Part 8 (2/2)

”No; they will have plenty to do this evening, and why should I give them double work, poor dears? No; I came back with these,” she pushed out her dainty, but very dusty, feet as she spoke.

”You mean that you _walked_?” said Nell. ”You walked all that long way just because of us two children that you knew nothing about. I didn't believe it was true. I never believed anything so perfectly splendid could be true out of a story book. Boris, do you hear? She walked from Friar's Wood all by herself.”

”Are you awfully dead beat?” asked Boris, standing in his st.u.r.dy att.i.tude in front of Annie and looking at her with immense attention.

”Yes; I never was hotter in my life, and I don't think I ever felt more tired. It is such a blazing day.”

”Then you don't want to walk back again?”

”Well, I suppose I must, only I think I'll rest a little bit first, and perhaps one of you can bring me a gla.s.s of water. I consulted Kitty about it, and Kitty said you could ride your brother's bicycle, Boris.

She only told me about Nell just when I was starting, but perhaps Nell can get on the bicycle sometimes, too. I'm not quite sure how it can be managed.”

”You need not trouble about me,” said Nell, ”for I'm not going to the picnic. I don't wish to.”

”And I don't wish to either,” said Boris; ”there's nothing to go for now, for dinner will be over. I always think the fun of a picnic is was.h.i.+ng the potatoes and lighting the bonfire, and they'll be all over long ago.”

”Well, then,” said Annie, ”I see that I have made myself a martyr in an unnecessary cause. You bad children, you are not a bit unhappy at staying at home, and I pictured you both such miserable little victims.”

”Would you rather have seen us miserable?” asked Boris.

”Of course I'd much rather have seen you miserable, you little wretch.

How dare you look at me with those smiling, bright blue eyes? If I had seen you and Nell pale and wretched, and a little bit withered up, I'd have felt that my walk had been taken for a good purpose; but now----”

”Perhaps you think,” said Nell, looking at Annie with great earnestness, ”that you did nothing when you took that walk and when you made the story books come true. You did a great deal for me. We are Lorrimers, Boris and I, and it isn't the fas.h.i.+on for a Lorrimer ever to fret when things can't be helped. Boris would have liked to go to the picnic, and I'd have liked it, too, if it had happened on another day, but as we couldn't go, we meant to have a picnic at home. Will you stay with us and help us to make up a jolly picnic at home?”

”Of course I will, only too gladly.”

”Then, Boris,” said Nell, ”we had best fetch the food while the story book lady is resting.”

The children disappeared, and Annie lay back on the gra.s.s and laughed to herself. She was absorbed as usual with the fascination of the moment, and forgot all about Kitty, who would be carefully guarding her secret far away in Friar's Wood.

The picnic, which was partaken of by Annie, Nell, and Boris on the tiny lawn, surrounded by the laurustinus hedge, was a truly gay affair. The white hares, the rabbits, the rats, joined the company of diners, and Annie became her gayest and wildest self. When dinner was over, Boris reluctantly took his pets back to the out-house where they were kept, and then returned once more to the fascination of strawberries, cream, and Annie Forest's society.

Meanwhile, in Friar's Wood, Kitty was keeping an eager look-out. It was almost time for Annie to come back, and all the other members of the party who did not know where she had gone were becoming anxious about her. They would have been much more so but for Hester and Nan. But Hester and Nan were both well accustomed to Annie's many vagaries.

”If it were anyone else, I should fret about her,” said Hester, answering Nora's eager inquiry for about the twentieth time. ”She has wandered away in the wood by herself and will come back when she pleases, or perhaps she may have gone straight back to the Towers or to the Grange. Annie is grown up now, and she can take care of herself.

There is no manner of use in fretting about her.”

”If you only knew Annie at school!” exclaimed Nan. ”Why there is quite a proverb about Annie at school. Let me see, this is it: 'The only thing to be expected of Annie Forest is the unexpected.' Now don't let's talk of her any more. She is a dear old Annie; but why should she spoil this lovely, perfect day, the first of my holidays? Guy, I wish you'd come and sit next me. Let us get up a jolly game of hide and seek.”

”No,” said Guy, ”It's too hot at present. We will presently, when the sun gets a bit lower.”

”Then tell me a story, there's a darling Guy.”

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