made my
choice without hesitation. I greatly prefer heat to stickiness and I
know no stickier job than making bread and jam sandwiches.

"If you start at once," said Kitty, "you'll be back in time to help me
with the bread and jam."

I regret to say I was back in time to spread the jam out of the last
pot.

Miss Lane's party arrived by train at 12 o'clock. By that time I had
discovered that I had not bought freedom with my subscription, nor
earned the title of noble by walking to the village. I was expected to
spend the rest of the day helping to amuse Miss Lane's picnic party.
Kitty and I met them when they arrived.

Miss Lane, the aunt, is a very plump lady with nice white hair. Her
face, when she got out of the train, was glistening with perspiration.
Claire, the niece, is a pretty little girl. She wore a pink frock, but
it was no pinker than her face. Her efforts to show kindness to
the children in the train had been too much for her. She was tired,
bewildered, and helpless. There were fifty-six children, all girls, and
they ranged in ages from about 18 years down to toddling infants. Miss
Lane, the aunt, asked me to count them for her. I suppose she wanted to
make sure that she had not lost any on the way down and that she would
have as many to take home as she had when she started. Left to my own
resources I could not possibly have counted fifty delirious children,
not one of whom stood still for a single instant. Kitty came to my
rescue. She coursed up and down among the children, shouting, pushing,
occasionally slapping in a friendly way, and, at last, corralled the
whole party in a corner between two sheds. I have seen a well-trained
sheep dog perform a similar feat in much the same way. I counted the
flock, with some difficulty even then, and noted the number carefully
in my pocket book. Then there was a wild rush for the beach. Miss Lane
headed it at first, carrying one of the smallest children in her arms
and dragging another by the hand. She was soon overtaken and passed by
Kitty and six lean, long-legged girls, who charged whooping, straight
for the sea. Claire and I followed slowly at the tail of the procession.
I was sorry for her because one of her shoes was beginning to hurt her.
She confided this to me and later on in the day I could see that the
pain was acute. We reached the beach in time to see Kitty dragging off
her shoes and stockings. Eight or ten of the girls had walked straight
into the s