t on, the children found
some big logs of wood, like trunks of fallen trees, and some large, flat
stones.

James, the coachman, and Thomas, the gardener, had been working at the
room all the time the children were making candy, and even now they were
peeping in at the windows to see the young people enjoying themselves.

In the middle of the room was what looked like a big, flat rock. As it
was covered with an old, gray rubber waterproof, it was probably an
artificial rock, but it answered its purpose. Real stones, twigs,
leaves, and even clumps of moss were all about on the green floor cloth,
and overhead were the children's birds, which had been brought down from
the playroom, and which sang gaily in honor of the occasion.

"Isn't it wonderful?" said Dorothy Adams, a little awed at the
transformation scene; "how did you do it, Mr. Maynard?"

"I told my children," he replied, "that since they couldn't go to the
picnic the picnic should come to them, and here it is."

Rosy Posy discovered a pile of hay in a corner, and plumped herself
down upon it, still holding tightly her beloved Boffin.

Then James and Thomas came in carrying big, covered baskets.

"The picnic! The picnic!" cried Rosy Posy, to whom a picnic meant
chiefly the feast thereof.

After the baskets were deposited on the ground near the flat rock, James
and Thomas went away, and none of the servants remained but Nurse
Nannie, who would have gone to the picnic in the wood, and who was
needed to look after little Rosamond.

"Now, my boys," said Mr. Maynard, "we must wait on ourselves, you know;
and on the ladies. This is a real picnic."

Very willingly the boys fell upon the baskets, and soon had their
contents set out upon the big rocks.

Such shouts of delight as went up at sight of those contents!

And indeed it was fun!

No china dishes or linen napery, but wooden plates and Japanese paper
napkins in true picnic style. Then while the girls set the viands in
order, the boys mended the fire in the big fireplace, and put potatoes
in to roast. Mrs. Maynard had thoughtfully selected small potatoes, and
so they were soon done, and with butter and pepper and salt they tasted
exactly as roast potatoes do in the woods, and every one knows there is
no better taste than that!

While the potatoes were roasting, too, the lemonade must be made. Mr.
Maynard and Dick Fulton squeezed the lemons, while Kingdon volunteered
to go down to the spring for water.