“There's only one way,” said Mrs. Macallister, who had driven up with her husband from the hotel to the Squire's house in a buggy. “Mr. Halleck tells me he doesn't know how to drive, and my husband doesn't know the way. Mr. Hubbard must get in here with me, and you must take Mr. Macallister in your party.” She looked authoritatively at the others. “First rate!” cried Bartley, climbing to the seat which Mr. Macallister left vacant. “We'll lead the way.” Those who followed had difficulty in keeping their buggy in sight. Sometimes Bartley stopped long enough for them to come up, and then, after a word or two of gay banter, was off again. They had taken possession of the picnic grounds, and Mrs. Macallister was disposing shawls for rugs and drapery, while Bartley, who had got the horse out, and tethered where he could graze, was pushing the buggy out of the way by the shafts, when the carryall came up. “Don't we look quite domestic?” she asked of the arriving company, in her neat English tone, and her rising English inflection. “You know I like this,” she added, singling Halleck out for her remark, and making it as if it were brilliant. “I like being out of doors, don't you know. But there's one thing I don't like: we weren't able to get a drop of champagne at that ridiculous hotel. They told us they were not allowed to keep 'intoxicating liquors.' Now I call that jolly stupid, you know. I don't know whatever we shall do if you haven't brought something.” “I believe this is a famous spring,” said Halleck. “How droll you are! Spring, indeed!” cried Mrs. Macallister. “Is _that_ the way you let your brother make game of people, Miss Halleck?” She directed a good deal of her rattle at Olive; she scarcely spoke to Marcia, but she was nevertheless furtively observant of her. Mr. Macallister had his rattle too, which, after trying it unsatisfactorily upon Marcia, he plied almost exclusively for Olive. He made puns; he asked conundrums; he had all the accomplishments which keep people going in a lively, mirthful, colonial society; and he had the idea that he must pay attentions and promote repartee. His wife and he played into each other's hands in their _jeux d'esprit_; and kept Olive's inquiring Boston mind at work in the vain endeavor to account for and to place them socially. Bartley hung about Mrs. Macallister, and was nearly as obedient as her husband. He felt that the Hallecks disapproved his behavior, and that made him enjoy it; he was almost rudely negligent of Olive.