“I hope they will catch Dick, too,” said Clinton, “and then they won’t have anything to blame me for. I should be willing to go to court, as a witness against him, if they could only nab him.”
“I hope he will get his deserts,” said his father; “but, whether he does or does not, you must let this unfortunate affair be a lesson to you in the future; and beware how you listen to bad men, or make rash promises, or keep a secret which you have reason to think ought to be revealed.”
CHAPTER VIII.
THE FOREST PICNIC.
THE long looked for twenty-fourth of August, the day appointed for the picnic, at length arrived. At Mr. Davenport’s the whole family were stirring before daylight had fairly appeared; for there was much to be done, and it was necessary to start for the scene of festivities at an early hour. A heavy mist hung over the village, at sunrise, but it soon melted away, and the weather was all that could have been desired.
Fanny, who was to carry the family to the picnic, was furnished with an extra allowance of oats; the pigs and poultry also received rations sufficient to last them till night; and the oxen and cows were turned into the pasture, to shift for themselves. After breakfast, the family dressed themselves in their best suits; the horse was harnessed into a large, open wagon; sundry cakes, and pies, and loaves of bread, were stowed away in the bottom of the cart; and then, locking up the house, all hands seated themselves in the vehicle, and they drove off towards the Cross Roads. The place of rendezvous for the party was the vestry of the church at the Cross Roads. This was the only church within a dozen miles of Brookdale, the few scattered families in that village not being able to sustain public worship among themselves. So the church at the Cross Roads was their church, although many of them lived four or five miles distant from it.
When Mr. Davenport’s family arrived at the vestry, they found that the people were nearly all assembled, and were about to start for the grove, which was a mile distant. There was a singular collection of vehicles around the church,—chaises, carryalls, wagons, hay-carts, &c.,—some of which were neatly trimmed with green boughs. The word was given to get ready, the various teams were loaded up, and the motley procession started, escorted by several young men on horseback, and the rear brought up by a large company on foot. Their route, most of the way, lay through a noble forest; for the road was not a public highway, but was little more than a path, being used chiefly for the teaming of wood. In many places it was quite rough, narrow and steep, and the carriages were obliged to proceed slowly; but it was free from dust, and was, withal, a very pleasant and romantic road. Several men and children had gone on ahead to open the gates, or, perhaps, to have the satisfaction of being first on the ground. The principal manager of the arrangements, who was mounted on a handsome horse, also rode in advance of the procession, to see that the way was cleared.
The grove selected for the picnic was at a place called “The Falls,” about a mile from the village, in a southwesterly direction. At this point the river becomes a miniature cataract, the current being narrowed, and the descent quite abrupt. The bed of the stream is rocky, and the waters, as they dance and tumble along their course, seem full of the spirit of frolic. There are fine groves on each bank, extending almost into the water.
The party reached the picnic ground in good order. The horses were removed from the wagons and carriages, and hitched in shady places, on the skirts of the woods. The young people were informed that they would have two hours to ramble about and amuse themselves, while their parents were looking after the provisions, arranging the tables, and gossiping with their acquaintances. Clinton, Whistler and Annie, soon fell in with Ella and her two cousins, and the six concluded to take a walk together in the woods.