and."

"Well," said Philip, "it isn't much. Just a tract. But it was written by
Parson Halleck, a great minister and a sort of Pope in this region
for fifty years. It is, so far as I know, the only thing of his that
remains."

This tractarian movement was interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Mavick.

"Good-morning, Mr. Burnett. I've been down to see Jenkins about his
picnic wagon. Carries six, besides the driver and my man, and the
hampers. So, you see, Miss Alice will have to go. We couldn't go
rattling along half empty. I'll go up and see her this afternoon. So,
that's settled. Now about the time and place. You are the director.
Let's sit down and plan it out. It looks like good weather for a week."

"Miss McDonald says she wants to see the Mountain Miller," said Philip,
with a smile.

"What's that? A monument like your Pulpit Rock?"

"No, a tract about a miller."

"Ah, something religious. I never heard of it. Well, perhaps we had
better begin with something secular, and work round to that."

So an excursion was arranged for the next day. And as Philip walked
home, thinking how brilliant Evelyn had been in their little talk, he
began to dramatize the excursion.

All excursions are much alike, exhilarating in the outset, rarely up to
expectation in the object, wearisome in the return; but, nevertheless,
delightful in the memory, especially if attended with some hardship
or slight disaster. To be free, in the open air, and for a day
unconventional and irresponsible, is the sufficient justification of
a country picnic; but its common attraction is in the opportunity for
bringing young persons of the opposite sex into natural and unrestrained
relations. To Philip it was the first time in his life that a picnic had
ever seemed a defensible means of getting rid of a day.

The two persons to whom this excursion was most novel and exciting
were Evelyn and the elder maiden, Alice, who sat together and speedily
developed a sympathy with each other in the enjoyment of the country,
and in a similar poetic temperament, very shy on the part of Alice and
very frank on the part of Evelyn. The whole wild scene along the river
was quite as novel to Alice as to the city girl, because, although she
was familiar with every mile of it and had driven through it a hundred
times, she had never in all her life before, of purpose, gone to see
it. No doubt she had felt its wildness and beauty, but now for the first
time she looked at