“Hurrah, here we go!” said Hilary, weaving the bit of vine in one of her braids as the line started.
A pasteboard plate received the necessary silver, hot beans spooned out of the kettle by one councillor, two or three “wieners” forked out by the presiding masculine genius of the fire, the bread and butter for the sandwiches, mustard if one wanted it, the good “picnic pickles” and a sanitary cup for either water or milk. Dessert was to come later, delicious watermelons, not brought down the hill, but served nearer the entrance to the pine grove.
Evening came at last. Camp garb was laid aside for the pretty summer dresses appropriate to the occasion. The girls thought that the bell would never ring. The finishing touches seemed to take the councillors forever! But at last the big bell clanged out its invitation, and the girls came hurrying down the hill.
The dining-room looked almost like a bit of the pine grove, for the rafters were covered by the green branches of the whole trees that had been brought to deck the place, and stood around the supporting pillars and at the sides of the room. White pine, balsam and arborvitæ filled the dining hall with spicy odor. And if any were shocked at the cutting of these big “Christmas trees”, they might have been told that they were carefully selected where thinning was necessary and where the trees would never have reached a perfect maturity when all had grown larger.
“O, isn’t it a dream!” exclaimed Lilian, as she found the place card with her name on it at the same table with Cathalina, Hilary, Betty and Eloise. “Look at these darling menu cards!”
“And read it,” said Hilary. “They’re too funny. Let’s see if we can make out what the different things really are.”
“What do you suppose ‘Brunswick Special’ is?” wondered Cathalina.
“Maybe our pickles,” said Eloise. “No, it isn’t in the right place,—O, I know, corn!”
“And the ‘Young Fried Flappers’ are the fried chickens, of course, and Charlotte Young’s name.”
“Here’s ‘Piggly Wiggly’, now what can that be?”