CHAPTER XXI.—THE PICNIC.
At breakfast next morning the children were in high spirits.
Augusta had awakened without any headache or any pricks of conscience. “Let Uncle Peter come now,” she said to herself; “I won’t be afraid of him.”
It happened to be a lovely morning, and the windows of the pretty breakfast-room were wide open. The gardener was mowing the grass on the tennis-lawn; the roses and other climbing flowers peeped in at the lattice-window, and sweet summer scents filled the room.
“Poor, poor darling mother,” exclaimed Kitty as she seated herself at the breakfast-tray; “how awfully fagged she must be! I do hope she will soon come back.”
“We ought not to wish her to come back too soon,” said Nora, who always happened to say just the right thing; “for if Mrs. Rashleigh is very sad mother can comfort her.”
“Do see what you are doing!” cried Augusta at that moment. “You have overfilled the teapot, and the tea is running out on the tray.”
Kitty laughed gleefully, and soon rectified her mistake, and the meal progressed, accompanied by gay remarks of all sorts.
“Uncle Peter ought to be here by eleven o’clock,” said Nora. “The train arrives at Fairlight at half-past ten; he is sure to come by it.”
“What are we to do to-day?” asked Augusta. “Have we any plans, girls? I think we might”——