As far as could be gathered, nothing was the matter with this time-honored festivity, and plans and preparations began. The latter were on a somewhat less elaborate scale than those undertaken in honor of the Fourth, partly because Peggy, who easily ranked as chief cook, had undertaken to find a desirable picnic-ground and secure a suitable vehicle for transporting the party. The double responsibility proved engrossing, and the cooking which went on in her absence was less inspirational in its character, and certainly less successful, than when Peggy was at the helm.
As Farmer Cole’s carry-all could not accommodate the party, a farm wagon with three seats, and abundant space for baskets, was put at their disposal, along with two horses of sedate and chastened mien. But Peggy looked at them askance. Peggy laid no claim to skill in horsemanship, and though lack of confidence was not one of her failings, she would almost as readily have undertaken to manage a team of giraffes, as this stolid pair, with their ruminative eyes, and drooping heads.
“I–I don’t suppose they’re likely to run away, are they?” questioned Peggy, making a brave effort to speak with nonchalance.
Joe, to whom the question was addressed, grinned broadly.
“If you can make ’em run,” he replied, “by licking ’em or scaring ’em or anything else, I’ll see you get a medal. Why, Bess here is twenty-three years old.” He struck the animal a resounding smack upon the flank which demonstration caused Bess to prick one ear reflectively. “Her frisky days are over,” continued Joe, “and Nat ain’t much better. A baby in arms could drive ’em.”
In spite of such encouraging assurances, Peggy did not feel at all certain of her ability to manage the double team on hilly country roads. Priscilla’s father kept a horse, it was true, but he was a rather spirited animal, and neither Priscilla nor her mother ever attempted to drive him. “They’ll all insist on my driving,” thought Peggy, as she turned her face toward Dolittle Cottage. “And what if I should drive into a gully and spill them out? I’ve half a mind to go back and see if Mr. Cole can possibly spare Joe.”
But before Peggy had time to retrace her steps, a somewhat familiar figure came into view at the turn of the road, a girl in a sunbonnet, with a tin pail in either hand. Peggy hurried forward to greet her, rejoicing in a possible solution of her problem.
“Oh, good afternoon. Do you know how to drive?”
Lucy Haines looked as surprised as if she had been questioned as to her ability to button her own shoes. “Why, of course,” she answered staring.
“I thought so. Then don’t you want to go on a picnic with us to-morrow and drive the horses? Joe says a baby could manage them, but I don’t feel equal to it, and I’m sure the other girls won’t. If you’ll come,” added Peggy with sudden inspiration, “we’ll have a berry-picking bee, and all fall to and help you, to make up for your squandering a day on us.”