"Do you know that nature is telling me a story about little Jack Horner, and I think I should like to put my hand in that hamper and pull out a plum—in other words, I'm hungry, Isabel," said Mr. Dean.
So they all attacked the "big luncheon," and when they had eaten all the chicken, and rolls, and cake, and fruit that they possibly could, and had given the white kitten the bones, they were disposed to rest, and all but Amy lounged on the moss in every attitude of perfect ease. Suddenly Miss Isabel asked, "Where is Amy?" And that moment a faint scream came as answer to her question. Everybody ran towards the direction whence the sound came. There stood poor little Mrs. Peace Plenty up to her knees in black mud, and if she tried to extricate one foot the other only sank the deeper.
"I came to get some water," she sobbed, "and when I came around here behind the spring to see what it looked like I got stuck."
"Never mind, Amy, we'll pull you out," said Mr. Dean cheerily. "Jack, help me drag this dead tree over."
They swung the fallen trunk around, and with that to stand on soon pulled Amy out, and set the poor child on firm land again, though with both her low shoes gone, and her skirts in a sorry plight.
"It's lucky that it is time to go home," remarked Miss Isabel, as she took off Amy's stockings to rub her feet. "You must carry her to the wagon."
Mr. Dean obediently shouldered the little girl, and they started in procession out of the woods.
"I am glad the hampers are empty," remarked Mr. Dean. "Mrs. Peace Plenty is a solid little body."
The drive home in the long, warm rays of the afternoon sun warmed Amy thoroughly and restored her shaken nerves.
"I never had such a lovely birthday in all my life, and I thank you ever and ever so much," said Trix, as they set her down at her own gate.