explain it, the worse it seemed to make it.
She supposed they never did such things in Philadelphia; she knew they
had invited all the world to a party, but she was sure she would never
want to invite anybody again. There was no fun about it till it was all
over. Such a mistake--to have a party for a person, and then go without
her; but she knew they would forget something! She wished they had not
called it their picnic.

There was another bother! Mr. Peterkin stopped. "Was anything broke?"
exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin. "Was something forgotten?" asked the lady from
Philadelphia.

No! But Mr. Peterkin didn't know the way; and here he was leading all
the party, and a long row of carriages following.

They stopped, and it seemed nobody knew the way to Strawberry Nook,
unless it was the Gibbons boys, who were far behind. They were made
to drive up, and said that Strawberry Nook was in quite a different
direction, but they could bring the party round to it through the
meadows.

The lady from Philadelphia thought they might stop anywhere, such a
pleasant day, but Mr. Peterkin said they were started for Strawberry
Nook, and had better keep on, So they kept on. It proved to be an
excellent place, where they could tie the horses to a fence. Mrs.
Peterkin did not like their all heading different ways; it seemed as if
any of them might come at her, and tear up the fence, especially as the
little boys had their kites flapping round. The Tremletts insisted upon
the whole party going up the hill; it was too damp below. So the Gibbons
boys, and the little boys and Agamemnon, and Solomon John, and all
the party had to carry everything up to the rocks. The large basket of
"things" was very heavy.

It had been difficult to lift it into the wagon, and it was harder to
take it out. But with the help of the driver, and Mr. Peterkin, and old
Mr. Bromwick, it was got up the hill.

And at last all was arranged. Mr. Peterkin was seated in his chair. The
other was offered to the lady from Philadelphia, but she preferred the
carriage cushions; so did old Mr. Bromwick. And the table-cloth was
spread,--for they did bring a table-cloth,--and the baskets were opened,
and the picnic really began.

The pickles had tumbled into the butter, and the spoons had been
forgotten, and the Tremletts' basket had been left on their front
door-step. But nobody seemed to mind. Everybody was hungry, and
everything they ate seemed of the best. The little boys w