“No, ’tain’t to my credit, Peggy,” retorted the cobbler, “but ’tis to yours, wife.”
By the time Lafe finished this statement, Mr. King and Jinnie Grandoken were bowling along a white road toward a hill bounding the west side of the lake.
“See that basket down here?” said the man after a long silence.
“Yes.”
“That’s our picnic dinner! I brought everything I thought a little girl with a sweet tooth might like.” 215
Jinnie had forgotten about food. Her mind had dwelt only upon the fact she was going to be with him all day, one of those long, beautiful days taken from Heaven’s cycle for dear friends. The country, too, stretched in majestic splendor miles ahead of them, trees rimming the road on each side and making a thick woodland as far as one could see.
“I’m glad I brought my fiddle,” Jinnie remarked presently.
“I am, too,” said Theodore.
The place he chose for their outing was far back from the highway, and leaving the car at one side of the road, they threaded their way together to it. The sky above was very blue, the lake quietly reflecting its sapphire shades. Off in the distance the high hills gazed down upon the smaller ones, guarding them in quietude.
Theodore spread one of the auto robes on the ground, and shyly Jinnie accepted his invitation to be seated.