ancies of almost any description. "But I
shouldn't like to try to manage spirited horses. Now what are you all
laughing at?"

"You could hardly call Nat and Bess spirited," Peggy replied, when she
could make herself heard. "Not if you keep them away from hornets'
nests, anyway." She explained her qualification by telling the story of
the other memorable picnic, and the description of the two old horses
which Farmer Cole had placed at the disposal of the cottagers entirely
relieved Elaine's uncertainty.

"I'll do it, then. I seem to be a regular Jack-at-a-pinch," she laughed.

"You're an emergency girl, and I'm proud of you," Peggy declared. "The
wonder of it is that we've been able to get along without you this
summer. Now that you're here, you seem indispensable."

Accordingly it happened that Jerry Morton, from a point of concealment
in the underbrush, watched a farm-wagon rattle past the following
morning, the faces of the occupants indicating high spirits, their
voices blending jubilantly, in spite of his rejection of the chance to
share the day's pleasure. "The new one's driving," Jerry said to
himself. "But then, they could tie the lines to the whip stock and them
two old plugs would take 'em there all right, just so they didn't fall
down on the way." It was a relief to him to know that his refusal had
not detracted from the pleasure of the company, and yet he was
inconsistent enough to resent the gay chatter and the unclouded
cheeriness of the smiling faces. He plunged back into the woods, well
aware that his surreptitious glimpse had not helped to ease that inner
disquiet.

The drive scheduled for the morning was longer than that to Day's Woods,
but the charm of their destination was worth the extra effort. The spot
to which they had been directed was a knoll on the river's edge, crowned
by tall pine-trees, whose needles formed a fragrant carpet. Snake River
was an erratic stream, which, to judge from appearances, lived up to the
principle of always following the line of the least resistance. It
turned and twisted in fantastic curves, suggesting that the name Snake
River might have been applied because of its serpentine windings.
Charming little islands dotted its course, like green beads strung
irregularly upon a silver cord. To add to its attractions, there was a
dwelling near the knoll, with a barn where their horses could be cared
for, and the white-haired, rheumatic old man who led Nat and Bess away
t