one could
tell which side up she ought to go--except, of course, head side on
top. The idea gave her a hysterical desire to giggle. The fact that it
would be so dreadful to laugh in this house made the desire almost
uncontrollable.

And then the big girl did laugh about something or other, laughed
simply and naturally and really pleasantly. Elliott almost jumped
again, she was so startled. To her, there was something repulsive in
the sight of so much human flesh. At the same time it discouraged her.
In the presence of these two she felt insignificant, even while she
pitied them. She wished to get away, but instinctive breeding held her
in her chair, chatting. She hoped what she said wasn't too inane; she
didn't know quite what she did say.

Just then suddenly Harriet Gordon asked a question: "Has your aunt
said anything yet about a picnic this summer?"

"I heard her say this afternoon that she felt just like one," said
Elliott.

Mother and daughter looked at each other triumphantly. "What did I
tell you!" said one. "I thought it was about time," said the other.

"Jessica Cameron always feels like a picnic in midsummer," Mrs. Gordon
explained. "After the haying 's done. You tell her my little niece
will want to go. Alma has been here three weeks and we haven't been
able to do much for her. Do you think you will go, too, Harriet?"

"I'd rather not this time, Mother."

"The Bliss girls will probably go, and Alma knows them pretty well.
She won't be lonesome."

"Oh, no," said Elliott, "we will see that she isn't lonely."

"Must you go? Tell Mrs. Cameron we will send our limousine whenever
she says the word." On the way back through the house Harriet Gordon
paused before the picture of a young man in aviator's uniform. "My
brother," she said simply, and there was infinite pride in her voice.

Elliott stumbled down the path to the road. She quite forgot to put up
the pink parasol. She carried it closed all the way home. Were they
limousine people? You would never have guessed it to look at them.
Why, she knew about picnics of that kind!--motor-car, luncheon-kit
picnics! But what a shame to be so big! Couldn't they _do_ something
about it? Good as gold, of course, and in such terrible sorrow! They
weren't unfeeling. The girl's voice when she said, "My brother,"
proved that. It seemed as though knowing about them ought to make them
attractive, but somehow it didn't. If they only understood how to
dress, it would h