They were well-drilled children. A list was hung on a veranda post, and each child kept consulting it while packing baskets. So many knives, forks, spoons, napkins, cups and saucers and plates must go in, also a huge frying-pan, a big pot for coffee which they were allowed on picnics. Bingi brought bacon, cold potatoes, an egg salad, jelly, chicken sandwiches, a chocolate cake, ginger snaps, two cream pies and lots of spread bread and butter. Oh! it was going to be a picnic that would warm a pony's heart—and I do so enjoy a picnic with nice boys and girls.
I stepped mournfully back under the lilacs and watched the closing of the baskets and the forming of the procession to the lake.
Everybody was smiling; even Big Chief who was a boy that was always cheered by the sight of food.
I paced slowly after the joyful children, my head drooping, my eyes on my young master who walked beside me, his gaze fixed apprehensively on the lake.
Suddenly that clever woman Mrs. Devering gave us an understanding glance over her shoulder.
"Daddy," she called in her clear voice to Mr. Devering, who was leading with the biggest baskets, "is this little pony broken to harness?"
"Oh! yes, he was for some years in Ohio, where one sees ponies hauling two or four persons in carts and small surreys."
"Good!" she exclaimed. "I'd like to drive to the warden's. It will be all right for me to put Pony in the small cart?"
"Certainly," he said. "Who will go with you?"