As Mr. Maynard spoke--indeed he timed his words purposely--their own carriage drove up to the front door, and, flying to the window, Marjorie saw some children getting out of it. Though bundled up in raincoats and caps, she soon recognized Gladys and Dick Fulton and Dorothy Adams. In a moment they all met in the hall, and the laughter and shouting effectually banished the last trace of disappointment from the young Maynards' faces. "Did you come for the picnic?" said Marjorie to Gladys, in amazement. "Yes; your father telephoned early this morning,--before breakfast,--and he said the picnic would be in the house instead of in the woods. And he sent the carriage for us all." "Great! Isn't it?" said Dick Fulton, as he helped his sister off with her mackintosh. "I thought there'd be no picnic, but here we are." "Here we are, indeed!" said Mr. Maynard, who was helping Dorothy Adams unwind an entangling veil, "and everybody as dry as a bone." "Yes," said Dorothy, "the storm is awful, but in your close carriage, and with all these wraps, I couldn't get wet." "Oh, isn't it fun!" cried Kitty, as she threw her arms around her dear friend, Dorothy. "Are you to stay all day?" "Yes, until six o'clock. Mr. Maynard says picnics always last until sundown." Back they all trooped to the big living-room, which presented a cheerful aspect indeed. The rainy morning being chilly, an open fire in the ample fireplace threw out a cheerful blaze and warmth. Mrs. Maynard's pleasant face smiled brightly, as she welcomed each little guest, and afterward she excused herself, saying she had some household matters to attend to and that Mr. Maynard would take charge of the "picnic." "First of all," said the host, as the children turned expectant faces toward him, "nobody is to say, 'What a pity it rained!' or anything like that. Indeed, you are not to look out at the storm at all, unless you say, 'How fortunate we are under cover!' or words to that effect." "All right, sir," said Dick Fulton, "I agree. And I think a picnic in the house will be dead loads of fun." "That's the way to talk," said Mr. Maynard, "and now the picnic will begin. The first part of it will be a nutting-party." "Oho!" laughed Marjorie. "A nutting-party in the house is 'most too much! I don't see any trees;" and she looked around in mock dismay. "Do you usually pick the nuts off of trees?" asked her father, quizzically. "You know you don't! You gather them after they have fallen. Now nuts have fallen all over this house, in every room, and all you have to do is to gather them. Each may have a basket, and see who can find the most. Scamper, now!" While Mr. Maynard was talking, Sarah, the waitress, had come in, bringing seven pretty baskets of fancy wicker-ware. One was given to each child, and off they ran in quest of nuts. "Every room, Father?" called back Marjorie, over her shoulder.