you and I, and why shouldn't
we? We're the same girls, after all," and she smiled apologetically.

"Of course we are. We'll do it," said Mary Leonard, decidedly; "let's
pretend."

But, having made the agreement, it was not so easy to begin. The stream
of reminiscence had been checked, and a chasm of thirty-five years is
not instantly bridged, even in thought.

"I hope they won't meet us at the station," said Mary Leonard, after a
while, in a matter-of-fact voice. "We know the way so well there is no
need of it."

"I hope not. I feel just like walking up myself," answered Lucy. "We can
send our trunks by the man that comes from the hotel, just as usual, and
it'll be cool walking toward evening."

"I'm glad we put off coming till the fall. The country's beautiful, and
there isn't so much dust in case we"--she hesitated a moment--"in case
we go on a picnic."

"Yes," replied Lucy, readily; "to the old fort. I hope we'll have a
picnic to the old fort. I guess all the girls will like to go. It's just
the time to take that drive over the hill."

"If we go," said Mary Leonard, slowly and impressively, "you'll have to
drive with Samuel Hatt."

"Oh, I went with him last time," broke in Lucy, apprehensively. "It's
your turn."

"But you know I just won't," said Mary Leonard, her eyes sparkling, and
the dimples that, like Miss Jessie Brown, she had not left off,
appearing and disappearing. "And somebody _has_ to go with him."

"Perhaps they won't ask him."

"Oh, but they will. They always do, on account of his horses. It
wouldn't be a picnic without Samuel Hatt."

Just then the train drew up at a small station. Lucy Eastman started as
she read the name of the place as it passed before her eyes.

"Mary," said she, "this is where Mr. Hatt always used to get on the
train. There are the Hatt Mills, and he goes up and down every
day,--don't you remember? And how we were--we are--always afraid we'll
meet him on the train."

"Of course," said Mary Leonard, leaning forward and scanning the
platform with its row of idlers and its few travellers. "Well, he isn't
here now. We are going to escape him this time. But my heart was in my
mouth! I don't want Samuel Hatt to be the first Englefield person we
meet."

They looked up with careless curiosity at the people who entered the
train. There was a little girl with a bunch of common garden flowers
following close behind a tired-looking woman, who had been, obviously,
"spending