“Or we could stretch a wash-line near the ground from the barn-eaves to the pole, and toboggan an airship down that way,” added Jack.
“I’d rather play Washington crossing the Delaware, or at his farm when he was through being president of the United States,” said John, tenaciously clinging to the times of his ancestors.
“No one can cross the ice on the river when it’s fall!” scorned George conclusively.
“Then we can have the farm!” insisted John.
“Hoh, we have farm enough—no one wants to play farmer!” objected George.
“Oh, well! Play anything then—I don’t care!” snapped John.
But a call from the veranda settled all such troubles. “Children, who wants to go on a picnic?”
“I do! I do!” sounded from every throat, and the children speedily rushed over to ask questions about the proffered treat.
“Everybody secure permission at home, and meet us here in half an hour. I’ll look after the luncheon, so hurry up,” said Mrs. Parke.
Everything else was forgotten in the bustle of preparing for the unexpected outing.