THE PICNIC
Though the Fourth of July picnic had failed to materialize, it was
responsible for turning the thoughts of the girls in a new direction. In
the beginning of their stay the cottage porch with its shading vines and
inspiring view, had satisfied them completely, but the magic of the word
"picnic" had awakened a longing to come a little closer to the heart of
things.
"I'm tired of eating off a table," Amy declared. "I want to sit on the
grass, and pick ants out of my sandwiches, and feel as if I was really
in the country. What's the matter with a picnic?"
As far as could be gathered, nothing was the matter with this
time-honored festivity, and plans and preparations began. The latter
were on a somewhat less elaborate scale than those undertaken in honor
of the Fourth, partly because Peggy, who easily ranked as chief cook,
had undertaken to find a desirable picnic-ground and secure a suitable
vehicle for transporting the party. The double responsibility proved
engrossing, and the cooking which went on in her absence was less
inspirational in its character, and certainly less successful, than when
Peggy was at the helm.
As Farmer Cole's carry-all could not accommodate the party, a farm wagon
with three seats, and abundant space for baskets, was put at their
disposal, along with two horses of sedate and chastened mien. But Peggy
looked at them askance. Peggy laid no claim to skill in horsemanship,
and though lack of confidence was not one of her failings, she would
almost as readily have undertaken to manage a team of giraffes, as this
stolid pair, with their ruminative eyes, and drooping heads.
"I--I don't suppose they're likely to run away, are they?" questioned
Peggy, making a brave effort to speak with nonchalance.
Joe, to whom the question was addressed, grinned broadly.
"If you can make 'em run," he replied, "by licking 'em or scaring 'em or
anything else, I'll see you get a medal. Why, Bess here is twenty-three
years old." He struck the animal a resounding smack upon the flank which
demonstration caused Bess to prick one ear reflectively. "Her frisky
days are over," continued Joe, "and Nat ain't much better. A baby in
arms could drive 'em."
In spite of such encouraging assurances, Peggy did not feel at all
certain of her ability to manage the double team on hilly country roads.
Priscilla's father kept a horse, it was true, but he was a rather
spirited animal, and neither Priscilla nor her mother ever attempted to
drive him. "They'll all insist on my driving," thought Peggy, as she
turned her face toward Dolittle Cottage. "And what if I should drive
into a gully and spill them out? I've half a mind to go back and see if
Mr. Cole can possibly spare Joe."
But before Peggy had time to retrace her steps, a somewhat familiar
figure came into view at the turn of the road, a girl in a sunbonnet,
with a tin pail in either hand. Peggy hurried forward to greet her,
rejoicing in a possible solution of her problem.
"Oh, good afternoon. Do you know how to drive?"
Lucy Haines looked as surprised as if she had been questioned as to her
ability to button her own shoes. "Why, of course," she answered staring.
"I thought so. Then don't you want to go on a picnic with us to-morrow
and drive the horses? Joe says a baby could manage them, but I don't
feel equal to it, and I'm sure the other girls won't. If you'll come,"
added Peggy with sudden inspiration, "we'll have a berry-picking bee,
and all fall to and help you, to make up for your squandering a day on
us."
"Oh, you wouldn't have to do that," protested Lucy; "I'd love to go if I
could really help you."
With all her powers of intuition, Peggy was far from guessing what her
impulsive invitation meant to this ambitious girl whose life had been
pathetically bare of pleasure. The girls of Dolittle Cottage would have
been vastly surprised had they known how carefree and opulent they
seemed to Lucy, whose rapt absorption in the task of realizing her
ambition involved the danger that she would forget how to enjoy herself.
Had Peggy's invitation come in any other way, the chances are that Lucy
would have declined it, her sensitive pride rendering her suspicious of
kindnesses uncalled-for, from her point of view. It was quite another
matter when she was asked to do a favor.
A team and a responsible driver having been secured for the morrow,
Peggy returned to the cottage highly elated over her success, and lent
her aid to the disheartened cooks. When Joe drove the plodding team up
to the cottage on the following morning, the array of baskets on the
porch promised satisfaction for the appetites of double the number
awaiting his coming. Lucy Haines sat in the hammock beside Peggy, her
sunbonnet replaced by a little black hat, which had done service through
the dust of many summers, and originally was better suited for a woman
of fifty than a girl of seventeen. Peggy studying this new friend's
clear-cut profile and fresh coloring, could not help wondering how Lucy
would look in a really girlish costume. She was of the opinion that
under such circumstances she would be actually pretty.
"Fine morning for your shindig," remarked Joe, who had long before lost
all traces of bashfulness in Peggy's presence. "Don't you get them
horses to speeding, now, so's you'll be arrested for fast driving." He
chuckled gleefully over this thunder-bolt of wit, and bethought himself
to add, "How's your chickens coming on?"
"Why, it isn't time for them to hatch for ten days yet. The old hen has
broken three of the eggs. Don't you think that is pretty clumsy?"
"Clumsy, if it ain't worse. You'd better keep an eye on her. Sometimes
they break their eggs a-purpose just to eat 'em." And having opened
Peggy's eyes to the dark perfidy possible to the nature of the yellow
hen, Joe departed whistling, and the gay party climbed aboard. Peggy sat
on the front seat with Lucy, Dorothy snuggling between them, and
reflected on the surprising distance from the seat to the ground, and on
the appalling size of the clumsy hoofs of the farmhorses. She was glad
Lucy was on hand to take up the lines with such a business-like air, and
that the responsibility of driving did not devolve on herself.
The picnic-grounds Mrs. Cole had especially recommended were several
miles away, though the winding road on either hand gave such charming
glimpses of shady groves, with sunlight filtering through the leaves,
and of a placid river, with silver birches all along its bank, like
nymphs who had come down to the water to drink, that it really seemed as
if almost any place where they cared to stop would be an admirable
picnic-ground. But Lucy appealed to, agreed with Mrs. Cole, that Day's
Woods were worth the drive, and the horses plodded on, now stimulated to
a trot, by Lucy's exertions, but dropping into a walk again as soon as
she relaxed her efforts.
As the day had all of July's brightness with an exhilarating tang in the
breeze, not always characteristic of this sultry month, nobody was in a
hurry. And, in spite of the deliberate progress of the team, and the
fact that the springs of the wagon left something to be desired, it was
hardly a welcome surprise when Lucy suddenly turned the horses up a
rough bit of road, climbing the hill with such ambitious directness that
several muffled screams sounded from the rear of the wagon, and Dorothy
clutched Peggy's arm, evidently under the impression that she was likely
to go over backward.
"It's all right," Lucy explained hastily, suppressing a smile at
indications of alarm so unaccountable from her standpoint. "It's a
little steep, but we'll be at the top in a minute." Indeed, Bess and
Nat, laying aside the lassitude which throughout the drive had
momentarily suggested the possibility of their deciding to lie down,
struggled bravely up the slope.
"Here we are," announced Lucy, as the wagon jolted over a stump still
standing in the road, and turned to the left under a sentinel oak whose
low-growing branches seemed to be reaching for trophies in the shape of
hats or locks of hair. "This is the place at last." As a matter of fact,
Day's Woods needed no voucher. Now that they were on the spot, the girls
were positive that no other place would have satisfied them.
The wagon had halted on a stretch of partially cleared pasture where the
early summer flowers were much in evidence. Not far away was a splendid
grove, chestnuts mingling with oak and maple, and the trees far enough
apart so that the grass had a chance to flourish at their roots. The
pleasant sound of running water, without which no landscape is complete,
rose from a ravine to the right, its rocky sides feathered with delicate
ferns. With little shrieks of rapture, the girls ran from one point of
beauty to another, while Lucy unharnessed, her efforts supplemented by
willing, though awkward assistance on Peggy's part.
Contrary to the habit of most picnic parties, which eat on arriving at
their destination, regardless of the hour, the delights of exploration
for a time rendered these picnickers oblivious to the clamorous voice of
appetite. It was Dorothy who first turned the thoughts of the company in
the more practical direction by announcing plaintively, "My stomach is
so hungry that it hurts, Aunt Peggy. I wish I had the teentiest bit of a
sandwidge."
"Poor dear," cried Peggy, "I believe I'm hungry myself." And then with
surprising unanimity, each picnicker from Aunt Abigail down, declared
herself on the verge of starvation. The big baskets were taken from the
wagon, a red and white checked table-cloth spread upon the grass, and
various appetizing viands set out in order. From one of the springs
which sent a trickling tribute down the sides of the ravine to the brook
below, water was brought for the lemonade.
Lucy Haines, who had lent deft assistance, had barely seated herself
upon the grass, before she was on her feet again. "The sun's got at poor
old Bess already," she said, as Peggy glanced up inquiringly. "I'll have
to tie her in the shade, or I can't enjoy my luncheon."
Bess, who was gazing on the landscape with lack-lustre eyes, submitted
to be led into the shade of a big maple, without evidencing any especial
appreciation of Lucy's thoughtfulness. Lucy tied the halter to the snake
fence, and returned to the group on the grass, who were already
justifying their claims regarding their appetite by an indiscriminate
slaughter of sandwiches.
"After we've eaten--I don't want you to look like a row of Indian famine
sufferers--I'm going to take a picture of the crowd," announced Amy.
"Don't you think it's nice to have little souvenirs of such good times?
Pass the stuffed eggs to Lucy, somebody. She hasn't eaten anything."
"I've made a pretty good beginning, I think," said Lucy with the grave
smile which made her seem a score of years older than her light-hearted
companions. She helped herself to an egg, and immediately dropped it on
the table-cloth and sprang to her feet. "Oh, dear!" she exclaimed in a
tone of consternation.
The others rose as hastily. Farmer Cole's Bess was stamping frantically,
and pulling on her halter in a way that bore eloquent testimony to the
stability of Lucy's knots.
"I've tied her close to a hornets' nest," explained Lucy, her voice
still indicating dismay. "She's stamped about and stirred them up. Well,
there's only one thing to do. She's got to be untied before things are
any worse."
"Wait!" Peggy had seized her arm. "If you go over there you'll get
stung."
"But if we leave her alone, she'll plunge around, and as likely as not
she'll be stung to death."
"I'm going with you. Perhaps I can keep the hornets off while you untie
her. What can I fight them with? Oh, look! This box cover will be just
the thing."
"I'm going, too," said Priscilla quietly. Claire uttered a stifled
shriek and caught her friend's arm protestingly. Priscilla shook her
off.
"Don't be silly," she said sharply. "Do let me alone, Claire. Now
where's that other box cover?" She snatched it up and ran in pursuit of
the intrepid pair advancing toward the animated scene under the
maple-tree.
"I really think we ought to get further away," said Ruth in alarm. "Oh,
hush, Dorothy!" For Dorothy who had felt the contagion of the general
excitement, and whose fears were complicated by a harrowing uncertainty
as to whether a hornet might not be distantly related to a bear, had
burst into noisy weeping.
The desirability of retreat had presented itself forcefully to the
others. Claire, in spite of her anxiety over Priscilla's fate, was not
averse to getting further away from the scene of the combat, and Aunt
Abigail was already hurrying toward the woods, with an agility which
discredited her claim to having long passed the prescribed three-score
years and ten.
"Aren't you coming, Amy?" Ruth cried, seizing the weeping Dorothy by the
hand. "What are you waiting for?" She turned her head, and for a moment
stood transfixed, as if astonishment had produced a temporary paralysis.
"Amy Lassell," she choked, "I--I think you're just heartless."
Instead of joining in the retreat, or lending aid to the attacking
party, Amy had snatched up her camera, and was bending over the finder
in an absorption which rendered her quite oblivious to Ruth's
denunciation. She was, indeed, excusable for thinking that the scene
under the maple would make a spirited and unusual photograph. Old Bess
was rearing and plunging with a coltish animation quite inconsistent
with the dignity of her twenty-three years. Priscilla and Peggy, armed
with the tin covers of the boxes which had contained the cake and
sandwiches, were striking wildly at the advance guard of the hornet
army. And Lucy, in her efforts to get at the halter, without coming in
contact with Bess's heels or being seriously stung, was dodging about in
a fashion calculated to awaken despair in the breast of a photographer.
"If only they would stand still a minute," groaned Amy, too absorbed in
her undertaking seriously to consider the consequences of a literal
fulfilment of her wish. But apparently nothing was further from the
thought of those participating in the pantomime than standing still. The
hornets, stirred to activity by Bess's incautious stamping close to
their quarters, were rising like sparks from a bonfire. Bess was making
a spectacular though not altogether successful effort to stand on her
head, while the agility displayed by Peggy and Priscilla would have
gratified their teacher of gymnastics in the high school, had she been
present to witness the performance.
Before Lucy was able to reach the fence, the hitching strap had given
away under the unusual strain, sending old Bess to her knees. But with
no trace of the stiffness of age, she was up in an instant and galloping
across the pasture, a number of enraged hornets in hot pursuit. At the
crucial moment Amy's finger pressed the button, thus preserving a record
of a fact which needed to be substantiated by even more convincing
evidence than the testimony of eight disinterested witnesses. Now that
it was no longer a question of Bess's safety, the courageous trio who
had gone to her rescue, betook themselves to flight.
At the edge of the woods they reconnoitred. The hornets had apparently
given up the pursuit and were circling about their endangered castle,
ready to sound the alarm in case of hostile approach. Considering that
they had advanced into the enemy's camp, so to speak, the girls had come
off very well. Lucy had been stung twice, to be sure, and Peggy once,
while Priscilla's right eye was rapidly closing in testimony to the
effectiveness of the dagger thrusts of the vindictive little warriors.
But it might easily have been much worse.
Claire, who had rushed forward to greet the returning heroines, put her
hands before her eyes at the sight of Priscilla's unsymmetrical
countenance. "You're hurt," she shrieked. "Oh, do you suppose you'll be
blind?"
"Blind! What nonsense," returned Priscilla brusquely. "The sting is
right over my eyebrow." But the reassuring statement failed to appease
Claire's apprehensions. After inquiring hysterically of each of the
company in turn, as to the probability that Priscilla would lose her
sight, Claire succumbed to tears, and for twenty minutes absorbed the
attention of the picnic party. Priscilla, it must be confessed, stood
somewhat aloof, confining her assistance to remarking at intervals that
something, not defined, was too silly for words. But the others were
more sympathetic and in course of time Claire's sobs became gradually
less violent, and leaning against Peggy's shoulder, she was able to say
faintly that she was sorry to be so foolish and upset everything.
"Where'd _you_ get stung?" demanded Dorothy, who, now that her
earlier fears were assuaged, was inclined to look upon the excitement as
a pleasing variation on the hackneyed forms of entertainment. Then,
without waiting for an answer, "Aunt Peggy, do you s'pose those hornets
have eated up all that nice gingerbread?"
"Oh, our luncheon!" Peggy cried. "I'd forgotten that we hadn't more than
started. Let's bring everything up here and finish in peace."
Leaving Claire to the ministrations of Dorothy and Aunt Abigail, the
others started off to put Peggy's suggestion into execution, Lucy
walking at Peggy's side. "I'm awfully sorry I spoiled your picnic," she
said in a constrained voice.
"Spoiled the picnic? You?"
"Yes, it was all my fault, for tying Bess so near that hornets' nest. I
suppose I should have been more careful, but the bushes were thick all
around it, and I never noticed."
Peggy patted her arm reassuringly. "It wasn't your fault a bit, and the
picnic isn't spoiled. We've time for lots of fun yet, and besides,
little exciting things like this rather add spice. When we go home and
tell about the good times we've had, we'll mention that hornets' nest
one of the first things."
It was a cheerful view to be taken by a girl with a painful lump on her
arm--still swelling--as Lucy was in a position to appreciate. Yet
Peggy's confidence was comforting, and Lucy helping to remove the
remnants of the picnic feast, to a safe distance from the restless
hornets, was conscious of an appreciable rise in spirits.
The remainder of the day justified Peggy's optimism. Bess was captured
at the further end of the pasture, where she was grazing placidly amid
the stumps, with nothing in her demeanor to suggest her brief relapse
into youthful agility. The girls picked flowers and ferns, explored the
ravine and made friendly advances to a family of gray squirrels who
chattered angrily at them from the boughs overhead, apparently under the
impression that they were the owners of the wood which these noisy human
creatures were invading. Then they drove home in the golden light of the
sunset, and sang all the way. And Lucy Haines carried into her dreams a
memory of cheery friendliness and wholesome fun which was a novelty in
her staid and often sombre recollections.
Joe only grinned when Peggy announced herself as a candidate for the
medal he had promised. It was not till a week later, when the print
which chronicled old Bess's display of spirit was exhibited, that he was
convinced. He stood with mouth open, and eyes distended, incredulity
slowly giving way to conviction.
"Well, it _is_ old Bess, galloping off like a two-year-old. You
must have fired off a cannon at her heels. Think of old Bess, legging it
in that style! That there picture had ought to be framed."