The wagon had halted on a stretch of partially cleared pasture where the early summer flowers were much in evidence. Not far away was a splendid grove, chestnuts mingling with oak and maple, and the trees far enough apart so that the grass had a chance to flourish at their roots. The pleasant sound of running water, without which no landscape is complete, rose from a ravine to the right, its rocky sides feathered with delicate ferns. With little shrieks of rapture, the girls ran from one point of beauty to another, while Lucy unharnessed, her efforts supplemented by willing, though awkward assistance on Peggy’s part.
Contrary to the habit of most picnic parties, which eat on arriving at their destination, regardless of the hour, the delights of exploration for a time rendered these picnickers oblivious to the clamorous voice of appetite. It was Dorothy who first turned the thoughts of the company in the more practical direction by announcing plaintively, “My stomach is so hungry that it hurts, Aunt Peggy. I wish I had the teentiest bit of a sandwidge.”
“Poor dear,” cried Peggy, “I believe I’m hungry myself.” And then with surprising unanimity, each picnicker from Aunt Abigail down, declared herself on the verge of starvation. The big baskets were taken from the wagon, a red and white checked table-cloth spread upon the grass, and various appetizing viands set out in order. From one of the springs which sent a trickling tribute down the sides of the ravine to the brook below, water was brought for the lemonade.
Lucy Haines, who had lent deft assistance, had barely seated herself upon the grass, before she was on her feet again. “The sun’s got at poor old Bess already,” she said, as Peggy glanced up inquiringly. “I’ll have to tie her in the shade, or I can’t enjoy my luncheon.”
Bess, who was gazing on the landscape with lack-lustre eyes, submitted to be led into the shade of a big maple, without evidencing any especial appreciation of Lucy’s thoughtfulness. Lucy tied the halter to the snake fence, and returned to the group on the grass, who were already justifying their claims regarding their appetite by an indiscriminate slaughter of sandwiches.
“After we’ve eaten–I don’t want you to look like a row of Indian famine sufferers–I’m going to take a picture of the crowd,” announced Amy. “Don’t you think it’s nice to have little souvenirs of such good times? Pass the stuffed eggs to Lucy, somebody. She hasn’t eaten anything.”
“I’ve made a pretty good beginning, I think,” said Lucy with the grave smile which made her seem a score of years older than her light-hearted companions. She helped herself to an egg, and immediately dropped it on the table-cloth and sprang to her feet. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed in a tone of consternation.
The others rose as hastily. Farmer Cole’s Bess was stamping frantically, and pulling on her halter in a way that bore eloquent testimony to the stability of Lucy’s knots.
“I’ve tied her close to a hornets’ nest,” explained Lucy, her voice still indicating dismay. “She’s stamped about and stirred them up. Well, there’s only one thing to do. She’s got to be untied before things are any worse.”
“Wait!” Peggy had seized her arm. “If you go over there you’ll get stung.”