CHAPTER V
A SAFE AND SANE FOURTH
“The three-legged race is what I’m dying to see,” Amy declared. “It sounds so mysterious, you know, like some new kind of quadruped. No, I don’t mean that,” she added hastily, as Peggy laughed. “Quadrupeds have to have four legs, don’t they? Well, anyway, it sounds like something queer.”
The village celebration of the approaching Fourth of July had for some days been the chief topic of conversation in Dolittle Cottage. The idea of a picnic, with the whole community invited, was in itself a startling innovation to girls who were city-bred, and the entertainment promised in the shape of various contests, winding up with a baseball game between the “Fats” and the “Leans” appealed to them all, more or less strongly. Peggy, with that faculty for picking up information which would have made her an unqualified success as a newspaper reporter, was continually announcing new items of interest, that Farmer Cole’s Joe was to pitch for the “Leans,” or that Jerry Morton had won the potato race the previous Fourth, and meant to enter again, or that Rosetta Muriel disdained the promiscuous appeal of the picnic, but thought she might bring herself to view the fireworks in the evening.
The morning of the third was for the most part given up to preparing the picnic luncheon, and Jerry Morton, who sampled Peggy’s doughnuts still hot from the kettle, carried away a new-born respect for the accomplishments of that versatile young person. Mrs. Snooks, too, arriving when the house was fragrant with the mingled odors of blueberry turnovers, spiced cake and gingersnaps, sniffed appreciatively, and lost no time in expressing her surprise.
“Well, I want to know. I’ve heard tell that city folks most generally bought their cake and stuff, instead of baking it. Dreadful shiftless way, I call it. I just dropped in to see if you could let me have half a pail of lard and a table-spoonful of soda.”
Even the generous Peggy rejoiced that the opportunity to say no had arrived at last.
“I’ve just used up the last of the lard, Mrs. Snooks, and we haven’t thought to get any soda yet.”
“You don’t mean to tell me that you’ve been getting along without baking-soda,” exclaimed Mrs. Snooks with unconcealed disappointment. “Well, well! Young folks are certainly thoughtless. And here you’ve used up all your lard, and to-morrow the Fourth, and the store shut.” From all appearances Mrs. Snooks was having something of a struggle to control her irritation at such evidences of short-sightedness. It was clear, however, that her efforts had been crowned with success, when she announced with an explosive sigh, “Well, if you haven’t lard or baking-soda, I’ll take a cup of granulated sugar, and a ball of darning cotton. Yes, black, I guess, though if you’re out of black, ’most any color will do.”
It was certainly disappointing when after such preparations and anticipations, the girls were waked on the morning of the Fourth by the beating of rain on the roof. The most optimistic of weather prophets could have seen no promise of clearing in the lowering sky. The girls had roused a little early, in honor of the occasion, and they came down-stairs with gloomy faces, and over the oatmeal and bacon exchanged condolences. “To think that the first really rainy day had to be the Fourth,” scolded Priscilla. “And when we had made up our minds to be so patriotic, too.”