course of time Claire's sobs became gradually
less violent, and leaning against Peggy's shoulder, she was able to say
faintly that she was sorry to be so foolish and upset everything.

"Where'd _you_ get stung?" demanded Dorothy, who, now that her
earlier fears were assuaged, was inclined to look upon the excitement as
a pleasing variation on the hackneyed forms of entertainment. Then,
without waiting for an answer, "Aunt Peggy, do you s'pose those hornets
have eated up all that nice gingerbread?"

"Oh, our luncheon!" Peggy cried. "I'd forgotten that we hadn't more than
started. Let's bring everything up here and finish in peace."

Leaving Claire to the ministrations of Dorothy and Aunt Abigail, the
others started off to put Peggy's suggestion into execution, Lucy
walking at Peggy's side. "I'm awfully sorry I spoiled your picnic," she
said in a constrained voice.

"Spoiled the picnic? You?"

"Yes, it was all my fault, for tying Bess so near that hornets' nest. I
suppose I should have been more careful, but the bushes were thick all
around it, and I never noticed."

Peggy patted her arm reassuringly. "It wasn't your fault a bit, and the
picnic isn't spoiled. We've time for lots of fun yet, and besides,
little exciting things like this rather add spice. When we go home and
tell about the good times we've had, we'll mention that hornets' nest
one of the first things."

It was a cheerful view to be taken by a girl with a painful lump on her
arm--still swelling--as Lucy was in a position to appreciate. Yet
Peggy's confidence was comforting, and Lucy helping to remove the
remnants of the picnic feast, to a safe distance from the restless
hornets, was conscious of an appreciable rise in spirits.

The remainder of the day justified Peggy's optimism. Bess was captured
at the further end of the pasture, where she was grazing placidly amid
the stumps, with nothing in her demeanor to suggest her brief relapse
into youthful agility. The girls picked flowers and ferns, explored the
ravine and made friendly advances to a family of gray squirrels who
chattered angrily at them from the boughs overhead, apparently under the
impression that they were the owners of the wood which these noisy human
creatures were invading. Then they drove home in the golden light of the
sunset, and sang all the way. And Lucy Haines carried into her dreams a
memory of cheery friendliness and wholesome fun which was a novelty in
her staid and often