CHAPTER IX
PASTORALS AND PEONIES
At dinner time the father announced to us the exciting fact that Leslie had asked if a few of his guests might picnic that afternoon in the Strelley hayfields. The closes were so beautiful, with the brook under all its sheltering trees, running into the pond that was set with two green islets. Moreover, the squire’s lady had written a book filling these meadows and the mill precincts with pot-pourri romance. The wedding guests at Highclose were anxious to picnic in so choice a spot.
The father, who delighted in a gay throng, beamed at us from over the table. George asked who were coming.
“Oh, not many—about half a dozen—mostly ladies down for the wedding.”
George at first swore warmly; then he began to appreciate the affair as a joke.
Mrs. Saxton hoped they wouldn’t want her to provide them pots, for she hadn’t two cups that matched, nor had any of her spoons the least pretence to silver. The children were hugely excited, and wanted a holiday from school, which Emily at once vetoed firmly, thereby causing family dissension.
As we went round the field in the afternoon turning the hay, we were thinking apart, and did not talk.
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