, and make David tell us where all the best places are; and then, you know, when the spring comes round—”
Phil tossed his cap into the air.
“To be sure, Queenie! you’re a brick for thinking of things.”
CHAPTER XIII.
A PICNIC.
