Miss Brooks was going away. This was her last week of school and next September when the children gathered again in the familiar old building, there would be a new teacher in her stead. The children were disconsolate, for in the three years that she had instructed them in the mysterious ways of knowledge, they had come to love her very dearly and to consider her one of their possessions. So it was a great shock to learn of her intentions, and particularly was this true with Tabitha whose grief at the impending loss was too deep for words. She could only stare and stare at the beloved face as the days slipped by lessening the teacher's stay with them, until Miss Brooks was so haunted by those pathetically appealing black eyes that she could scarcely sleep and began to wonder why it was that she should feel so much like a criminal every time she looked at the child. At last a happy thought occurred to her. She interviewed Mr. Carson, Dr. Vane and other prominent men of the town, with the result that the last Monday of the term she faced the scholars with a happy smile on her lips and hope in her heart, as she announced, "Children, I have some good news to tell you—"

"You're not going away after all!" breathed Tabitha ecstatically, but the next instant her face fell, for the teacher gently shook her head to signify that this guess was wrong.

"No, it isn't that, for I really cannot come back here next fall, children, or I would. But as long as I am going away, I thought we would celebrate it by having a farewell picnic. In the city where I live if any of our friends go away to live somewhere else, we always give them a little party as a sort of good-by to them, and we have a jolly time which they can remember always. Instead of having a party here, I thought it would be nice if we could go down to the river for a picnic, so I asked some of the gentlemen here in town about it and they told me that we can get wagons enough to take us all down there a week from tomorrow. It is such a long, long way we couldn't walk. It is a pretty place, too, and many of you haven't been there before. We will take our lunch and stay all day, coming home before it gets dark. Some of the parents are willing to accompany us, and we will have a fine time. How many of you would like to go?"

Up went every hand in the room and the faces of the children beamed in happy anticipation, for picnics were almost unknown here on the barren desert, and any novelty was gladly welcomed. So the scholars began happy plans for this unusual gala day, and all that long week little else was thought of. This was just what Miss Brooks had hoped for, because in their looking forward to this extraordinary pleasure in their humdrum lives, they ceased to harass their teacher with mournful laments and direful prophecies, and even Tabitha's face lost some of its reproachful look.

The picnic day dawned at last, clear, cloudless and warm but not too hot, for the desert summer was not fairly upon them yet; and with lunch-baskets and buckets on their arms, and faces wreathed with expectant smiles, the thirty children gathered around the low schoolhouse impatiently waiting for the teams.

Both of Carrie's parents, Susie's mother, Dr. Vane and Herman's aunt were to help Miss Brooks take care of her restless charges and make the day a success; so no wonder everyone was happy in their anticipation of a good time. Then, too, some of the miners who had heard the great event talked up, got together in the dead of night and decorated the several rigs with gay bunting, fastening two small flags to the front of each wagon and even trimming up the horses' harnesses until the results were quite dazzling to childish eyes. What did it matter to them that some of the bunting had been watersoaked and that the flags were faded almost white? The effect was gay and festive and the whole town's population turned out to see the procession start up the mountain road lustily singing My Country, while they waved their handkerchiefs and caps in the early morning sunshine in proud acknowledgment of the cheers which greeted them on every side. Oh, it was a happy day for Tabitha, and under cover of the music she confidingly whispered to Carrie that this was the first picnic she had ever been allowed to attend, which fact surprised that little miss exceedingly. It was a long drive to the river, up hill and down, over rocky roads, through sandy soil, among the ugly Spanish bayonets and cacti resplendent with scarlet blossoms, and over the desert, now a mass of gorgeous colors, for the summer suns had not yet burned out the little life which the winter rains had coaxed into blooming. How beautiful the gold and crimson flowers looked dotted over the hills and the flat like a brilliant carpet with its sage-green background and occasional dash of deeper green where patches of "filaree" covered the sandy soil!

How glorious it was to watch the gayly plumed birds as they swung from bush to bush among the yuccas and greasewood, pouring out their very souls in their joyous morning lay, seemingly with no fear of the noisy, happy picnickers rumbling along the roadway! Cottontails and jackrabbits darted across the path and into hiding, an occasional harmless snake lifted its head to survey them and then glided away among the rocks, and twice a startled covey of quail rose from the underbrush and vanished in the blue mountain air. Oh, it was grand! How could she ever have thought the desert lonely and barren and hideous!

Then the river came into view and she held her breath in delight, for the purple haze of the mountains beyond hung low in the valley, and lent an indescribable charm to the whole surrounding country, as if it were not a reality, but some great, grand picture hung before them which they could gaze upon but never reach, for, as they approached the enchanted spot, the beautiful mountains as slowly receded, still clad in their purple veil and still mysteriously alluring.

Under a clump of low, glistening cottonwoods among the tall, rank swale-grass and rough-leaved yellow-weed, the picnic party came to a halt and the merry children swarmed down over the wagon wheels, eager to begin their day's frolic beside the sluggish river.

"Now, if someone will just take care of the baby," suggested Susie's mother as they unloaded the lunch baskets, "I'll help the other ladies get dinner ready and you can have lunch just that much sooner."

"Oh, let me, Mrs. McKittrick," cried Tabitha, who had wished all the morning that she had been in the rig with the McKittrick family so she might hold the little dimpled, laughing mite, who made friends with everyone and was worshipped by all the children, but remained unspoiled in spite of the attentions showered upon him by this admiring court.

"Well, all right, Tabitha. Watch him and see that he doesn't roll down the bank or put anything in his mouth. He's into everything."

"What's his name?"

"He hasn't any yet. We can't find one pretty enough for him."

"And he is 'most a year old!"

"Yes, he will be a year next month, but he is the first boy in a family of four girls, and we can't decide what to call him, so he has no name yet. You might think up some pretty ones to suggest. We've exhausted everyone else's lists."

She laughed as she spoke, but Tabitha thought she was thoroughly in earnest, and seizing the baby, she ran away to ponder over the vital question of pretty names, confident of finding one that would suit the over-particular parents.

"I'd like to call him Dionysius if he was mine," she confided to Carrie, who soon joined her in her self-appointed task of nursemaid, for the two girls were seldom apart; "but—after—that time—well, he might not like it when he grew up. I am afraid it might be unlucky."

"Frederick is a pretty name," ventured Carrie. "That's papa's."

"Yes, that's not bad, but I reckon Mrs. McKittrick has heard of it already, for I know lots of people called that. She wants something real pretty. I know how it is, for my name is so perfectly horrid that sometimes it seems as if I can't endure it. I wouldn't want to pick out a name that this darling baby would hate when he grew up. It must be something awfully nice. How do you think she would like Rosslyn? I have liked that name ever since I heard it and was always sorry I could not stay in Ferndale and get acquainted with the boy it belonged to, and his cousin Rosalie."

"If you had stayed there I never would have known you, Pussy," suggested Carrie, for Tabitha was her idol and she shuddered when she thought how lonely it would be if Tabitha should move away now and leave her there. "That's so; I forgot it just for a minute. I'm sure Rosalie could never have been any nicer than you are, and I don't believe Rosslyn was nicer than Jerome, though Jerome does tease me dreadfully sometimes. He doesn't mean to, and he always tells me he is sorry. I like the name Jerome, but Mrs. McKittrick says she hates it, so it would never do to suggest that."

"Don't they use last names sometimes for first names? Mrs. McKittrick thinks Dr. Vane is splendid. I heard her tell mamma so. He saved the baby when it was so terribly sick and the other doctor said it could not get well."

"Maybe it would do for part of the name, though I wouldn't want to call him Vane every day. That would sound as if he was a peacock. See him pull that flower to pieces just as if he was trying to study how it is put together. Maybe he will grow up to be a big botany man. I would like to be one myself if I didn't intend to keep house for Tom. Oh, the baby has started for the river!"

Both girls sprang up and gave chase and Carrie straightway forgot all about the name problem, but Tabitha's busy brain puzzled over it all that happy day, even while she romped and played with her mates in lively games of "Farmer in the Dell," "Old Mother Witch," "Drop the Handkerchief," and all the other childhood favorites. Once she almost forgot it. They were playing "Blind Man's Buff," when Jerome, who was "it," succeeded in catching her by her hair after an animated scrimmage. Her braid promptly gave away her identity, for no other girl in school possessed such long tresses; and Jerome was elated at having so readily discovered who his prisoner was, all the more so because this was the first time Tabitha had been caught; so he teasingly cried, "Aha, this is Miss Me-a-ow!"

How the children shouted, and for a moment Tabitha's face was crimson with passion and she lifted a doubled-up fist threateningly; but before the expected blow fell, Tabitha's lips curved suddenly into a smile, her arm dropped to her side, and she gayly answered, "Yes, Mr. Ki-yip-ki-yi-yi, put on my blinders."

Only Miss Brooks of the grown people had witnessed the child's struggle, and as they were sitting down to the generous lunch spread under the cottonwoods, she drew the flushed face down beside her and said very softly, "That was well done, dear. I am proud of you."

"You needn't be," was the candid reply. "I was all ready to scratch for all I was worth when I saw the baby and I knew I wasn't a fit person to name such a little darling if I couldn't stand a little teasing. Jerome didn't mean anything by it and was sorry as soon as he had said it. He came to me afterwards and told me so, and then I was doubly glad I had kept still. But it was really the baby who made me. I even forgot Mrs. Vane's rule of counting ten."

"It will be easier to remember the next time," Miss Brooks told her, feeling devoutly thankful that the day had not been marred by a display of that fierce, uncontrollable temper, and in her gratitude she heaped Tabitha's plate with sandwiches and all the other good things.

"Now the baby must have his nap," said Mrs. McKittrick when the last crumb of cake had disappeared and the last drop of lemonade vanished. "I'm going to lay him under the wagons where it is coolest, and you children play down there by that other clump of trees, or else he won't sleep a wink." "We're going to tell stories and listen to Mr. Carson's talking machine for awhile," volunteered Susie, "so we won't make much noise. Come on, ma, baby will be all right there."

The mother made the tiny boy comfortable in a shady nook and then joined the group of children gathered under the cottonwoods a little further down the river, laughing over the queer songs the machine was grinding out; and in this exciting sport all thought of the baby was swallowed up, except by Tabitha, who was still busily engaged in fitting together all the possible and impossible names she had ever heard, in the hope of finding some combination which would suit the beautiful boy and please his adoring family.

"Rosslyn Lyle—no, that won't do; it is too hard to pronounce. Rosslyn Leander—that is almost as bad. Rosslyn simply won't go with any name beginning with 'L.' Rosslyn Thomas so he will be named after Tom; but then probably Mrs. McKittrick doesn't like Thomas for a name. Few people do, though I think it is rather pretty when it belongs to someone else but a Catt. Rosslyn Brooks after teacher. Why didn't I think of that before! Mrs. McKittrick thinks Miss Brooks is the loveliest teacher she ever knew; I'm sure she would like the Brooks part of it, and I don't see how anyone can help liking the name of Rosslyn. It isn't as grand sounding as Dionysius, but it is prettier for a baby. Two names are so short, though; and anyway Carrie thinks Mrs. McKittrick would like part of it to be Vane after the doctor. Mr. McKittrick works in the Silver Legion Mines, so I suppose he wouldn't mind if part of the name was Mr. Carson's. I don't like Frederick very well, so it would have to be Carson. Well, Rosslyn Brooks Carson Vane sounds quite pretty—very pretty—I like it ever so much. I wonder what Mrs. McKittrick will think of it."

She looked around to see what had become of the mother, and beheld a sight that froze the blood in her veins. Close beside the wagon under which the sleeping baby lay was a huge snake coiled as if ready to spring, and her heart stood still with terror as she realized that one move of those little unconscious hands might mean death for the precious darling. She tried to scream, but her voice stuck in her throat. She looked wildly about her for help, but the children were wandering on the river bank gathering flowers and Mr. Carson was busy with the talking machine which was evidently out of order. Dr. Vane was nowhere in sight nor were any of the women within call.

She must rescue the baby herself. She had often seen Tom kill snakes since they had come to live on the desert, and once he had dispatched a large rattler not far from their cottage, though poisonous reptiles were not often found so close to town. Oh, if Tom were only there!

Then her glance fell upon a smooth rock at her feet. She was a good shot, but could she risk it with that little life hanging in the balance? There was another stone, and another. She clutched them with trembling hands, crept cautiously forward and, taking careful aim, hurled the rock at the head of the coiled serpent. She missed, the snake coiled, more tightly, sounded its warning and sprung straight towards her. This was what she had hoped for; and leaping nimbly aside, before he could coil for another spring, she struck him squarely on the head, following that blow up with a perfect rain of rocks, carefully keeping out of range lest he should coil again, and hurling each missile with all her fierce strength, losing her fear of her opponent as her anger grew.

Suddenly a shot rang sharply through the air, there was a sound of excited voices, the children came running toward her with the baby's white-faced mother in advance; and Tabitha, dropping weakly to the ground, burst into wild, hysterical sobs. With his smoking pistol still covering the shattered reptile, Dr. Vane, almost as white as the frantic mother, gathered the trembling girl in his arms and tried to soothe her fright, saying, "There, there, my little Puss; it is all over! The snake is dead and the baby isn't harmed at all. Don't cry like that! You did a very brave thing. Look up and see the old fellow."

Mr. Carson and the boys had clustered around the snake, examining it curiously, and now the man lifted his head and looked down at the doctor, still bending over the girl.

"I believe she had killed it, Vane, without your bullet. What splendid nerve! The fellow's got eight rattles. Do you want them for a souvenir, Tabitha?" But she shook her head and clung to the doctor, quivering with nervous dread.

After a long time the children were quieted, and as the day drew to a close, they clambered back into the wagons, and set out on their homeward drive, rather subdued, but happy that everyone was safe, and proud of their mate whose prompt action had perhaps saved a life so dear to them all. Tabitha was a heroine! Poor Tabitha, such an unexpected honor was almost as hard to bear as the teasing she so bitterly resented, and she hid her head in embarrassment and confusion, refusing at first to look up or say a word, except to the baby, who cooed and crowed in delight in her arms.

"Do you know," said the mother, whose face was still white and drawn from her fright, "I am going to let you name the baby. It is a very little thing to do for a girl who has saved his life, but I'm not rich and can't pay a big reward like rich folks do."

"Oh, Mrs. McKittrick, can I really name him? I don't want any reward for trying to save him. Even if you had lots of money I wouldn't take it. He is worth more than money and the happiest thing you could do for me is to let me name him. I've got a splendid one already picked out for him. I was just going to ask you what you thought of it when I saw the snake. It is Rosslyn Brooks Carson Vane. Isn't that splendid?"

So the McKittrick baby was named at last.

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