“Oh, there’s the photographer!” joyfully called out Rosa, and then—
Nancy had to have her picture taken, standing on the end of the landing, with her dripping little friend in her arms. The photographer would call it, he said, “a prompt rescue.”
This brought the entire picnic down to the water’s edge, and the usual accident had presently been successfully disposed of. There were other incidents, many of them, but they did not prevent the day from drawing to a close. Shadows hovered threateningly near when Margot and Thomas passed around the favors, those pretty handkerchiefs, and the ride back to the station was soon marked as the final treat.
Nancy had changed into a fresh outfit and little Mattie was made happy in the smallest dress that could be borrowed in the neighborhood, prettier than the one she wore before the wetting, which made up for everything to Mattie.
It had been wonderful, that day in all the summer for the Fernlode folks, but Rosa and Nancy had not forgotten Orilla.
“We can go directly from the train to her mother’s,” Nancy proposed, as they neared the station. “I have a feeling that something is really wrong with Orilla.”
“Because she was sick last night?” Rosa asked. They were presently piling the children in the cars and had little chance to talk.
“That and—you know she said she would be here to-day if she were able,” Nancy made opportunity to answer. “And I know she meant to keep her word.”