The basket was dragged from its hiding-place, and longing faces peered eagerly and greedily into its contents.
“On, oh! I say, cherries! and what a lot! Good Betty! dear, darling Betty! you gathered those from your own trees, and they are as ripe as your apple-blossom cheeks! Now then, what next? I do declare, meringues! Betty knew my weakness. Twelve meringues—that is one and a half apiece; Susan Drummond sha’n’t have more than her share. Meringues and cheesecakes and—tartlets—oh! oh! what a duck Betty is! A plum-cake—good, excellent Betty, she deserves to be canonised! What have we here? Roast chickens—better and better! What is in this parcel? Slices of ham; Betty knew she dare not show her face again if she forgot the ham. Knives and forks, spoons—fresh rolls—salt and pepper, and a dozen bottles of ginger-beer, and a little corkscrew in case we want it.”
These various exclamations came from many lips. The contents of the basket were carefully and tenderly replaced, the lid was fastened down, and it was once more consigned to its hiding-place under the thick boughs of the laurel.
Not a moment too soon, for just at this instant Susan cackled fiercely, and the little group withdrew, Annie first whispering—
“At twelve to-night, then, girls—oh, yes, I have managed the key.”
Chapter Twenty Seven.
Truants.
It was a proverbial saying in the school that Annie Forest was always in hot water; she was exceedingly daring, and loved what she called a spice of danger. This was not the first stolen picnic at which Annie reigned as queen, but this was the largest she had yet organised, and this was the first time she had dared to go out of doors with her satellites.