“You could hardly call Nat and Bess spirited,” Peggy replied, when she could make herself heard. “Not if you keep them away from hornets’ nests, anyway.” She explained her qualification by telling the story of the other memorable picnic, and the description of the two old horses which Farmer Cole had placed at the disposal of the cottagers entirely relieved Elaine’s uncertainty.
“I’ll do it, then. I seem to be a regular Jack-at-a-pinch,” she laughed.
“You’re an emergency girl, and I’m proud of you,” Peggy declared. “The wonder of it is that we’ve been able to get along without you this summer. Now that you’re here, you seem indispensable.”
Accordingly it happened that Jerry Morton, from a point of concealment in the underbrush, watched a farm-wagon rattle past the following morning, the faces of the occupants indicating high spirits, their voices blending jubilantly, in spite of his rejection of the chance to share the day’s pleasure. “The new one’s driving,” Jerry said to himself. “But then, they could tie the lines to the whip stock and them two old plugs would take ’em there all right, just so they didn’t fall down on the way.” It was a relief to him to know that his refusal had not detracted from the pleasure of the company, and yet he was inconsistent enough to resent the gay chatter and the unclouded cheeriness of the smiling faces. He plunged back into the woods, well aware that his surreptitious glimpse had not helped to ease that inner disquiet.
The drive scheduled for the morning was longer than that to Day’s Woods, but the charm of their destination was worth the extra effort. The spot to which they had been directed was a knoll on the river’s edge, crowned by tall pine-trees, whose needles formed a fragrant carpet. Snake River was an erratic stream, which, to judge from appearances, lived up to the principle of always following the line of the least resistance. It turned and twisted in fantastic curves, suggesting that the name Snake River might have been applied because of its serpentine windings. Charming little islands dotted its course, like green beads strung irregularly upon a silver cord. To add to its attractions, there was a dwelling near the knoll, with a barn where their horses could be cared for, and the white-haired, rheumatic old man who led Nat and Bess away to their well-earned oats, pointed out two canoes, fastened to a silver birch at the river’s edge, which could be rented for the moderate sum of ten cents apiece for the entire day.
As on all well-conducted picnics, luncheon came early, and then followed the diversions which invariably contribute to the pleasure of such festive occasions. The girls strolled in the woods, picked the showy, scentless flowers, which had replaced the small, fragrant blossoms of springtime, and took little excursions on the river, two to a canoe. The strength of the current was something of a surprise. Ruth and Amy floating down the stream, and barely dipping their paddles into the water, had exclaimed over the ease of propelling the little bark. But the attempt to return to their starting-point had proved that the smoothly flowing water had a will of its own. The paddles were plied vigorously, and the girls reached the birch-tree with little beads of moisture showing at their temples, and an unusual color in their cheeks.
“Another time I’d paddle up stream and float down,” exclaimed Amy, stepping ashore, and fanning herself with her hat. “I want my hard times at the start. But who would have supposed that there was such a current in this lazy old river?”
Characteristically Peggy defended the reputation of the stream. “It’s not lazy a bit. Up here it winds around a good deal, but that’s only its playtime. Just a mile or two below are the falls, and I think the power is carried quite a long way to some town for electric lights and that sort of thing. So Snake River’s really a worker.”
The drowsy hour of the afternoon had arrived. The breeze which had been so fresh in the early morning had died down. The pine-trees on the knoll rustled softly, and the sound was as soothing as a lullaby. “I believe I’ll feel better for a nap,” said Aunt Abigail, and forthwith settled herself on a steamer rug, spread out invitingly. The suggestion proved popular, and the younger members of the party followed her example, except that most of them stretched out luxuriously on the pine needles, sun-warmed and fragrant.
Dorothy looked about on the somnolent gathering with dismay. “Aunt Peggy, I don’t like sleepy picnics. I want to play tag.”