“It isn’t so awfully hard,” said Kitty. “Got to keep your head, though. Mustn’t slip, either. Might have a bad fall.”
Rodney looked down for some fifteen or twenty feet and shuddered. “You might,” he agreed dryly, “even from here. If you fell further up I guess you’d never know what struck you.”
The twins were already undoing the parcels and arranging the luncheon, and Kitty volunteered to go for water. As, however, they had brought along nothing larger than tin cups it was decided that they should do without water until they wanted it, and then each one should go for his own. “We can bring up enough for Matty and May in a cup,” said Rodney. But Tad instantly declared that if he didn’t have a drink at once he wouldn’t be able to eat a mouthful, and so presently set off down the path with four cups to fill.
Kitty and Rodney helped set the viands around on paper napkins and box covers. There were sandwiches and hard boiled eggs, doughnuts—Tad had insisted on doughnuts—and cake, a jar of currant jelly, olives, pickles, and bananas. They were observing the spread approvingly when the sound of scrambling footsteps reminded them of Tad. He was toiling up the path, two cups of water in each hand, pausing at intervals to maintain his equilibrium, and grunting fearsomely. Now and then the water from the cups splashed out into his shoes or on to his shirt. By careful management he finally attained to within a few yards of the ledge, and just as those on top were about to accord congratulations something happened.
I think Tad stumbled over a rock. At all events he waved his arms wildly, distributing the contents of the tin cups in a shower about him, strove heroically to recover his balance, failed, and toppled against the side of the path, while the cups went bounding and clattering down the rock. Tad’s descent to a sitting posture was gradual and extraordinarily deliberate. Clutching wildly at the air, an expression of bewildered surprise and dismay on his face, he sank slowly down the face of the rock, his feet slipping from under him in spite of all his efforts to find foothold. When he finally brought up his feet hung over the edge of the path and he was seated quite cozily and comfortably with his back to the rock for all the world as though he had settled there purposely to observe the view. Up above three faces struggled against the laughter that would not be denied. Only Kitty remained grave. He blinked with mild surprise. It was Tad who relieved the situation. Finding his progress down the rock at an end, he looked about him and then at his bespattered clothes. Finally, with a grin, he raised his gaze to the quivering faces above him.
“‘Water, water everywhere,’” he quoted pathetically, “‘and not a drop to drink!’”
Whereupon Rodney and the twins laughed until the tears came, and Kitty, after consideration, smiled as if in duty bound. Then he went down and helped Tad to his feet, rescued the tin cups, and set off himself for the water. Five minutes later, sitting up there in the sunshine with a mild autumn breeze fluttering the paper napkins about, they lunched hungrily, enjoyably, laughing and chattering and voting the picnic a huge success.