“Give us time, give us time,” Allen interrupted.  “Wasn’t it Antony who had time and conquered, or something like that—­”

“Goodness, anybody’d know you’d been out of school a long time,” drawled Grace scathingly.  “Mark Antony, indeed!”

“Well, it was one of those guys, anyway,” maintained Allen, with admirable impartiality.  “And you have to admit the sentiment was fine.  All we ask is time—­”

“And a little grub,” supplemented Will hungrily.  “It seems to me I remember somebody saying a couple of hours ago that we were even then approaching our destination, and we seem to be getting no nearer rapidly—­”

“Oh, do try to be sensible,” cried Mollie, for the second time.  “If you would only have some patience—­”

“Never heard the word,” declared Will with a grin, and Mollie made a face at him—­a very disrespectful face.

“Well, but when—­” Will was insisting plaintively when Betty interrupted him with a cry of delight.

“Look, people,” she said, breaking away from them and running up the rather steep bank lightly.

“This isn’t the spot we picked out, but it’s twice as pretty.  Big rocks for tables—­and everything.”

“Especially everything,” commented Allen, his eyes twinkling.

“Oh, boy!” cried Roy ecstatically, setting down the hamper that had been his share and beginning to examine its contents without further delay.  “Chicken!  Ham sandwiches!  Biscuits!  Jelly—­”

“Say, get out of that!” cried Frank, snatching the hamper away with a vigor born of fear.  “What kind of manners do you call that?”

“They’re as good as yours,” retorted the outraged Roy hotly.  “Besides, there’s another hamper, isn’t there?”

“Goodness, they seem to think they can have a whole basket apiece,” cried Amy Blackford in dismay.

“Well, I guess they’ve got another think coming,” said Allen, inelegantly, placing himself with outstretched arms before the two precious hampers as though he were guarding a gold mine.  “Now let him come who dares.  Only over my dead body—­”

“Oh, what’s the use of spoiling our perfectly good party,” complained Grace.  “Can’t we ever begin to enjoy ourselves but what somebody starts taking all the joy out of life by talking about killing somebody, or something—­”

“Never mind, Gracie,” Frank soothed her, nibbling a chicken bone with great relish.  “You’ll get over it.  It may take time—­”

“Silence,” commanded Mollie, raising a pickle fork threateningly.  “Else in a twinkling I will split thee to the heart—­”

“Goodness, she’s got it, too,” sighed Grace drawlingly.

“What?” asked Mollie briskly, “I’m always interested in my symptoms—­”

“It isn’t a disease, you goose,” drawled Grace.  “Unless,” she added, as a second thought, “you can call insanity a disease—­”

“Well, you ought to know,” retorted Mollie, as she proceeded to use the pickle fork to advantage.  “What does your doctor say?”