"I'd rather see Sara Beaumont than forty governors," retorted Frances. "Why, she's famous--and her books are perfect! If I could ever hope to write anything like them! It's been the dream of my life just to see her ever since I read _The Story of Idlewild_. And now to think that it is to be fulfilled! It seems too good to be true that tomorrow--tomorrow, Newburys,--I shall see Sara Beaumont!" "Well," said Cecilia gently--Cecilia was always gentle even in her enthusiasm--"I shall like to see the Governor and Sara Beaumont too. But I'm going to the picnic more for the sake of seeing Nan Harris than anything else. It's three years since she went away, you know, and I've never had another chum whom I love so dearly. I'm just looking forward to meeting her and talking over all our dear, good old times. I do wonder if she has changed much. But I am sure I shall know her." "By her red hair and her freckles?" questioned Elliott teasingly. "They'll be the same as ever, I'll be bound." Cecilia flushed and looked as angry as she could--which isn't saying much, after all. She didn't mind when Elliott teased her about her pug nose and her big mouth, but it always hurt her when he made fun of Nan. Nan's family had once lived across the street from the Newburys. Nan and Cecilia had been playmates all through childhood, but when both girls were fourteen the Harrises had moved out west. Cecilia had never seen Nan since. But now the latter had come east for a visit, and was with her relatives in Campden. She was to be at the picnic, and Cecilia's cup of delight brimmed over. Mrs. Newbury came briskly into the middle of their sunset plans. She had been down to the post office, and she carried an open letter in her hand. "Mother," said Frances, straightening up anxiously, "you have a pitying expression on your face. Which of us is it for--speak out--don't keep us in suspense. Has Mary Spearman told you that Sara Beaumont isn't going to be at the picnic?" "Or that the Governor isn't going to be there?" "Or that Nan Harris isn't coming?" "Or that something's happened to put off the affair altogether?" cried Ralph and Cecilia and Elliott all at once. Mrs. Newbury laughed. "No, it's none of those things. And I don't know just whom I do pity, but it is one of you girls. This is a letter from Grandmother Newbury. Tomorrow is her birthday, and she wants either Frances or Cecilia to go out to Ashland on the early morning train and spend the day at the Bay Shore Farm." There was silence on the verandah of the Newburys for the space of ten seconds. Then Frances burst out with: "Mother, you know neither of us can go tomorrow. If it were any other day! But the day of the picnic!"