The farm horses--Grandfather Bell's pride, and with reason, for they were a fine pair of blacks--led the way, the new surrey carrying such a jolly company that the guests, following close behind in the smart trap, tried in vain to rival their hilarity. The three Townsends were all arrayed in white linen from head to foot, and presented a cool and attractive spectacle; but Murray's eyes watched with envy the parti-coloured group in the conveyance ahead, and Olive reluctantly owned to herself that Jane's fresh little blue cotton frock, while better suited to a farm picnic than one of white linen, was also a charming spot of colour upon the landscape.
"Now, who's going fishing?" called back Peter, as he drove his steeds briskly in through Grandfather Bell's gateway, followed by the trap at its best pace. "It's clouding over now, so that we ought to have some good sport--if the rain holds off, and I think it will, judging by the wind. Grandfather Bell can tell us that," he added, as a tall old man of a hale and vigorous aspect came out of the house to greet his guests.
"The rain won't bother you before afternoon, I guess," prophesied Grandfather Bell, shaking hands cordially with his guests. "When it does, you 'd better put for the house. You can have your picnic indoors, where you won't get your clothes wet," and his glance fell on the three white-clad young people from the city.
"Never mind our clothes," said Murray. "We were thinking of the hot day coming when we put them on. It would have been more sensible to dress like you fellows," and he glanced from Ross's worn gray corduroys to Peter's faded blue flannels, in which costumes both young men looked ruggedly--and not unattractively--ready for roughing it.
"Picnics appeal to people from different points of view," suggested Ross. "Now, Miss Olive can certainly sit on a rock and watch Peter, Rufe, Nan and myself fish, giving us practical suggestions from time to time--in a whisper. Perhaps she 'll photograph us with that camera she has there. But I would advise that Mr. Murray Townsend, Miss Shirley Townsend, and Miss Jane Bell, sit apart on some mossy bank and read some pleasant tale about fishing."
"Nonsense. You talk like a stage manager," jeered Peter. "Miss Olive 's going to do some real fishing if Grandmother Bell has to lend her a dress to go home in--and so are the rest. Fishing is the first thing on this programme and fishing is to be done. You saw to the rods and lines, Rufe--where are they?"
Rufe raced away to the barns, and came back with a full fishing equipment for everybody. After greeting Grandmother Bell, a pleasant little old lady, with a warm welcome for every one, the party proceeded through the orchard and down a long, maple-Leaded lane to the river--a picturesque spot, which had been the paradise of the Bell family from its earliest recollections.
Here sport reigned for an hour, although few fish were caught. The spirit of hilarity ruled the holiday too thoroughly to admit of much wooing of the frightened prey; but nobody minded except Rufus, who finally left the others and wandered away up-stream, whence he returned after a time, triumphant, with a respectable showing of fish.
"The clouds don't look as threatening as they did. Could n't we climb that small hill on the other side of the river? I 've been looking at that winding path for an hour, wishing I could see where it leads," said Murray to Jane, propping his fishing-rod against a tree.
"It leads to a little hemlock grove, and a field of corn beyond," answered Jane, fanning her flushed and laughing face with her wide-brimmed hat.