“Why, what’s up?” questioned Mr. Darling, sitting down on the tiny piano stool.
“We thought,” began Betsey in Mrs. Delight’s most charming manner, “that we might go on a picnic.”
“Hoo-ray!” cried Cousin Margaret, making Mr. Darling turn a splendid handspring across the little parlor.
“Why, John, I am ashamed of you,” said Betsey, sternly, for his wife, and trying in vain to stop laughing.
“I brought my camera that has legs,” said Mr. Darling, “and I’ll take your pictures.”
“We haven’t really a camera with legs, have we?” whispered Betsey.
“Down in my trunk,” said Cousin Margaret. “You begin to dress them in picnic clothes, and I’ll get it. I meant to save it until I went home, but I know you’d rather have it now.” She struggled to her feet, and left Betsey tying a soft blue ribbon around Mrs. Delight’s fluffy head. The camera proved to be a fascinating tin one, with a front part that pulled in and out beautifully.
“TAKE UP A SANDWICH AND LOOK PLEASANT,” SAID MR. DARLING
“Let’s hurry. I’m hungry already!” said Cousin Margaret, piling everything into the little touring-car,—basket, dog, Dinah, and shawls, helter-skelter. The car whizzed around the room a few times, and stopped with a jolt at the picnic grounds.