“You will, if I have anything to say about it,” said Betty, flashing one of her brightest smiles at her Man Friday. XI A LABOR DAY LUNCHEON Labor Day was, of course, on Monday, and the Saturday before Betty received this letter: Boston, Friday. Dearest Betty: The loveliest thing has happened! Aunt Evelyn has asked me to make her a little visit in New York (she lives at the Waldorf, you know), and she says I may ask you to go with us on a Labor Day excursion on Monday. So don’t fail me; I’m crazy to see you! I’m so excited over it all, I can scarcely write. But this is the plan. I’m going to New York to-morrow. You’re to come on Monday morning, and we’ll meet you at the ferry—on the New York side, you know. And then, the boat—oh, I forgot to tell you, we’re going to West Point—sails from somewhere near there. But never mind that; we’ll meet you and show you the way. We’re going to carry our luncheon, for Aunt Evelyn says you can’t get anything fit to eat on an excursion-boat. So you can bring a contribution to the feast, or not, according to your convenience. But be sure to come. I’ve never been up the Hudson River, and we’ll have loads of fun. Take that early train from Greenborough, and wait for us “under the clock.” Lovingly, Dorothy. “Isn’t it fine, Mother?” said Betty, as she read the letter aloud. “I’ve never been up the Hudson either, and it will be such fun to go with Dorothy.” “Yes, it will, deary. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely trip. You’ll have to scurry out early, though, if you’re to take that seven-thirty train. You’ll want to take some luncheon, won’t you?” “Oh, yes; I think I ought to. Ellen will cook some of her lovely fried chicken for me. And I might take some stuffed eggs or some jelly tarts. I’ll talk it over with Ellen.” Now, Ellen was by nature what is called “a good provider.” And so it happened that when Betty came down-stairs at half-past six on Monday morning Ellen was already packing into a big box the good things which she had risen before daylight to prepare. “For mercy’s sake, Ellen!” cried Betty, “do you think I’m going to feed the whole excursion?” “Arrah, Miss Betty,” returned Ellen, placidly, “it’s a fine appetite ye’ll get on the water, and yer city folks’ll be glad to eat yer country fixin’s.” Ellen was wrapping delicious-looking bits of golden-brown fried chicken daintily in oiled paper, and tucking them into place in the big box. Then in one corner she placed a smaller box of stuffed eggs, which, in their individual frills of fringed white paper, formed a pretty picture.