of doors."

"Yes, I'd like that, too. I wonder if we can sit together, this year,
Mops?"

"Oh, I hope so. Let's ask Miss Lawrence that, the very first thing. Why,
I'd die if I had to sit with any one but you."

"So would I. But I'm sure Miss Lawrence will let us be together."

Gladys was a pretty little girl, though not at all like Marjorie. She
was about the same age, but smaller, and with light hair and blue eyes.
She was more sedate than Midget, and more quiet in her ways, but she had
the same love of fun and mischief, and more than once the two girls had
been separated in the schoolroom because of the pranks they concocted
when together.

Miss Lawrence, their teacher, was a gentle and long-suffering lady, and
she loved both little girls, but she was sometimes at her wits' end to
know how to tame their rollicking spirits.

Gladys was as pleased as Marjorie at the prospect of the picnic. Often
the Maynard children had their Ourdays without inviting other guests,
but when outsiders were invited they always remembered the happy
occasions.

All through the week preparations went on, and on Friday Ellen, the
cook, gave up most of the day to the making of cakes and tarts and
jellies. The next morning she was to get up early to fry the chicken and
prepare the devilled eggs.

Mr. Maynard brought home candies and fruit from the city, and a huge can
of ice-cream was ordered from the caterer.

The start was to be made at nine o'clock Saturday morning, for it was a
long drive, and everybody wanted a long day in the woods.

Friday evening was fair, with a beautiful sunset, and everything boded
well for beautiful weather the next day.

Rosy Posy, after her bread-and-milk supper, went happily off to bed, and
dropped to sleep while telling her beloved Boffin of the fun to come.
The other children dined with their parents, and the conversation was
exclusively on the one great subject.

"I don't think it _could_ rain; do you, Father?" said Kitty, looking
over her shoulder, at the fading sunset tints.

"I think it _could_, my dear, but I don't think it will. All signs point
to fair weather, and I truly believe we'll have a perfect Ourday and a
jolly good time."

"We always do," said Midge, happily. "I wonder why all fathers don't
have Ourdays with their children. Gladys' father never gets home till
seven o'clock, and she has to go to bed at eight, so she hardly sees him
at all, except Sundays, and of course they can't