know
her."

"By her red hair and her freckles?" questioned Elliott teasingly.
"They'll be the same as ever, I'll be bound."

Cecilia flushed and looked as angry as she could--which isn't saying
much, after all. She didn't mind when Elliott teased her about her pug
nose and her big mouth, but it always hurt her when he made fun of
Nan.

Nan's family had once lived across the street from the Newburys. Nan
and Cecilia had been playmates all through childhood, but when both
girls were fourteen the Harrises had moved out west. Cecilia had never
seen Nan since. But now the latter had come east for a visit, and was
with her relatives in Campden. She was to be at the picnic, and
Cecilia's cup of delight brimmed over.

Mrs. Newbury came briskly into the middle of their sunset plans. She
had been down to the post office, and she carried an open letter in
her hand.

"Mother," said Frances, straightening up anxiously, "you have a
pitying expression on your face. Which of us is it for--speak
out--don't keep us in suspense. Has Mary Spearman told you that Sara
Beaumont isn't going to be at the picnic?"

"Or that the Governor isn't going to be there?"

"Or that Nan Harris isn't coming?"

"Or that something's happened to put off the affair altogether?" cried
Ralph and Cecilia and Elliott all at once.

Mrs. Newbury laughed. "No, it's none of those things. And I don't know
just whom I do pity, but it is one of you girls. This is a letter from
Grandmother Newbury. Tomorrow is her birthday, and she wants either
Frances or Cecilia to go out to Ashland on the early morning train and
spend the day at the Bay Shore Farm."

There was silence on the verandah of the Newburys for the space of ten
seconds. Then Frances burst out with: "Mother, you know neither of us
can go tomorrow. If it were any other day! But the day of the picnic!"

"I'm sorry, but one of you must go," said Mrs. Newbury firmly. "Your
father said so when I called at the store to show him the letter.
Grandmother Newbury would be very much hurt and displeased if her
invitation were disregarded--you know that. But we leave it to
yourselves to decide which one shall go."

"Don't do that," implored Frances miserably. "Pick one of us
yourself--pull straws--anything to shorten the agony."

"No; you must settle it for yourselves," said Mrs. Newbury. But in
spite of herself she looked at Cecilia. Cecilia was apt to be looked
at, someway, when things were to be given up