The girls unpacked the baskets, and spreading a table-cloth, arranged the goodies most temptingly thereon.
"Edith, you must do the oysters on the chafing-dish," said Gertrude; "no one does them like you."
"Oysters! Have you really got oysters? How perfect!" cried Cynthia, who, laden with cups and saucers, was stumbling over some stray boughs at the imminent risk of herself and the crockery.
"Let me help you, Miss Franklin," said Bronson, coming languidly forward.
"Oh no, thanks!" returned Cynthia, tartly. "I would not trouble you for the world. You have quite enough to do."
Dennis Morgan, who heard her, turned away to hide a laugh. Bronson had been leaning against a tree most of the time with his hands in his pockets.
"Come, now, don't be too hard on a fellow, Miss Franklin. I'll do anything you ask. A fellow feels kind of out of place, don't you know, with so many working."
"Really! Well, if you are truly anxious to make yourself useful, perhaps you will get some ferns to decorate the table?"
"Certainly," said Bronson, looking about him in a helpless way: "will these do?" and he broke off a large brake.
"No, of course not. The ones I want grow at quite a distance from here, over in those woods there," pointing. "Please get some."