"Dear little Boris!" exclaimed Annie; "dear, good, plucky little Boris! The moment I looked at him I knew I should adore him. But see here, Kitty, the hour is up now, isn't it?"
"Oh, yes, of course; some time ago."
"Then he'll follow us, won't he?"
"How can he? He can't come alone; it's nearly an hour's drive to Friar's Wood."
"Of course he cannot walk," said Annie, impatiently; "but haven't you got a trap or carriage, or horse, or something?"
"No, I'm afraid we haven't," said Kitty, looking very sorrowful. "There's only old Rover, who draws the waggonette, and Dobbin the pony, and Jacko the donkey. Of course, there's father's mare, she's quite a beauty; but we are none of us allowed to have anything to do with her."
"Then we are not to have dear little Boris at the picnic?" said Annie; "I declare I shan't enjoy it a bit. I want him to be my own special knight."
"What do you want a knight for?" asked Kitty, looking up with interest.
"What do I want a knight for? You silly child, all fair ladies want their own true knights."
"You are a very fair lady," said Kitty. "At least, I mean you're a very lovely lady—very, very lovely; but can't you do with Guy or Harry for a knight?"