Little Master Saturday, who is devoted to holidays, and perfectly revels in all sorts of jollifications—although, poor boy, being a "Saturday's child," he has to "work hard for his living"—made up his frivolous little mind this summer to give a picnic, and invite all his cousins the Days to spend the livelong day with him in the "merry green wood."

It was easy to obtain leave of absence from his master, Mr. Workaday, on condition that he performed certain tasks before he went; so the earliest bird had not yet started out on his worm-hunt the next morning when Saturday popped briskly out of bed, and was so spry that all his "chores" about the house and barn were finished up long before breakfast, which so pleased Mrs. Workaday that she gave him a fine large frosted cake for his lunch.

"And a jolly good plummy one it is," remarked Saturday, with satisfaction, as he carefully packed it, surrounded by pickles, in a large basket, and set off for Monday's house, where he found the little girl, with her sleeves rolled up, merrily working away at the wash-tub.

"Dear Monday," he said, "will you not come to my picnic?"

"How can I," said Monday, "when I have all these clothes to wash and hang on the line."

"Oh, I will help you," said Saturday; and pulling off his coat, he set to work with so much vigor that in half an hour all the handkerchiefs and aprons were flapping gayly in the breeze, and the tiny queen of the soap-suds, hastily cutting a generous supply of sandwiches—for the Mondays always have a plentiful stock of cold meat in the house—they started off together to invite their cousin Tuesday, the little girl's pretty face peeping shyly out from beneath a picturesque gypsy hat, for every one knows that "Monday's child is fair of face," and all these little people were named for the day on which they were born.

Tuesday lived in a cozy, vine-covered cottage, and she opened the door for them herself, looking as red as a peony, and carrying a large flat-iron in one hand. On hearing their errand she at first danced for joy, for being "full of grace," she was rather fond of dancing, but stopped suddenly, exclaiming,

"But I have not finished my ironing yet."

"Oh, we will help you," said the two visitors; and before the hands of the clock had travelled half around the dial the clothes-horse was filled with nicely smoothed garments.

"It is so warm I will take lemonade," said Tuesday, bringing out a dozen lemons.

The syrup for the lemonade was soon prepared, and the three Days next called on Wednesday, whom they found as "merry and glad" as ever, busily helping his mother bake bread and pies in the great Dutch oven.

He would be delighted to join the party if they could wait until the last loaves were brown enough to come out of the oven, and meanwhile, to keep them out of mischief, his mother set them to filling tarts with strawberry jam, they being her contribution to the entertainment.

"Shall we invite Thursday?" asked Saturday. "He is always so 'sour and sad.' I'm afraid he will spoil all the fun."

"It would be too bad to leave him out," said Wednesday. "And perhaps he may be more cheerful to-day."

As they expected, they found Thursday with an ugly scowl on his face poring over a Latin grammar, with his little dog Tempus growling at his feet.

Whether time flies or not, Tempus certainly did at every cat, cow, or other animal he met, and he now, true to his name, flew at the children as though he would devour them.

"Lie down, sir," shouted Thursday, kicking at the dog, and frowning crossly. "Cousins, what brings you here to-day?"

"We have come to ask you to my picnic," said Saturday, politely.

At this, Thursday began to grumble and cry, whining out: "But I can't go, for I have to 'cram' to-day for examination. It is just my luck."

"Oh, never mind," said Monday, smiling sweetly, "I will stay and help you with your lessons, while Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday call on Friday, and I guess you will be ready in time."

So down she sat by the mournful student, and being a bright little Day, soon made a great deal clear to poor Thursday that was very dark before, while the other three hurried off to see Friday.

There have been "Black Fridays," and "Blue Fridays," but this was a very "Good Friday," and very "loving and giving," and she met them at the garden gate with both hands full of flowers, which she forced upon them, looking meanwhile as sweet as a rose-bud herself.

"Oh, Friday," they all called in a breath, "you must come to the picnic with us."

"I should love to," said Friday, "but I have the parlors to sweep, and a huge pile of stockings to darn."

"We will stay and help you," said the children, "for we won't go without you." So they all went to work with brooms and dust-pans, and needles and thread, and as many hands make light work, the rooms were soon as neat as wax, while not a pin-hole could be found in one of the hose.

"I have just made a lot of hot cross buns," said the cook, filling a paper bag, and tucking it under Friday's arm. Monday and Thursday too now joined them, bearing a large basket of golden pears, and followed by Tempus, who trotted along, quite serenely for him, sniffing at the lunch so anxiously that Friday presented him with a bun on the spot, and they then all started in a body for Baby Sunday's. "For we must take little Sunday," said Tuesday; "he is always so 'good and gay.'"

But Sunday's mamma did not approve of picnics for such little folks, and thought him too young and delicate to go.

The children, however, argued down her scruples, saying, "Of course it would be wrong for him to go to the woods alone, but surely there could be no harm with six Week Days to take care of him and do all the work."

So, on condition that Saturday and Monday would keep him between them on the road, and not let him fall, Mrs. Sabbath finally consented, dressed the boy in his best "bib and tucker," gave him a basket of sweeties and a dozen kisses, and sent him off as "blithe and bonny" as a lark.

The party being now complete, they started off with a hop, skip, and a jump for the jolly old wood, where the bees, birds, and flowers all buzzed, warbled, and nodded them a gay welcome.

"Hurrah!" shouted Saturday, tossing his cap in the air, "now for fun," and all the little people joined in the cheer, even Thursday venturing to smile a wee bit.

Sunday was chosen King of the festival, and seated high up on a moss-covered stump, while the other Days ran hither and thither, gathering for him the prettiest wild flowers and ripest and sweetest berries.

"Let us play 'Here we go round the barberry bush,'" suggested Monday, it being a favorite game with all the Days; and they were soon repeating in play what they had already accomplished in earnest—"washing, ironing, and folding clothes so early in the morning."

Then Tuesday led them in a lively dance, as light and graceful as an elfin sprite; and Wednesday twined beautiful wreaths of oak leaves for their hats, and daisy chains for their necks.

Thursday alone was cross and sullen, sulking by himself, because Monday gave so many berries to little Sunday, and he persisted in knocking off the heads of the flowers, and robbing the radiant butterflies of their wings, until tender-hearted Friday was almost in tears, and offered him a bright dime she had in her pocket if he would stop doing so; and I am sorry to say he was mean enough to take it.

Saturday, meanwhile, who felt himself to be the host, was working like a little Trojan, unpacking bags, boxes, and baskets, spreading the cloth beneath a glorious old oak-tree, and bringing fresh sparkling water from a spring that gushed clear as crystal out of the solid rock, with which Tuesday brewed the lemonade.

"Make it sweet, and make it sour," laughed Wednesday, giving Tuesday's hand a squeeze that made her cry, "Don't take me for a lemon, I beg," and shower the squeezer with powdered sugar.

The forest, too, was not behindhand in adding to the rural feast, for the blackberries and blueberries hung thick and heavy on the bushes, tender wintergreen leaves grew beneath the children's feet, and down by a baby brook, that ran cooing and gurgling along into the arms of its mother, the river, they found quantities of spicy watercresses, while the wild roses, marguerites, and clover blossoms gave quite a festal appearance to the board. As at all picnics, they ate ants with their pickles, and flies with their bread and butter, but they only seemed to add a flavor to the repast, seasoned as it was with so much fun and frolic.

"Now, Sunday, sing for us," said Saturday, when they had all finished and were lying about on the green grass.

Sunday knew nothing but hymns, but these he sang in a sweet little childish voice, very pleasant to listen to; and he now warbled away with all his baby might, the older children joining in the choruses.

"Where is that singing-bird?" asked a cheerful voice behind them, as Sunday ended with a pretty trill, and they all turned to see a merry-looking old gentleman coming toward them.

"It is Grandpa Week!" they all cried, bounding toward him.

"I am glad, my children, to see you so happy," he said, patting each head kindly, "and gladder still to learn from your parents that you have all remembered 'duty before pleasure.'"

"That we did," said Saturday, thinking how hard he had worked for his picnic.

"And so I have brought you some little rewards."

"What can they be?" asked the children, clustering around the old gentleman, who drew numerous packages from his capacious pockets.

"You, Monday," he said, "are 'fair of face,' so I have brought you a parasol to protect it from the sun. Tuesday is 'full of grace,' so she must have a pair of fancy slippers in which to dance and skip more lightly. Wednesday is 'merry and glad,' and this Nonsense Book will surely make him 'laugh and grow fat.' While Thursday, I am sorry to say, is so 'sour and sad,' he only deserves this birch rod; but in consideration of his progress at school I have added a collar for Tempus, and trust he will hereafter improve both his time and temper. Friday is so 'loving and giving,' I was sure nothing would please her like a knot of true-blue ribbon, and a box of sugar-plums to share with you all; while, as Saturday has to 'work hard for a living,' I shall give him his present in money, to spend as he likes."

"But have you nothing for Sunday?" asked the children.

"To be sure I have," cried Grandpa Week, catching the little boy in his arms and fastening a glittering belt about his waist.

"'The child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is blithe and bonny and good and gay;'

"and Sunday is the golden clasp that binds the Weeks together."

"Hurrah for grandpa!" shouted all the young folks, hastening to thank him for their gifts. And then, as the sun's great red eye was blinking sleepily in the west, clinging to the hands and coat of the old man, they wended their way from beneath the protecting branches of the hospitable woods.