The entire Birch family, Doctor Churchill, Lanse’s friend, Mary Atkinson; Jeff’s comrade, Carolyn Houghton; and Just’s inseparable, Norman Carter—­Just scorned girls, and when asked to choose whom he would have as a guest for Captain Rayburn’s picnic, mentioned Norman with an air of finality—­sat about a large rustic table upon a charming spot of greensward among the trees of a little island four miles down the river.

A great bowl of pond-lilies decorated the centre of the table; and bunches of the same flowers, tied with long yellow ribbons, lay at each plate.

When Captain Rayburn entertained he always did it in style.  And since this picnic had been especially designed to celebrate the home-coming of the travellers, a week after their arrival, no pains had been spared to make the festival one to be remembered.

Mrs. Birch was in the seat of honour, a position which she graced.  In a summer gown of white, her face round and glowing as it had not been in years, she seemed the central flower of a most attractive bouquet.  Mr. Birch looked about him with appreciative eyes.

“I don’t think I could attend to the chafing-dish with any certainty of result,” he remarked.  “I am too much occupied in observing the guests.  It strikes me that nowhere, either in New Mexico or Colorado, did I see any people approaching those before me in interest and attractiveness.  Except one,” he amended, as a general laugh greeted this extraordinary statement, “and even she never seemed to me quite so——­” He hesitated.

“Say it, sir!” cried Lanse.  “We’re with you whatever it is.  I think ‘beautiful’ is the word you want.”

Mr. Birch’s face lighted with a smile.  “Thank you, that is the word,” he said.

The captain stirred his chopped chicken into his cream sauce with the air of a chef.  “Now here you are,” he said.

The captain would not allow everything upon the table at once, picnic fashion, but kept the viands behind a screen a few feet away, and with Jeff’s and Just’s assistance, served them according to his ideas of the fitness of things.

Toward the end of the feast a particularly fine strawberry shortcake appeared, which was followed by ice-cream.  Altogether, the captain’s guests declared no picnic had ever been so satisfactory.

“Isn’t the captain great?” said Doctor Churchill, enthusiastically, to Celia, when they had all left the table and were beginning to stroll about.  “Cut off from the sort of thing he would like best to do—­that he aches to do—­he occupies himself with what comes in his way.  He would deceive any one into thinking him completely satisfied.”

“I’m so glad you understand him,” Celia answered.  “Everybody doesn’t.  Just the other day a caller said to me, ’Isn’t it lovely that Captain Rayburn is so contented with his quiet life?  Whenever I see him sitting in the park with the baby and a book, I think what a mercy it is that he isn’t like some men, or he never could take it so calmly.’  Calmly!  Uncle Ray would give his life to-morrow night if he could have a day at the head of his company over there in the Philippines.”