"Picnics? Oh, dear me, yes! We have a picnic almost every week. We take the pony carriage and carry our own provisions, and make a fire of sticks. Have you ever tried to boil a kettle in the open air? It is a terrible experience. First of all the wood is so damp that it won't light, and you get all smoked and dirty; then when it does begin to burn, and you put the kettle on the top, the whole thing collapses to the ground, and you have to begin again from the beginning. You prop it up with stones, and get everything started for the second time, and then the others come back from laying the table and say, `What! isn't the water boiling yet? Oh, you don't know how to light a fire! It is not properly laid. Let me show you!' and down comes the whole thing again. At the end of an hour the kettle boils, and the water is smoked! We always use it to wash our hands, and drink milk instead. This year I intend to use fire-lighters." "We have a proper tea-basket for taking about with us," said one of the other girls. "The kettle hangs over a lamp which is protected from the draught, and you can have boiling water in ten minutes without any trouble. We always take it when we go on the river. I like boating picnics best of any." "We go to the sea-side for the whole of the holidays," said Ella Bennet, a big girl with rosy cheeks and long, brown hair; "Mother thinks the bathing does us so much good. I learnt to swim last year. An old fisherman rowed out in a boat. I had a strap fastened round my waist, and he held me up with a pole while I went puffing round and round. He tried to teach me to dive as well, but I was too nervous. One day I vowed I really would try. I climbed on to the edge of the boat six times over, while he held me, and showed me how to put out my hands, and each time I began to squeal, and jumped down again at the last moment. It was band day, so there were hundreds of people sitting on the shore, and they roared with laughter. I was ashamed to come out of the van." "I don't care about the sea-side. I like the country," said another girl. "Last year we stayed at an old farmhouse in Derbyshire. The walls are of oak, and there are secret cupboards on the stairs. There is a legend that on moonlight nights one of the rooms is haunted by a lady in white, who comes and sits by an old spinning-wheel. One evening I dressed up in a sheet, powdered my hair, and blacked my eyebrows, then I got the landlady to suggest to the others that they should go upstairs and look for the ghost. They came up in a rush, and there I was spinning away with my head bent down as solemn as a judge. They were awfully quiet, but the boys crept nearer and nearer, and then pretended to faint, and toppled right over me. Horrid things! It turned out that the silly old woman thought they might be frightened, so she told them who it was before they came up. I was so cross!"