Norman was amused at the inequality of the sidewalks, sometimes rising above the carriage way, sometimes depressed far below, so that the pedestrian is obliged continually to go up and down steps, or inclined planes, and to mind his ways if he wishes to avoid a fall. The new stores open finely on the elevated sidewalks, and Norman was astonished to see the splendid rows of stores with elaborate iron fronts. The older houses and stores must be entered by descending steps to reach their level. Mrs. Percy told Norman the reason of this, that the city was built on a flat prairie, so low that the water would not run off, and the streets could not be drained; and so this enterprising people are lifting up the whole city six or seven feet, and there must be inequality of surface while this transition process is going on. Norman saw a frame house, mounted on rollers, leisurely making its way through the streets.
Charlie Percy, who was several years older than Norman had a chemical cabinet, and the boys had a very animated evening, trying a number of experiments, making colored fires, and making fire jump about the surface of the water.
“Here is an invitation for you, children,” said Mr. Percy, “which I have no doubt you will be very glad to accept. Mr. and Mrs. Bowers called to invite us to accompany them to Green Park, where they are to have a pic-nic.”
“How pleasant that will be,” exclaimed Emily; “I am sure you will like to go, Norman.”
The children were ready immediately after dinner, when Mr. Bowers’s carriage drove up for them, and at the station they found quite a party of children, baskets in hand, with their mothers and fathers, bound for the pic-nic. They were a joyous family party, Mr. Bowers’s sisters and their families. Norman looked from the cars upon the stately buildings of Michigan Avenue, and there was not time to look at much more, for a few minutes brought them to Green Park, and the party were soon out of the cars, and on a bank overlooking the lake. It is a pretty place, grassy turf, graveled walks, grateful shade, and rustic summer houses; better than all, the pleasant beach with its rounded pebbles, and the constant dash of its gentle waves. The children had merry games of tag and puss-in-the-corner, then they wandered along the beach, and then they came with sharpened appetites to inquire when the baskets were to be opened. “You may go and bring them now,” was the welcome response.
“Are we not to sit round the table in the summer-house?” asked one of the little girls.
“No,” replied her mamma, “it is cooler here.”
Willing feet ran to the rustic arbor, and willing hands brought the baskets from the rustic table. They seated themselves on the grass and ate the biscuits and sardines and sandwiches, and the gingerbread and cake. A little girl whom they did not know was playing near her father and mother, who were seated on a bench at a little distance. One of the children, with thoughtful kindness, asked her mother’s permission to take some biscuits and cake to the little stranger, and joyfully she ran off to offer of their abundance to the little one.
After they had done full justice to the contents of the baskets, and picked up pebbles on the beach, they sat in the large summer house and sang hymns, sweet familiar hymns, sung by sweet childish voices, sobering and sanctifying the pleasures of that happy Saturday afternoon.
At the station they found a merry party of school-girls who had walked out in the morning to gather flowers on the prairie. They were in high glee; their large straw hats were wreathed with oak leaves, and their hands were filled with great bunches of flowers,