,
bowing very low as he rode past the wagon filled with happy girls.

There was no response to his polite salutation; for even the children of
the historic city resented the presence of the English soldiery.

"Mother, sing your May-day song," suggested Betty.

But Mrs. Hastings shook her head laughingly.

"I must save that for our dance round the May-pole," she replied, "and
we shall soon be at the picnic field now."

The field was very near the place where Ruth and Winifred had turned
into the hill road, and the May party reached it after not more than an
hour's ride. Black Jason drove through the field toward the river bank,
and stopped under a group of tall elms. In a few moments the girls were
scattered about searching for flowers. Black Jason and his friend
unloaded the lunch wagon, and then Mrs. Hastings called the girls to
decide on the best place to erect the May-pole, a fine birch tree that
Black Jason was now chopping down.

"There are so many good places!" exclaimed Betty, looking about the
smooth field. "I think this is the best," she decided finally, as, with
her guests beside her, she stopped near the edge of a wood.

It was just the place for a May-pole, the other girls declared, as they
looked about; and Black Jason and his friend set up the tall birch tree,
whose green branches were more beautiful than any decoration that the
girls could have imagined. While Mrs. Hastings and Betty spread the
lunch in the shade of the woods, the other girls gathered flowers and
wove garlands for each other, and talked happily together. Ruth found
herself seated beside Annette Tennant, a girl about Betty's age.

"I will give you my wreath, and you can give me yours," said the older
girl. "You are rather young to be asked to this party," she continued,
looking at Ruth.

"I am nearly eleven," replied Ruth. "Winifred Merrill isn't any older
than that."

"I noticed there were two little girls," rejoined Annette
condescendingly. "You mustn't mind if most of us are older. I always
like children," went on Annette, who was even taller than Betty
Hastings, and whose yellow hair was braided neatly and wound around her
head.

Ruth made no reply. She was feeling a little ashamed that she had
declared Winifred's story to be untrue. Even if Winnie had set the
basket in the garden and let her go about bowing to trees and birds Ruth
felt that she herself had been rude and unkind.

"What made that other child tell all that