As he lifted me down, his face touched mine for a minute. I don't know that he did it on purpose, but I shouldn't wonder! I was glad to stoop down to the spring, and wet my cheeks, for they felt hot enough by this time. However they had time to get cool while Ned was unharnessing his horses, and presently Abby Matilda and her beau came along.
'Dear me, Dimpey,' said she, 'have you really got here without breaking your bones, and with Mr. Hassel's wonderful team, too?'
I was so provoked at the mean thing—I know she was jealous because Ned didn't ask her—that I never said a word; but Ned answered:
'My horses are not in the habit of breaking anybody's bones, Miss Abby, and if they were, they wouldn't pick out the belle of Preston to practise on—not while I'm master.'
Abby colored up, and flirted her head, as she always does when she's angry; but the rest of the company began to come up, and nothing more was said.
I'm not going to tell you much about the picnic, though it was a real nice one, and in such a beautiful place. Every one says there's one of the handsomest views in the world from Spring Mountain; you can see five villages, and the river winds so pretty among the hills; then you can count a great many church steeples, and there are such noble trees up there, and nice, shady places, and rocks to sit on, that it's the very spot for a picnic. We played plays, and told stories, and sang considerable; our Biel is a funny little fellow, and can imitate almost any animal: he kept us all laughing, till even Abby Matilda forgot her airs, and was quite pleasant. Then we had a right good dinner—cold chicken, and ham, and tongue, and lots of nice pies and cakes, and plenty of currant wine and milk punch, and the clear, good water from the spring. Calanthy's biscuits were so good everybody wanted them, and my Washington cake was praised to the skies, and I was as happy as I could be.
In the midst of the dinner our Joe spoke out—Joe is good, but he don't always know when to speak.
'Where is Race Miller, boys? I thought he was coming with us? He didn't say nothing to the contrary, the other day.'
Ned Hassel was sitting next to me on the grass; he gave me a nudge, and answered, 'I shouldn't wonder if Race has got the mitten from one of the girls; I met him early this morning, and he looked as black as thunder.'
'Well,' said Abby Matilda—she must have her say—'if I was a man, and anyone gave me the mitten, I'd have too much spirit to show it by keeping away from a picnic!'