“Couldn’t we go after the exercises?” Calista Waters submitted waveringly.
“After!” said Delia, scornfully. “It’ll be three o’clock. That’s no fun. We want to start by twelve, prompt, and stay till six.”
Margaret Amelia Rodman bore out Delia’s contention. She and Betty had a dozen eggs saved up from their pullets. They would boil them and bring them. “The pullets?” Calista demanded aghast and was laughed into subjection, and found herself agreeing and planning in order to get back into favour. Delia and the Rodmans were, I now perceive, born leaders of mediæval living.
“Why don’t you wait till Saturday?” I finally said, from out a silence that had tried to produce this earlier. “That’s only two days.”
“Saturday!” said Delia. “Anybody can have a picnic Saturday. This is most as good as running away.”
And of course it was. But . . .
“Who wants to plant a tree?” Delia continued. “They’ll plant all they’ve got whether we’re here or not, won’t they?”
That was true. They would do so. It was clearly a selfish wish to participate that was
