Mrs. Bryan and Marie came up to them now—getting Marie out of the water had been a fairly easy matter—and made the others get up.
“Edith and Marie must go straight and get off their wet things!” the older woman advised. “And Adelaide’s feet are wet, too.”
“Where had we better go?” asked Marie, calm as ever, though nobody could have been much wetter than she was up to her waist.
“Old Mary’s is the quickest place,” said Mrs. Bryan. “Hurry, now—run, or you’ll catch cold. Adelaide and I are coming, too.”
The whole party—for Winnie and Helen wanted to see the finish—set off at a brisk trot for Old Mary’s.
Old Mary was an elderly Irishwoman who earned her living mostly by taking in washing, but also by selling ginger-ale, cookies and sandwiches to such picnics and automobile parties as came her way. Her little house was close to the picnic-woods.
“They’re sure of a good fire to change their things by, that’s one comfort,” said Winnie to Helen as they ran along in the rear of their dripping friends.
“Yes, but——” Helen began to laugh. “What are they going to change to?” she inquired. “We didn’t any of us bring our trunks—it isn’t done on picnics!”
“They’ll have to go to bed!” was Winnie’s solution, and they both began to laugh again.
“It’s a shame, though, to have them miss all the picnic,” said Winnie, sobering down.