s curiosity he walked out to the
vestibule. The little station stood in deep woods, and brown leaves
whirled along the platform. One of the five people was an old lady, and
she entered a rear car. The other four were men. One of them handed the
conductor a telegram.

Meredith heard the official say, "All right. Decorate ahead. I'll hold
it five minutes."

The man sprang up the steps of the smoker and looked in. He turned
to Meredith: "Do you know if that gentleman in the gray coat is Mr.
Harkless? He's got his back this way, and I don't want to go inside.
The--the air in a smoker always gives me a spell."

"Yes, that's Mr. Harkless."

The man jumped to the platform. "All right, boys," he said. "Rip her
out."

The doors of the freight-room were thrown open, and a big bundle of
colored stuffs was dragged out and hastily unfolded. One of the men
ran to the further end of the car with a strip of red, white and blue
bunting, and tacked it securely, while another fastened the other
extremity to the railing of the steps by Meredith. The two companions of
this pair performed the same operation with another strip on the other
side of the car. They ran similar strips of bunting along the roof from
end to end, so that, except for the windows, the car was completely
covered by the national colors. Then they draped the vestibules with
flags. It was all done in a trice.

Meredith's heart was beating fast. "What's it all about?" he asked.

"Picnic down the line," answered the man in charge, removing a tack from
his mouth. He motioned to the conductor, "Go ahead."

The wheels began to move; the decorators remained on the platform,
letting the train pass them; but Meredith, craning his neck from the
steps, saw that they jumped on the last car.

"What's the celebration?" asked Harkless, when Meredith returned.

"Picnic down the line," said Meredith.

"Nipping weather for a picnic; a little cool, don't you think? One of
those fellows looked like a friend of mine. Homer Tibbs, or as Homer
might look if he were in disgrace. He had his hat hung on his eyes, and
he slouched like a thief in melodrama, as he tacked up the bunting
on this side of the car." He continued to point out various familiar
places, finally breaking out enthusiastically, as they drew nearer the
town, "Hello! Look there--beyond the grove yonder! See that house?"

"Yes, John."

"That's the Bowlders'. You've got to know the Bowlders."

"I'd like to."

"Th