What a glorious day it was, and what spirits it put everybody in! The
sun shone with an intensity almost torrid; the spot on which they had
landed was green and bright, like a slice out of the realms of
Fairy-land. No zephyr dared to disturb the leaves or the glassy water;
great clouds hung in the bright blue sky--rotund, fat, and heavy, like
mountains of wool or butter. Everything in nature seemed to have gone
to sleep at noon, as if Spanish principles had suddenly imbued the
universe.
And what a business they had, to be sure, with the spreading of the
viands and the kindling of the fire! The latter was the first duty.
Hector said he would undertake it, but after attempting to light it with
damp sticks he gave it up and assisted the ladies to lay the cloth on
the grass. Then George and Fred got the fire to kindle, and Mr
Sudberry, in attempting to mend it, burnt his fingers and put it out;
whereupon McAllister came to his rescue and got it to blaze in right
earnest. Jacky thereafter tried to jump over it, fell into it, and was
saved from premature destruction by being plucked out and quenched
before having received any further damage than the singeing of his hair
and eyelashes. He was thus rendered a little more hideous and
impish-like than Nature had intended him to be.
Jacky happened to be particularly bad that day. Not only was he more
bent on mischief than usual, but Fortune seemed to enhance the value,
(so to speak), of his evil doings, by connecting them with disasters of
an unexpected nature. He tried to leap over a small stream, (in
Scotland styled a burn), and fell into it. This necessitated drying at
the fire--a slow process and disagreeable in all circumstances, but
especially so when connected with impatience and headstrong obstinacy.
Then he put his foot on a plate of sandwiches, and was within an ace of
sitting down on a jam tart, much to his own consternation, poor boy, for
had he destroyed _that_, the chief source of his own prospective
felicity would have been dried up.
It is not to be supposed that everyone regarded Jacky's eccentricities
with the forgiving and loving spirit of his mother. Mr Sudberry, good
man, did not mind much; he was out for a day's enjoyment, and having
armed himself _cap-a-pie_ with benevolence, was invulnerable. Not so
the other members of the party, all of whom had to exercise a good deal
of forbearance towards the boy. McAllister took him on his knee and
gravely began to entertain him with a story, for which kindness Jacky
kicked his shins and struggled to get away; so the worthy man smiled
sadly, and let him go, remarking that Ovid himself would be puzzled to
metamorphose him into a good boy--this in an undertone, of course.
Hector Macdonald was somewhat sanguine and irascible in temper. He felt
a tingling in his fingers, and an irresistible desire to apply them to
the ears of the little boy.
"Come here, Jacky!" said he.
Flora, who understood his feelings, smiled covertly while she busied
herself with cups, plates, and pannikins. Lucy, who did not understand
his feelings, thought, "he must be a good-natured fellow to speak so
kindly to a child who had annoyed him very much." Lucy did not admit
that she herself had been much annoyed by her little brother's
pertinacity in interrupting conversation between her and Hector,
although she might have done so with perfect truth.
Jacky advanced with hesitation. Hector bent down playfully and seized
him by both arms, turning his back upon the party, and thus bringing his
own bulky figure between them and young Hopeful.
"Jack, I want you to be good."
"I won't!" promptly said, and with much firmness.
"Oh, yes, you will!" A stern masculine countenance within an inch of
his nose, and a vigorous little shake, somewhat disconcerted Jacky, who
exhibited a tendency to roar; but Hector closed his strong hands on the
little arms so suddenly and so powerfully, that, being unexpectedly
agonised, Jacky was for a moment paralysed. The awful glare of a pair
of bright blue eyes, and the glistening of a double row of white teeth,
did not tend to re-assure him.
"Oh, yes, you will, my little man!" repeated Hector, tumbling him over
on his back with a smile of ineffable sweetness, but with a little touch
of violence that seemed inconsistent therewith.
Jacky rose, gasped, and ran away, glancing over his shoulder with a look
of alarm. This little piece of by-play was not observed by any one but
Flora, who exchanged a bright glance and a smile with her brother.
The imp was quelled--he had met his match! During the remainder of the
picnic he disturbed no one, but kept at the farthest possible distance
from Hector that was consistent with being one of the party. But it is
not to be supposed that his nature was changed. No--Jacky's wickedness
only sought a new channel in which to flow. He consoled himself with
thoughts of the dire mischief he would perpetrate when the dinner was
over. Meanwhile, he sat down and gloated over the jam tart, devouring
it in imagination.
"Is that water boiling yet?" cried Mr Sudberry.
"Just about it. Hand me the eggs, Fred."
"Here they are," cried Flora, going towards the fire with a basket.
She looked very sweet at that moment, for the active operations in which
she had been engaged had flushed her cheeks and brightened her eyes.
George and Fred gazed at her in undisguised admiration. Becoming
suddenly aware of the impoliteness of the act, the former ran to relieve
her of the basket of eggs; the latter blushed, and all but upset the
kettle in an effort to improve the condition of the fire.
"Fred, you goose, leave alone, will you?" roared George, darting forward
to prevent the catastrophe.
"This is really charming, is it not, Mr Macgregor?" said Mrs Sudberry,
with a languid smile.
"Macdonald, madam, if I may be allowed to correct you," said Hector,
with a smile and a little bow.
"Ah, to be sure!" (with an attempt at a laugh.) "I have such a stupid
habit of misnaming people."
If Mrs Sudberry had told the exact truth she would have said, "I have
such difficulty in remembering people's names that I have made up my
mind to call people by any name that comes first into my head rather
than confess my forgetfulness." But she did not say this; she only went
on to observe that she had no idea it would have been so charming.
"To what do you refer?" said Hector,--"the scenery, the weather, or the
prospect of dinner?"
"Oh! you shocking man, how _can_ you talk of food in the same breath
with--"
"The salt!" exclaimed Lucy with a little shriek. Was there ever a
picnic at which the salt was not forgotten, or supposed to have been
forgotten? Never!
Mr Sudberry's cheerful countenance fell. He had never eaten an egg
without salt in his life, and did not believe in the possibility of
doing so. Everyone ransacked everything in anxious haste.
"Here it is!" (hope revived.)
"No, it's only the pepper." (Mitigated despair and ransacking
continued.)
"Maybe it'll be in this parcel," suggested McAllister, holding up one
which had not yet been untied.
"Oh! bring it to me, Mr Macannister!" cried Mrs Sudberry with unwonted
energy, for her happiness was dependent on salt that day, coupled, of
course, with weather and scenery. "Faugh! no, it's your horrid onions,
Mr MacAndrews."
"Why, you have forgotten the potato salad, Mr Macdonald," exclaimed
Lucy.
"No, I have not: it can be made in five minutes, but not without salt.
Where _can_ the salt be? I am certain it could not have been
forgotten."
The only individual of the party who remained calmly indifferent was
Master Jacky. That charming creature, having made up his mind to feed
on jam tart, did not feel that there was any need for salt. An
attentive observer might have noticed, however, that Jacky's look of
supreme indifference suddenly gave place to one of inexpressible glee.
He became actually red in the face with hugging himself and endeavouring
to suppress all visible signs of emotion. His eye had unexpectedly
fallen on the paper of salt which lay on the centre of the table-cloth,
so completely exposed to view that nobody saw it!
"Why, here it is, actually before our eyes!" shouted George, seizing the
paper and holding it up.
A small cheer greeted its discovery. A groan instantly followed, as
George spilt the whole of it. As it fell on the cloth, however, it was
soon gathered up, and then Mr Sudberry ordered everyone to sit down on
the grass in a circle round the cloth.
"What a good boy Jacky has suddenly become!" remarked Lucy in some
surprise.
"Darling!" ejaculated his mother.
"A _very_ good little fellow," said Flora, with a peculiar smile.
Jacky said nothing. Hector's eye was upon him, as was his upon Hector.
Deep unutterable thoughts filled his swelling heart, but he spoke not.
He merely gazed at the jam tart, a large portion of which was in a few
minutes supplied to him. The immediate result was crimson hands, arms,
and cheeks.
While Hector was engaged in concocting the potato salad the kettle
upset, extinguished the fire, and sent up a loud triumphant hiss of
steam mingled with ashes. Fortunately the potatoes were cooked, so the
dinner was at last begun in comfort--that is to say, everyone was very
hot, very much exhausted and excited, and very thirsty. Jacky gorged
himself with tart in five minutes, and then took an opportunity of
quietly retiring into the bushes, sheltered by which he made a detour
unseen towards the place where the boat had been left.
Alas for the picnic party that day, that they allowed Hector to prevail
on them to begin with his potato salad! It was partly composed of raw
onions. After having eaten a few mouthfuls of it, their sense of taste
was utterly destroyed! The chickens tasted of onions, so did the cheese
and the bread. Even the whiskey was flavoured with onions. The
beefsteak-pie might as well have been an onion-pie; indeed, no member of
the party could, with shut eyes, have positively said that it was not.
The potatoes harmonised with the prevailing flavour; not so the
ginger-bread, however, nor the butter. Everything was oniony; they
finished their repast with a sweet onion-tart! To make things worse,
the sky soon became overcast, a stiff breeze began to blow, and Mr
McAllister "opined" that there was going to be a squall.
A piercing shriek put an abrupt termination to the meal!
Intent on mischief; the imp had succeeded in pushing off the boat and
clambering into it. For some time he rowed about in a circle with one
oar, much delighted with his performances. But when the breeze began to
increase and blow the boat away he became alarmed; and when the oar
missed the water and sent him sprawling on his back, he gave utterance
to the shriek above referred to. Luckily the wind carried him past the
place where they were picnicking. There was but one mode of getting at
the boat. It was at once adopted. Hector threw off his coat and vest,
and swam out to it!
Ten minutes later, they were rowing at full speed for the foot of the
loch. The sky was dark and a squall was tearing up the waters of the
lake. Then the rain came down in torrents. Then it was discovered that
the cloaks had been left at Hazlewood Creek, as the place where they had
dined was named. To turn back was impossible. The gentlemen's coats
were therefore put on the ladies' shoulders. All were soaked to the
skin in a quarter of an hour. Jacky was quiet--being slightly overawed,
but not humbled! His mother was too frightened to speak or scream. Mr
Sudberry rubbed his hands and said, "Come, I like to have a touch of all
sorts of weather, and _won't_ we have a jolly tea and a rousing fire
when we get home?" Mrs Sudberry sighed at the word "home." McAllister
volunteered a song, and struck up the "Callum's Lament," a dismally
cheerful Gaelic ditty. In the midst of this they reached the
landing-place, from which they walked through drenched heather and
blinding rain to the White House.
Thus, drearily, the picnic ended!