PICNICKING
Such a merry crowd of Happy-Go-Luckys they were as they came marching
along the country road that summer day, wearing gay caps of
tissue-paper with floating streamers, while their brothers' hats were
decorated with rosettes of the same material.
The day was a perfect one for their picnic; sudden, saucy breezes
tempered the warm atmosphere, making the paper ribbons dance merrily
around the heads of the girls.
As they came along with dancing steps and smiling faces, and lips of
laughter and song, the sight of them was enough to lighten the heart of
an onlooker and bring to his mind the shepherds and shepherdesses of
old, who surely could not have been merrier nor a whit more picturesque.
But suddenly the gay voices fell to murmurs. A whispered command was
borne along the line even to the last straggler. Laura's voice, low
but impressive, said, "Hats off!" and off came those gay bonnets and
the rosette-trimmed hats, and along the road the children went in
solemn silence, with stately step; for over the hill alongside the road
they saw a neat little house whose upper windows overlooked the road,
all the blinds upstairs and down were closed, and on the door swung
long bands of black crêpe.
It was this sad emblem which had curbed so suddenly the mirth of the
Happy-Go-Luckys, and made them pay respect in their own childish but
expressive way to the grief of the mourners; and it was not until the
little house had been left far behind that the awe was lifted from
their spirits, and the joy of childhood reasserted itself.
They had reached a road bordered with trees that almost met above them,
forming a long green arbor into which the sunlight stole through every
little chink, and Ivy was moving along almost forgetful of her
crutches, her eyes intent on the green loveliness of the place and the
pretty pink parasol with white lace trimmings which Alene carried, when
suddenly the latter gave a shrill scream and threw the parasol away
from her as far as she could.
Immediately the others gathered around, while she stood grimacing,
saying nothing but "Ugh! Ugh!" to all their questions. They were
greatly puzzled, until someone picked up the pink parasol at which its
owner pointed so tragically, to find that all the fuss was caused by
two caterpillars which had fallen from the trees.
"'Fraid cat!" said Hugh, contemptuously; "I've seen little tads of four
and five let 'em crawl up their bare arms!"
"I'm not a 'fraid cat! But those ugly, crawly things make me feel
creepy!" Alene returned with crimsoning cheeks.
"Those ugly things, as you call them, turn into beautiful butterflies!"
returned Hugh, in a tone that to Alene sounded offensively
preacher-like.
"Well, let them wait until they are butterflies before perching on my
parasol," she retorted.
"It's just one's nerves! They _are_ ugly things, and Alene's not used
to seeing them," said Laura.
"And they say the great Napoleon couldn't bear to touch velvet, and he
was no coward!" cried Ivy, who felt that her brother was often unjust
to Alene.
In spite of their protests, Hugh had his own opinion in the matter.
There are some boys to whom Alene's timidity would have appealed, but
he was not one of that kind. He was the most outspoken and the least
gentle of all the boys with whom the Happy-Go-Luckys associated. But
his downright honesty and fearlessness, his renown among the boys as an
athlete, and especially his devotion to his little sister which Laura
dilated upon, and of which new proofs were daily shown, had awakened
Alene's admiration, and made her the more resent his calling her a
coward.
"I've stumbled over my toe!" wailed little Lois, carrying the stubbed
toe and tearstained face to Laura for repairs.
Mat ran to stroke the offending stone with an exaggerated air of
sympathy.
"Naughty girl! The poor stone was standing in the road, never moving
until you came along and gave it a kick," he said reproachfully, at
which they all laughed, and the caterpillar affair was forgotten for
the time by all except Alene, who had picked up her parasol and walked
along with an air of unconcern that gave her friends no hint of the
tears so bravely forced back.
"'Fraid cat!" her thoughts ran; "why couldn't Hugh have been polite
enough to keep from that slighting remark or at least laugh
good-naturedly with the rest, and paid no more attention to it, instead
of making so much of such a trivial affair!"
She felt at first that the day was spoiled so far as she was concerned;
but the gay chatter of the others, the new experience of tramping the
country paths, climbing fences and crossing runs, discovering new
beauties at every step, made her presently forget her chagrin.
As the day wore on, the smaller children cast wistful glances toward
the baskets, and even went so far as to peek through any little opening
to make sure that certain favorite morsels, which they had seen put in,
had not mysteriously disappeared.
"Laura, you and mother must have loaded this basket with cobblestones,"
cried Mat with a groan, leaning sideways almost to the ground.
"Cobblestones! You take very good care not to call them that when
you're begging mother to cut her fresh pies! I'll tell her what you
call 'em in company!"
"Well, it's funny how heavy this basket's grown in the last half hour!"
"I've noticed they always do grow heavier toward noon," commented Hugh.
"Can't we lighten 'em some way?"
"Can't we? Just let me try! Keep off, Nettie, or I'll eat you up--I'm
as hungry as Red Riding-hood's famous--or infamous--bear!"
"It was a wolf!" declared Nettie, in the tone of one who knew.
"So much the better to eat you up, my honey!" Mat smacked his lips
voraciously, displaying two rows of firm white teeth, and made a dart
at the little girl. She ran screaming to Laura, who, Ivy often
declared, was the children's real and truly Noah's ark of refuge.
Everybody was hungry and they only waited to reach a suitable place for
lunch.
"I know the very spot," said Hugh, leading the way.
"Behold a Moses to lead us out of the wilderness!" cried Mat.
"And behold the Promised Land!" Ivy screamed in delight, as her brother
set his basket among the great knotted roots of a tree that helped to
shade a stretch of green-sward which extended gradually to the river.
"This Moses remains to dine," said Hugh.
The girls spread a white cloth on the ground and proceeded to unpack
the baskets.
Although they had made frequent stops on the road, Laura feared the
walk had over-taxed Ivy's strength, and wished her to rest; but she
refused to be left out of any activity. She it was who sat, a spirit
of prodigality, in the midst of the baskets, dealing out the good
things one by one, while Alene and Laura arranged them artistically,
piling in the center a pyramid of fruit, and placing the cakes and pies
and pickles in the most tempting proximity, not forgetting sandwiches,
and plain bread and butter. Indeed, as Mat remarked when he came up
from the spring with a pail of cold water, "The very look of it was
enough to give an imaginative person the nightmare."
"Then don't eat any of it, Mr. Matthew," cried Ivy.
"Thank heaven, I'm not imaginative! I think I'll try a snack of that
jelly-roll," he returned, reaching for the cake in Ivy's hand.
"I think you won't! Why, even those greedy children haven't been
allowed a taste of anything, though it's a wonder their eyes have left
a morsel! What are you laughing at?" she inquired, as Mat's glance
strayed beyond her.
Net waiting for an answer she turned her head to find her little
brother Claude standing at her shoulder, balancing in his out-stretched
palm a slice of brown bread from which he had just taken a huge bite,
whose buttered and jellied traces were seen on his plumped-out cheeks.
Not far away was Lois with a monster pickle. At a distance, with backs
discreetly turned, were two other small sinners whom Ivy eyed
suspiciously, and she turned at last with a hopeless shake of her head
to Laura, whom she suspected was to be blamed. But she was mistaken in
her surmise for Alene was the real offender. Not being used to the
always hungry state of a half dozen small brothers and sisters, she
could not withstand the children's pathetic glances.
"You don't suppose it will spoil their appetite for dinner?" she
inquired anxiously, when the truth was disclosed.
"I haven't the faintest fear that it will," returned Ivy, in a dry tone.
"The wisdom of the innocents! Wish I had tackled Alene instead of
you," deplored Mat.
At that moment he was hailed by Hugh:
"Come along, Mat! We boys are going to pick some wild strawberries for
dessert. I noticed some vines up there over the hill as we came along."
"That will be lovely; run along, little boy," said Ivy, and Mat, with a
last despairing glance at the feast, was gone, leaving her free to
resume her task.
Although there was quite a crowd, almost a dozen young people to feed,
the baskets seemed to disgorge enough for twenty. But then they were
Happy-Go-Lucky baskets!
"Leagues and Clubs someway have a selfish sound--as though everyone
outside didn't count for anything," Ivy said one day. "We mustn't let
ourselves get narrow that way," and they did not, for as Laura remarked
later, "When it came to picnics and good times generally, the
Happy-Go-Luckys was very 'stretchible'--it took in all the kids!"
While the girls proceeded blithely to get lunch, helped or hindered by
the younger children, loud voices were heard and presently a crowd of
ragged boys appeared on the upper road.
The girls, expecting them to go on their way, paid no attention to
them, but the lads attracted by the bounteous display of dainties, at
once gave notice of the find, and with whoops of delight came running
down the hillside and attacked the spread.
The girls were alarmed but stood their ground nobly.
"You had better go! Hugh Bonner and the other boys will soon be here!"
said Laura warningly.
"I've heard of the redoubtable Hughie--we ain't goin' to force our
company, we just want them cakes an' things! Come on, boys! Hurry!"
Laura stood guard over the table and Ivy raised a crutch to strike the
foremost but both girls were swept aside.
Some of the little ones turned to Laura for protection, while the
others ran screaming in the direction of the berry-patch, and a moment
later the berry-pickers were seen on the side of the hill.
Hugh, being somewhat in advance, saw the whole engagement.
When Laura and Ivy were routed, he noticed Alene turning as if for
flight. However, instead of running away as he had expected, she
stooped, picked up the pail of water left by Mat, and, turning back
with a sudden movement, dashed the fluid into the boys' faces.
Choked and blinded by the unexpected assault, they fell back.
The smallest boy, who had been in the rear, was the first to recover
from the sudden bath. With uplifted hand he made an angry dash at
Alene.
"Don't you dare to strike that girl!" cried a boy who came running down
from the road. He evidently belonged to the gang but had only appeared
on the scene in time to witness their rout. He was a well-built lad of
fifteen, with a bearing that showed him to be above his associates, of
whom he proclaimed himself the leader by collaring the angry boy who
had made the attack on Alene. Then the berry-pickers came hurrying
along with cries of, "A rescue, a rescue!" and the strange boys fled,
leaving the girls mistresses of the field.
Alene was surprised to find herself a heroine. The girls declared the
day lost but for her, and the boys, who had all witnessed the last of
the engagement, were loud in her praises.
"I heard that big boy say you were a brave little thing and I agree
with him," declared Hugh, who had experienced a sudden compunction for
his hasty judgment in the caterpillar affair.
Whereupon the last vestige of Alene's resentment vanished.
"I think I'm entitled to some of the glory," remarked Mat modestly,
joining the group around the re-arranged feast. "Didn't I, with
remarkable foresight, provide the pail of water for Alene to drown the
enemy in?"