ugh she thought it was thoroughly queer. You
see, it had never occurred to her that people could pick up their
dinner and run out-of-doors into any lovely spot that they came to, to
eat it. She wasn't at all sure she cared for that way of doing things.
But she liked the beauty of the little dell, the ferny smell of it,
and the sunshine and cheerfulness. The occasional darning-needles, and
small green worms, and black or other colored bugs, she enjoyed less.
She hadn't been accustomed to associate such things with her dinner.
But nobody else seemed to mind; perhaps the others were used to taking
bugs and worms with their meals. If one appeared, they threw him away
and went on eating as though nothing had happened.

And of course it was rather clever of them, the girl reflected, to
take a picnic when they could get it. If they hadn't done so, she
didn't quite see, judging by the portion of a day she had so far
observed, how they could have got any picnics at all. The method
utilized scraps of time, left-overs and between-times, that were good
for little else. It was a rather arresting discovery, to find out that
people could divert themselves without giving up their whole time to
it. But, after all, it wasn't a method for her. She was positive on
that point. It seemed the least little bit common, too--such
whole-hearted absorption as the Camerons showed in pursuits that were
just plain work.

"Stan," she demanded, late that afternoon, "is there any tennis
here?"

"Not so you'd notice it. What are you thinking of, in war-time,
Elliott? Uncle Samuel expects every farmer to do his duty. All the men
and older boys around here have either volunteered or been drafted. So
we're all farmers, especially the girls. _Quod erat demonstrandum_.
Savvy?"

"Any luncheons?"

"Meals, Lot, plain meals."

"Parties?"

Stannard threw up his hands. "Never heard of 'em!"

"Canoeing?"

"No water big enough."

"I suppose nobody here thinks of motoring for pleasure."

"Never. Too busy."

"Or gets an invitation for a spin?"

"You're behind the times."

"So I see."

"Harry told me that this summer is extra strenuous," Stannard
explained; "but they've always rather gone in for the useful, I take
it. Had to, most likely. They'd be all right, too, if they didn't live
so. They're a good sort, an awfully good sort. But, ginger, how a
fellow'd have to hump to keep up with 'em! I don't try. I do a little,
and then sit back and call it