The “picnic” season at Shirani set in with unexampled severity. There were tea picnics--an inexpensive form of entertainment, dear to the economically disposed, who flattered themselves that they could wipe out all social debts by a table-cloth spread on a mossy slope (within an easy ride from cantonment), and to this they bid their friends in order to partake of cheap fruit, bazaar-made cake, and smoked tea--the selected “view” supplying every deficiency. There were snug little select tea-parties, where the viands were dainty and luxurious, and to match the company--appetizing luncheons, carried off to be discussed miles away under pine trees, and facing indistinct blue valleys and brilliantly white peaks; and of all these expeditions, the “Noah’s Ark” picnic was indisputably the most popular. In June the climate, society, scenery of Shirani all pointed to picnics, with again picnics, and more picnics. They were unceremonious, easily enjoyed, easily declined. New-comers from below, after a month among dim cool pine woods, or a critical study of a deep valley, clothed with gorgeous forest trees, blazing with red, pink, and white rhododendrons, found it difficult to believe that there was such a place far beneath them as tawny-coloured hard-baked plains, over which, instead of a delicate fragrant breeze, roared the brazen-mouthed blast of the fire-eating hot winds. The _al fresco_ season culminated in a “married ladies’” picnic--chiefly got up by Mrs. Langrishe and Mrs. Brande. There had been a committee meeting at the ladies’ room at the club; Mrs. Langrishe was voted secretary--being very capable with her pen. The conference had been held with closed doors--solemn--and secret. All the same, some of the motions and arrangements had leaked out. It was known that Mrs. Brande had volunteered to provide the champagne--also fowls, hams, and raised pies. Mrs. Sladen was down for afternoon tea, cups and saucers, milk, sugar, and cake. Mrs. Dashwood provided cheroots, cigarettes, and pegs. Mrs. Loyd, the sweets, tarts, jellies, and _méringues_. Mrs. Clark, the soup. Mrs. Glover, the ices. The thing was to be done in style. Mrs. Paul, the Padré’s wife (having a large family), was let off with coffee. “Your own cups and spoons of course,” added the secretary imperatively. Mrs. Langrishe--there was a long-drawn breath of expectancy, as she read out her own name, “Well, she would provide the appointments, table-cloths, and napkins, plates, knives and forks, bread, salad--and water.” There was a pause, and she continued impressively-- “It was not _every_ one who would care to risk their nice things” (she would borrow from Manockjee, the Parsee shop); “but _she_ would venture,” and her meek coadjutors accepted her contribution just as gratefully as Mrs. Brande’s champagne and ham. It was one of her usual master strokes, and the picnic would cost her nothing, beyond the use of some house linen and a few loaves of bread.