s at rehearsal had always brought a
preliminary nerve tension which she had tried to conceal. This,
however, was nothing compared with her dread of the great night when
she thought of facing a whole roomful of people; but now, strange to
say, all her tremors died away. She found it less difficult to recite
before the crowd than at rehearsal; she forgot herself in the joy of
her lines. That she recited even better, if anything, than when her
Uncle had overheard her in the library is all that need be said.

When the ensuing applause died away and the doors refused to open
again, Uncle Fred noticed the lips of a small boy seated near him
puffed out in disdain. Stooping with a show of solicitude to learn the
cause, he heard him say to a companion:

"'A lip to tempt the honey-bee to sip'--I bet she never felt a stinger
or she wouldn't wish for such a silly thing!"

"I don't see why that Dawson girl wants the poet's gift, 'the liar!'
Do all poets tell whoppers, I wonder?" said the other boy, looking up
into Uncle Fred's face with wide, wondering eyes.

CHAPTER VIII

PICNICKING

Such a merry crowd of Happy-Go-Luckys they were as they came marching
along the country road that summer day, wearing gay caps of
tissue-paper with floating streamers, while their brothers' hats were
decorated with rosettes of the same material.

The day was a perfect one for their picnic; sudden, saucy breezes
tempered the warm atmosphere, making the paper ribbons dance merrily
around the heads of the girls.

As they came along with dancing steps and smiling faces, and lips of
laughter and song, the sight of them was enough to lighten the heart of
an onlooker and bring to his mind the shepherds and shepherdesses of
old, who surely could not have been merrier nor a whit more picturesque.

But suddenly the gay voices fell to murmurs. A whispered command was
borne along the line even to the last straggler. Laura's voice, low
but impressive, said, "Hats off!" and off came those gay bonnets and
the rosette-trimmed hats, and along the road the children went in
solemn silence, with stately step; for over the hill alongside the road
they saw a neat little house whose upper windows overlooked the road,
all the blinds upstairs and down were closed, and on the door swung
long bands of black crepe.

It was this sad emblem which had curbed so suddenly the mirth of the
Happy-Go-Luckys, and made them pay respect in their own childish but
exp