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.”