w, and you are to go along with
us. Aren't you glad?"

"Hm! Hm! I reckon I is. All dem cakes an' pies an' good eatin's, an' I
gwine have some fo' dey gits mashed up an' soft, an' I gwine wait on de
ladies and gent'mans. Ain't dat fine?" She gave a twist to her towel and
shook it out with a snap. Then she was overtaken by a sudden fear. "Yuh
ain't a-foolin' me, is yuh?"

"No, of course not. I wouldn't be so mean as to fool you about such a
thing. But mamma says you mustn't dawdle to-day. So hurry up and get
those towels done. Sylvy is going to be awfully busy, so you'll have to
help her, but we're going to clean the knives for you, and shell the
peas. Bring them down to the little house; we're going down there. We
might set the table, too, Florence."

"Thanky, ma'am, Miss Dimple. Thanky, Miss Flo'ence." Bubbles' face was
beaming, and her slim, black legs went scudding into the house with more
than their usual agility.

"I shouldn't wonder if Rock were to come over, Florence," said Dimple;
"then he can help us to shell the peas, so we can have some time to
play. Rock will want to talk over the picnic, and he will want to see
how the garden is coming on. I think the pumpkin vine is coming up. I
can't tell whether it is that or a weed, but Rock will know."

"Rock always thinks of such nice plays; I hope he will come," returned
Florence; and, indeed, they had hardly established themselves on the
porch of the little house before the boy's cheery whistle was heard, and
the three children, after faithfully fulfilling the promise to Bubbles
to relieve her of some of her tasks, determined to invent a new play.

"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Rock. "We'll dig a cave over here,
and we'll pretend a company of bandits live in it, and they will
capture one of your dolls. Then we will go to the rescue."

"Who'll be the bandits?"

"Why, let me see. We'll take sticks of wood; little branches with two
prongs, like this; they make the legs, you see; and then we'll stick on
something round for the heads, turnips or onions or something like
that."

"There aren't any turnips this time of year," returned Dimple, "and
onions smell so strong. We can get potatoes, though, and they have eyes,
so I should think they would make very good heads."

Rock laughed. "So they will."

"I'll go and see if mamma will let me have--how many?"

"Oh, half a dozen or so."

Dimple started for the house; then suddenly remembered that she had
pr