On the way she espied Mrs. Henderson hurrying down the street in utter disregard of the fiery heat.
“Get in, Hennie,” called Virginia, when Ike stopped the car. “I must talk to you and I want to make you as comfortable as I can.”
“Don’t mind me, child,” protested the widow. “I am a hardened sinner whom it behooves to become accustomed to heat.”
In a few words the girl explained the plan for the picnic.
“It is a splendid thing to do,” Mrs. Henderson agreed. “Of course I’ll be glad to help. Good gracious, sick babies all around us and at our church we are dawdling over a new bell rope and a lock for the front door.”
“It is such a relief to know that you are going to help,” exclaimed Virginia; “but away down in my heart I knew that you would.”
“There, there, dearie, I’m an old crank who is always minding other people’s business–and getting kicked for it,” she ended petulantly. “Hereafter,” she affirmed emphatically, “I am going to attend to my own affairs.” A great energy filled her and she turned to Virginia, her own words forgotten. “What can I do? If you will let Serena help me, I will attend to the refreshments.”
“Hennie, you are a dear–that much is settled.” Virginia sighed with relief. “Now where can we have the picnic? Parks which have bands and dancing won’t do at all.”
“You are right. These mothers and babies need rest and quiet. A grove by the river would be ideal.”
“Oh, surely, that is where we must go.” The girl waxed enthusiastic. “The babies can roll upon the grass and play together.”