ive a pleasant little laugh, and say:

"I beg your pardon, I'm sure;" and offer them his handkerchief to wipe it
off with.

"Oh, it's of no consequence," the poor girls would murmur in reply, and
covertly draw rugs and coats over themselves, and try and protect
themselves with their lace parasols.

At lunch they had a very bad time of it. People wanted them to sit on
the grass, and the grass was dusty; and the tree-trunks, against which
they were invited to lean, did not appear to have been brushed for weeks;
so they spread their handkerchiefs on the ground and sat on those, bolt
upright. Somebody, in walking about with a plate of beef-steak pie,
tripped up over a root, and sent the pie flying. None of it went over
them, fortunately, but the accident suggested a fresh danger to them, and
agitated them; and, whenever anybody moved about, after that, with
anything in his hand that could fall and make a mess, they watched that
person with growing anxiety until he sat down again.

[Picture: Washing up]

"Now then, you girls," said our friend Bow to them, cheerily, after it
was all over, "come along, you've got to wash up!"

They didn't understand him at first. When they grasped the idea, they
said they feared they did not know how to wash up.

"Oh, I'll soon show you," he cried; "it's rare fun! You lie down on
your--I mean you lean over the bank, you know, and sloush the things
about in the water."

The elder sister said that she was afraid that they hadn't got on dresses
suited to the work.

"Oh, they'll be all right," said he light-heartedly; "tuck 'em up."

And he made them do it, too. He told them that that sort of thing was
half the fun of a picnic. They said it was very interesting.

Now I come to think it over, was that young man as dense-headed as we
thought? or was he--no, impossible! there was such a simple, child-like
expression about him!

Harris wanted to get out at Hampton Church, to go and see Mrs. Thomas's
tomb.

"Who is Mrs. Thomas?" I asked.

"How should I know?" replied Harris. "She's a lady that's got a funny
tomb, and I want to see it."

I objected. I don't know whether it is that I am built wrong, but I
never did seem to hanker after tombstones myself. I know that the proper
thing to do, when you get to a village or town, is to rush off to the
churchyard, and enjoy the graves; but it is a recreation that I always
deny myself. I take no interest in