THE PEACE PICNIC

This is the story of Molly Sefton's great peace picnic, which was held on the following Saturday afternoon. It didn't seem funny at the time; in fact, nobody could have been more serious or in earnest than Molly when she planned the picnic. But afterward—!

At any rate, here is what happened:

In the first place, the game with Grant City had done one very good thing, among many others. After seeing Buck stop Grant's trick play, Master Specs changed his mind about not muddying a football suit that season. He would not admit, of course, that Buck could compare with Bunny; but he began to feel that Buck had some good points, after all. So he was back in the squad, trying hard for an end position and with a fair chance of winning the place. That was one difficulty ironed out.

"But here's the reason for the picnic," Molly chattered to Bunny the day before. "First, I want the Black Eagle Patrol to like Rodman Cree; and, second, I want the rest of the school to like you Scouts. Now if we have a nice, jolly picnic, everybody will get acquainted and understand everybody else. You see, they all have wrong ideas about each other. For instance, Specs thinks Rodman isn't good for anything."

"Well—I," admitted Bunny cautiously, "he isn't much of a track athlete or football player."

"But he can play baseball. I know he can. I saw him bat the first day of school, even if he does say he hit the ball accidentally."

Bunny agreed. "All right. We'll take along a bat and ball and a couple of gloves, and maybe Specs and the others will like him better after they see him play."

"Of course." Molly was growing more and more enthusiastic. "As for the others: Peter Barrett thinks you are a lot of snobs and won't associate with fellows who happen to have patches on their clothes and that kind of thing; Buck Claxton says that you try to run things, and that if anybody outside the patrol has a plan, you oppose it, just because you didn't happen to think of it first; Royal Sheffield thinks you are a bunch of sissies, who don't dare walk across the road without asking permission from your Scout Master; Genevieve Chester says you hate her because she was elected president of the student association, and are always hoping something awful will happen to her; Clarence Prissler honestly believes you never think of a thing but athletics, and aren't interested in books or education—and you know he is planning to be a teacher." Molly paused to take breath. "Now, I say that if we have a nice, lively, get-acquainted picnic, everybody will find out his mistakes. Don't you think so?"

Whatever Bunny really thought made no difference, because the picnic was already under way; and at precisely two o'clock Saturday afternoon some thirty-five boys and girls, accompanied by Mrs. Sefton, boarded three borrowed launches and crossed the lake to Turkey Point.

And this is how everybody succeeded in misunderstanding everybody else.

How Specs Found He had been Mistaken in Rodman Cree

"How about playing a little scrub ball?" proposed Bunny at three-fifteen that afternoon. "You come in on this, Rodman."

Rodman Cree wrinkled his nose in perplexity. "But I can't play baseball. You know I can't. I've told you so."

"Oh, rats! You knocked a home run that first day of school, and you can do it again. Come on, Buck; let's choose up."

The game lasted only three innings, for by that time the girls had started a marshmallow roast; but it was quite long enough. In the first inning, Rodman played third until he had muffed two perfect throws, when Bunny shifted him to the outfield. Here he misjudged an easy fly and strained to correct his error by throwing the ball twenty feet over the head of Bi, who was wildly trying to nip a runner at second.

At bat, in the third inning, with two out, bases full, and Bob Kiproy pitching a straight ball, poor Rodman had his last shred of reputation removed.

Three times Kiproy pitched wide, high balls. Rodman scraped the dust trying to hit, and lunged two feet across the plate trying to hit, and jumped high in the air trying to hit.

And he never touched the ball.

"I see I was mistaken," observed Specs, as he walked in from third, where he had been stranded high and dry as a runner. "I thought he was some good at baseball, anyhow, but he's no good at anything."

How Peter Barrett Observed the Way Scouts Regarded Patched Clothes

At four o'clock Peter Barrett was walking in a little grove back of an open field, attempting to memorize a poem for Monday's class. Also, between times, he was endeavoring to be fair to the Black Eagle Patrol; for a talk with Molly had convinced him that perhaps he had made a mistake in supposing the Scouts to be snobs. At this juncture, he caught sight of Bunny, legs apart, talking defiantly to a ragged youngster from the nearest farm.

"No, you can't come in here," Bunny was saying shortly. "We have this place for the afternoon. You will have to go somewhere else."

"But I won't hurt anything."

Bunny became even sharper. "I've told you already to go home. Run along now. We don't want you here, and you know why. Hurry up!"

Reluctantly and sorrowfully, the boy in the ragged clothes turned and slouched back to the farmhouse.

"Exactly!" said Peter Barrett grimly to himself. "Just what I thought right along. They're snobs. They haven't any use at all for poor folks."

How Buck Claxton Tested the Scouts' Willingness to Co-operate with Outsiders

Five o'clock had come, with the time for serving the lunch brought by the girls still two hours away, when a bright idea dawned on Buck Claxton.

"What do you say to this?" he began enthusiastically to Roundy. "About a quarter of a mile down the road, there is a little store where they sell ice cream. Suppose we all chip in and buy enough for the crowd? It would be a nice thing to do."

Roundy's face assumed a wistful expression, and he nodded his head. "But I—I'm afraid I can't," he declined.

Buck turned to Nap. "How about you?"

"Waterloo!" said Nap firmly. "Can't think of it!"

"Busted!" added S. S. lamely.

Four other Scouts gave the same answer.

"Oh, all right!" remarked Buck, with a superior smile on his face. "I'll see some of the others."

A little later, he came back with ice cream for everybody. But no Scout had paid for even one little frozen chunk.

How Royal Sheffield Discovered Whether the Scouts Dared Cross the Road Without Asking Permission

At five-thirty, to the west of the picnic grounds, Royal Sheffield and S. S. observed a husky young farmer blazing away at a tin can with a rifle.

"That's my cousin," observed S. S.

"Fine!" exclaimed Sheffield. "We'll borrow the rifle, pay for some cartridges, and have a big shooting match."

S. S. seemed troubled. "I don't think we ought to do that," he objected. "Horace Hibbs isn't here, and somebody might get hurt."

Sheffield stared in amazement. "We would shoot at a target, of course," he explained.

S. S. continued stubborn. "There are too many of us. Somebody might get shot."

"Tell you what we will do, then: you and I will slip over there and get him to give us a couple of shots."

S. S. was more embarrassed than ever. "No, I don't think we ought to do that, either, Roy. No, we certainly ought not to do that." He turned toward the picnic crowd. "Let's get back to the bunch. Maybe they are starting something. Yes, let's go back."

"All right!" snorted Sheffield contemptuously. "But it's too bad Horace Hibbs won't be here when we eat."

"Why?" S. S. asked innocently.

"If he isn't here, how will you know whether you may eat two kinds of sandwiches and cake, and how hot you may drink your coffee?"

And Royal Sheffield walked away, leaving S. S. without an answer.

How Marion Genevieve Chester Proved (to Her Own Satisfaction) How Much the Scouts Cared for Her

It was ten minutes past six when Bi and Marion Genevieve Chester, very gay in her new red dress, started over to a little spring to get water for the coffee. Bi suggested skirting the rail fence to the lane, instead of cutting across fields.

Marion Genevieve tossed her head. "What's the use of being in the country if you can't walk on the grass. You go any way you want to. I'm going straight across."

Bi's shoe had become untied, and he was stooping to lace it when wild screams, mingled with angry bellowing, came from the field into which Marion Genevieve had ventured. Looking up, he saw the girl dashing toward the fence, her mouth open and her eyes wide with fright. Meanwhile, the bellowings grew loud and furious.

"Oh, you're all right," he called, as she reached the fence. "You have plenty of time."

For a bit, due to her frightened exhaustion, it looked as if Marion Genevieve might not be able to climb over the fence. Bi sauntered toward her.

"Come on," he said. "You're all right."

"If I am all right," snapped Marion Genevieve, once more out of the field, "it's not your fault. For all you cared, that bull could have tossed me over, and you wouldn't have made a move to help me."

"But—"

"Yes, and I believe you knew the bull was in there all the time, and you never said a word about it." She pointed her finger at him. "Didn't you know the bull was in there?"

"Why, yes," said the hapless Bi. "I did, of course, but—"

"Then don't you ever dare to speak to me again, you hateful boy."

And with this farewell, Marion Genevieve Chester flounced angrily back to the picnickers, leaving Bi and the pail by the side of the fence.

How Clarence Prissler Interviewed the Scouts to Learn Their Views on Educational Matters

It was the shouts of laughter that drew Molly to the bit of sandy beach near the boat landing. Lunch was ready, and she crossed over to let the jolly ones know about the coming meal.

There were three principal actors and two spectators in the group. Specs, Jump and little Prissler stood in line on the sand, while Bob Kiproy and Jim Collins, stretched at full length, were doing most of the laughing. Around Prissler's waist circled a sort of rope harness, with a dangling line on each side. These ends, at the moment when the boy began his somersault in the air, were grasped by Jump and Specs.

"I'm not going to try it again," whined Clarence Prissier. "I'm not going to; that's all there is to it."

"Oh, you're coming along in fine style," said Jump comfortably. "Never mind those fellows. Just try it once more."

"Go on," Specs commanded. "We're waiting."

"Yes, try it again, Prissy," said Kiproy feebly, between shrieks of laughter.

"I'm not—"

"We're waiting," snapped Specs, giving the rope a tug.

Prissier bent his knees, swung back his arms, and then, with a desperate leap, essayed a back flip through the air. It was not forceful enough, however, and he came down on his hands and knees. Though Specs and Jump kept him from crashing, he landed hard enough to lurch forward into the sand.

Kiproy and Collins rolled over in violent laughter.

"You're getting it," said Jump encouragingly. "You're getting it."

"Sure, you're getting it," agreed Specs.

"But I tell you, I don't want to get it," protested Prissier, rubbing the sand out of his clothes. "And what's more, I'm not going to do it again."

Molly interrupted. "Lunch is ready," she said, in a voice so different from her ordinary tones that Specs looked at her in astonishment.

"What's the matter?" he ventured, after Clarence Prissier, still weakly complaining, had managed to slip the rope from his waist and was walking with the others toward the spread tablecloths.

"You know well enough what the matter is," said Molly severely; "and if you're not ashamed. I'm ashamed for you." Deliberately, she turned her back on him.

The balance of the evening was not a success. Though the picnic lunch would have satisfied anybody, the picnickers felt ill at ease. The Scouts were uncomfortable, and Buck, Barrett, Sheffield, Prissier and Company were more so, to say nothing of Marion Genevieve Chester. Even the launch ride around the lake, which ended the picnic, was a dismal failure, because nobody seemed to want to sing. When the party broke up, it made about as much noise as so many homeward-bound rabbits.

Almost in tears, Molly Sefton walked home with her mother, accompanied by Bunny as basket bearer.

"It—it all went wrong." Molly was very near sobbing as she said good night. "Oh, why did you do it? I tried so hard, and Specs and Bi and—and everybody just went and spoiled everything. I heard all about it."

Bunny looked genuinely astonished. "What did we do that was wrong? You can't blame me because Rodman can't play ball. I didn't know he was going to pieces like that."

"It wasn't just Rodman. Why did you keep that poor little boy with the ragged clothes from coming over to the picnic? We had enough to eat for a dozen more. Peter Barrett said you chased him away. Why did you do it?"

Bunny heaved a sigh of relief. "There was a scarlet fever sign on the house. When I found he lived there, I told him to go away and stay away. I couldn't do anything else, could I?"

"No," admitted Molly. "But why wouldn't any of you help buy the ice cream?"

"We spent our last cent paying for gasoline for the three launches. We borrowed the boats, but we had to pay for the gas. None of us had a penny left."

"S. S. wouldn't borrow his cousin's rifle, even for a single shot."

"S. S. told me about that. He was right to argue against bringing the gun over for any target shooting. There were too many of us; it would have been dangerous. But it would have been more dangerous for Roy Sheffield if S. S. had taken him over where his cousin was, though Roy doesn't know it. You see, about two years ago, this cousin was driving in town, and Roy threw a newspaper in front of the rig, which frightened the horse so much it nearly ran away. The fellow has had it in for him ever since."

Molly thought for a moment. "Bi let Marion Genevieve Chester get almost killed by a wild bull. He knew it was in that field, and he saw that she had on a red dress."

"There wasn't a bit of danger," Bunny laughed. "The bull was tied up and fenced off from that field. Anyhow, Marion Genevieve was never as close as fifty yards to the bull. She never even saw it."

"You'll admit that was an awful thing they did to poor little Clarence Prissler."

Bunny grinned. "I was to blame for that. You see, Molly, I thought it best not to tell the boys about those people who don't like us, because I figured that if we just acted natural they would find out that we don't mean to be snobbish or stingy or anything else low-down. But I did tell the Scouts about Prissy's thinking we weren't interested in learning things. So when Clarence went up to Jump and began to ask questions about the circus, and how the acrobats got to be acrobats, and all that, why, Specs insisted that Jump teach Prissy the back flip. Honestly, Molly, I believe Specs thought he was doing the right thing."

Molly and Bunny looked at each other. Then the girl, brushing her hand across her eyes, broke into a laugh, in which the boy joined.

"It is funny," she said. "I didn't see it that way before, but it is funny. Only everything's in a worse tangle now than it ever was before."

"But we'll fix it," Bunny said. "We'll fix it somehow."