"Picnic down the line," answered the man in charge, removing a tack from
his mouth. He motioned to the conductor, "Go ahead."

The wheels began to move; the decorators remained on the platform, letting
the train pass them; but Meredith, craning his neck from the steps, saw
that they jumped on the last car.

"What's the celebration?" asked Harkless, when Meredith returned.

"Picnic down the line," said Meredith.

"Nipping weather for a picnic; a little cool, don't you think? One of
those fellows looked like a friend of mine. Homer Tibbs, or as Homer might
look if he were in disgrace. He had his hat hung on his eyes, and he
slouched like a thief in melodrama, as he tacked up the bunting on this
side of the car." He continued to point out various familiar places,
finally breaking out enthusiastically, as they drew nearer the town,
"Hello! Look there--beyond the grove yonder! See that house?"

"Yes, John."

"That's the Bowlders'. You've got to know the Bowlders."

"I'd like to."

"The kindest people in the world. The Briscoe house we can't see, because
it's so shut in by trees; and, besides, it's a mile or so ahead of us.
We'll go out there for supper to-night. Don't you like Briscoe? He's the
best they make. We'll go up town with Judd Bennett in the omnibus, and
you'll know how a rapid-fire machine gun sounds. I want to go straight to