Part 9 (1/2)

”Let us see,” said Denham, ruminatingly. ”Miss Delano's pleasure against Miss Vernor's displeasure, or _vice versa, Miss Vernor's pleasure against Miss Delano's displeasure. Yes; the balance of pleasure remains quite the same whichever lady has it. Apart from principle, the logic is unanswerable.”

”It is admirable,” commented De Forest. ”I always did like logic so much better than moral philosophy. h.e.l.lo, what's the matter now?”

There was a wail of distress somewhere in the distance.

Gerald turned her shapely head and listened a moment. ”It's only Olly,”

she said, composedly. ”I recognize the cry. He isn't hurt. Oh, you needn't go, Mr. Halloway; Olly never comes to any harm. He's only quarrelling with some one.”

De Forest raised himself on his elbow to listen, while Halloway walked off in the direction of the outburst. ”There are possibilities lurking in picnics, you know,” he remarked, resuming his rec.u.mbent position, ”mad bulls, and rabbit traps, and fine chances for a drown now and then. But I suppose we needn't trouble ourselves, Mr. Halloway'll see to it. Besides, Olly bears the charmed life of the wicked. Miss Masters, I hope you remember to give daily thanks that you haven't any small brothers.”

”I do devoutly give thanks that I haven't any sisters,” said Bell, with an unaffectionate glance toward Gerald. ”I should hate them.”

And so the desultory talk rambled on, the little group growing larger by degrees as the approaching luncheon hour brought back the stragglers, and with them Olly, trotting contentedly along, clinging to Halloway's hand, meek as any lamb.

”What were you doing when you cried out so a little while ago?” asked Gerald, going up to the child.

Olly looked at her with instant defiance in his eyes. ”I hurt my foot.”

”You know perfectly well you can't deceive me, Olly. Tell me the truth.

What mischief were you at?”

”I tell you I hurt my foot, and it hurt like mischief, and that's all the mischief there was. I wish it had been _your_ foot, and I wouldn't have cried a bit.”

Halloway was turning aside, but Gerald appealed to him. ”Is he telling the truth?”

”Yes,” answered Denham, dryly. ”He was racing with the Anthony boys and fell, but, as you see, he's right enough now.”

”Ya-ah!” said Olly, and leered into her face with brotherly disrespect.

”I'll tell you a lie next time if you'd rather. Ya-ah!”

Gerald looked as if she were going to shake him on the spot, and to prevent any such catastrophe Denham suddenly seized the little fellow and put him through a number of acrobatic feats in breathless succession, till he was fairly hustled into good temper and everybody around was laughing, even Gerald. Jake Dexter was instantly incited to display some marvellous limber-jointed powers of his own, and had just demonstrated to the a.s.sembled company, to his and their entire satisfaction, that the impossible is after all sometimes possible, when luncheon was announced by the ringing of a cow-bell, and a gay onslaught upon the usual picnic table, rich in luxuries and poor in necessities, superseded for the nonce all less material forms of amus.e.m.e.nt.

Later in the afternoon Halloway wandered off from the rest for one of the solitary strolls that he preferred to companions.h.i.+p as being less lonely,--a feeling often experienced when fate and not choice appoints one's comrades,--and returning leisurely along the banks of the lake, he came upon a little group of picnickers, and stopped unperceived beyond them, to enjoy for a while that comfortable sense of being in the world yet out of it, which is the birthright of all spectators.h.i.+p. Gerald and Phebe were skipping stones, thoroughly absorbed in energetic enjoyment of the simple game; their two contrasting figures, Gerald dark and tall and slim, and Phebe so round and fair and supple, making a pretty-enough picture for any artist. Olly, little Maggie Dexter, and an a.s.sortment of st.u.r.dy urchins known throughout Joppa only as the Anthony boys, were dancing and chattering aimlessly around, and near by was drawn up a clumsy old boat where Phebe had made a comfortable niche for Miss Delano, who every day at about this hour was afflicted with a remarkable disorder which had grown upon her wholly of late years, and whose symptoms, so far as she was willing to admit them, consisted of a painful heaviness of the eyelids, a weakness in the nape of the neck, and an irresistible tendency to retire for a brief season within herself. A little farther off still, having taken fortune at the flood and secured De Forest at last, Bell Masters was embarked on another kind of craft, a thorough-going, fully-freighted flirtation, all sails set; and through the trees were glimpses of lazily moving figures beyond, generally in twos and twos, following some occult rule of common division peculiar to picnics. By degrees the children wandered off up the bank, and presently there came a shout, followed by an evident squabble. Phebe looked around uneasily.

Gerald kept on with her sport.

”One, two, three, four, five, six, seven times, Phebe. Now do better than that.”

At this juncture little Maggie ran up, her pretty brown eyes wide and her red lips quivering. ”Oh! Miss Vernor, Olly shan't do it, shall he? Do say he shan't!”

”Do what?” asked Gerald, pausing in the act of searching for another pebble.

”Put it in the water to swim like a duck. It isn't a duck, it's a little, little young bird he's found in a nest, and it can't swim, it can't hardly fly. Oh, don't let him!”

”Let him!” echoed Gerald sharply. She sprang toward the children with a bound, almost lifting Olly off his feet as she drew him back from the water's edge. ”You cruel boy!” she cried. ”Give it to me directly.”

”I won't!” answered Olly, trying to shake himself free from her grasp.

”It's mine, I found it.”