That was so. Father always pulled the watermelons himself and always did it very early in the morning when the dew was still on them.
We started on our walk to the ford, the same walk we had taken the winter before on our memorable deer hunt. Uncle Peter loaded the melons into his wheelbarrow and Zebedee and Jo Winn swung the baskets on a stout pole which they carried between them. Cousin Park got between Dee and me and taking an arm of each proceeded on her ponderous way. I would gladly have wheeled the watermelons or carried the hampers. It would have been child's play beside the load we carried. Pug and Brindle trotted along, Brindle still ignoring the existence of Pug and Pug whimpering every time he caught Brindle's eye. Jo's setter kept well in advance and pretended he was none of us.
"Why do we go so far? Why not sit down right here and have our repast?" panted poor Cousin Park.
"But we are to fish at the river," suggested Cousin Sue, who was laden with Cousin Park's many cushions and bags and the knitting and dog biscuit.
"And there is such a fine spring there, too," I said, and added, knowing Cousin Park's weakness: "We can't make the coffee unless we get near a spring." And so we trudged on, Zebedee and Uncle Peter taking down the worm fences to let Cousin Park and the watermelons through, and then patiently building them up again.
There was the deep cathedral peace in the pine woods and our presence seemed almost a sacrilege as we tramped heavily over the soft bed of fragrant pine needles. Cousin Park had to sit down and rest every now and then and it took the combined effort of all the males, white and coloured, to get her on her feet after one of these pauses.
At last we reached our camping ground. The kindly and resourceful Zebedee made a bed for my august relative of pine boughs and with the help of the different sized and shaped pillows she was quite comfortable. With her various bags distributed around her and her knitting and her stupid Pug by her side she went off into a deep sleep, much to the relief and delight of all of us.
"Now we can be ourselves!" exclaimed Zebedee, turning handsprings like a boy; and Cousin Sue and Dee and I caught hold of hands and ran to the spring which sparkled and gurgled in a beautiful stone grotto at the foot of the hill near the river ford. Uncle Peter put all the melons into the little branch flowing from the spring and there they cooled to a queen's taste.
We made the camp fire and prepared the coffee well away from Cousin Park and we devoutly hoped that she would sweetly sleep until her favourite beverage was ready.
What a good time we did have that day! We fished in the river, and while our catch was nothing to be proud of, we had fun all the same. Dee caught a catfish that pulled and tugged at her line like a veritable whale. She finally landed it with a shriek that made Cousin Park stir uneasily from her bed of pine boughs and brought on herself, Dee, a good shaking from Zebedee.