be a real, genuine, grown-up kind of picnic too," said Janet.
"Not just going for a walk and taking milk and biscuits with you. There
are to be five wagonettes, and we're to drive all the way to Redburn and
have tea at a farm on the side of the scar."

"There's a glorious little wood there," said Cathy, "where
lilies-of-the-valley grow wild. Miss Hope says she believes they'll
just be in flower. It will be perfectly delightful if we find them."

"Mrs. Thompson at the farm makes the most splendid girdle-cakes," put in
Millicent. "I know, because I went there once before when Mother took
her Sunday-school treat, and they were absolutely delicious. You eat
them hot out of the oven, with loads of honey."

"I hope it will be fine to-morrow," I said. "I suppose we shall go
another day if it rains, but a thing never seems quite the same if it is
put off."

"Fine? Of course it will be fine!" said Janet. "The sky is as clear as
it can be, and the moon is new, and the little soldier is standing at
his door in the barometer in my bedroom, and the cattle are grazing
uphill, and the pimpernel is out by the gate, and Miss Buller's hair is
in curl, and the midges are biting horribly, so if you can prophesy rain
after that, Miss Philippa, you don't know the English climate, that's
all I can say."

"I never prophesy till I know," I replied, laughing. "But I think after
such a list of good omens the weather could hardly, for shame,
disappoint us, though I can't give the English climate much of a
character, after all."

Janet was right, for the first of June proved to be a glorious day,
bright and clear, with a cloudless sky, and a fresh wind blowing down
from the moors. Punctually at half-past one the wagonettes drove up to
the door, and with much excitement we packed ourselves into them, Cathy
and I, after a scramble with Janet, securing the coveted seats next to
our dear Miss Hope. It was an eight-mile drive through the most charming
scenery. The white limestone road first followed the river bank amid
beautiful woods, green with all the wealth of early summer foliage and
literally carpeted with bluebells, while on the far side of the river
rose steep cliffs covered from base to summit with oak-trees, the pinky
brown of their opening leaves making a rich contrast to the dark pines
which interspersed them here and there. Leaving the woods behind us we
wound slowly up the steep slope, between rough stone walls or banks of
grass an