At noonday they set out in the old wagon that had made the trip to Allenboro, Carl driving, with Aunt Gertrude and the twins beside him, Jane and Elise in the back with the luncheon hamper, books, embroidery and games.
And away they rumbled. Aunt Gertrude who actually had not been into the open country lying around Frederickstown in years, had set her heart on picnicking in one particular spot.
“I remember it from the time when I was a girl,” she said, blushing as she did so easily. “Long ago we had a picnic there—it’s about a mile below the Webster’s farm, Carl—I’ll show you—Nellie Webster, and Sam (she was referring to Dolly’s father and mother) and poor Nannie Muller and Ben McAllister—just think, they’re all old folk like me, now! And it was there that I met your father! Think of that now!”
Jane, finding this interesting, moved so that she could kneel behind the seat, with her elbows on the back.
“Is that really true, Mummy? And did you like him right away? Was he handsome?”
“Certainly he was handsome—and your father is still a remarkably handsome man, my dear!” said Mrs. Lambert, rather aggressively; and indeed she firmly believed that her husband was a perfect model of masculine good looks.
“Yes. Well, go on, Mummy. What did you wear?”
“What did I wear? Well, it’s very queer but I do remember that quite plainly. I wore a green muslin dress—that very dress, Lisa, that you found in my old trunk the other day—and a white leghorn hat, with little pink roses. Lisa, have you any idea what ever became of that hat? No—I remember now, I trimmed it up again and gave it to you when you were a little girl—and how sweet you looked in it!”
“I want a hat with pink rothes,” murmured Lottie.
“Don’t interrupt, Lottie. Go on, Mummy. What was Daddy like?”