"I'll tell you what," cried Fenton, "if you don't come, the water will all boil away. Don't you mean ever to have luncheon? I don't know what you are thinking of, with your old stories!" This brought the party to their feet. And now, some went at unpacking and arranging the things which had been brought along in bag and basket; Flora lit the spirit lamp and set the coffee a-going; while Meredith and Fenton put the potatoes in the ashes and took care of the process of roasting the oysters. It was not so warm to-day that the fire was disagreeable, which was lucky, as the oysters demanded a good bed of coals; the potatoes likewise. Finally, Meredith set about making a friar's omelet. When all was ready and the tea drawn, they sat round the fire on the grass, and made a most miscellaneous and most enjoyable meal. "Coffee! how good the coffee is!" said Meredith. "And did you _ever_ see such good roast oysters?" cried Maggie. "They ought to be good," Fenton growled; "they cost a precious sight of work to get 'em up here." "And Ditto's omelet is so nice!"--Maggie went on. "If one could live in the open air!" said Meredith, "how good it would be. I do not mean the omelet! but everything else. It's a great loss to live in houses." "Lots of convenience, though," said Fenton. "Look at the heap of oyster-shells Fenton is throwing behind him!" cried Maggie presently. "What's that to you?" said Fenton. "There are oysters enough. Don't meddle. If anything is a nuisance it is a meddling girl." "How about a meddling boy?" Mr. Murray asked. "Boys don't meddle," said Fenton. "It is girls." "I suppose that is because the boys do the things that have to be meddled with," said Maggie sagely. Fenton scowled, but the others laughed, and the meal went merrily forward. "How much time have we?" Flora asked. "For what?" "For staying here, and reading. How long before we must break up and go home?" "We can take our own time," said Meredith. "The tide will be good. Indeed it will be only getting better and better. It will turn about two o'clock." "We must get home in time for dinner," observed Fenton, however. "I really should think you might wait a while for that," said Esther. "Uncle Eden, if anybody else comes here this fall, they will see exactly what we had for lunch." "How so?" "There are the egg-shells, and potato-skins, and Fenton's heap of oyster-shells." "You do not think we will leave them here? Besides, there are several heaps of oyster-shells, I think; they are not all Fenton's." "Fenton's is the biggest. But what will you do with all these things, Uncle Eden?" "Carry them away." "Where to, sir?" asked Fenton. "Down the hill." "Why, sir?" "How would you like such a quantity of rubbish left in the woods at Mosswood, by some happy picnic party?" "This isn't Mosswood, sir." "No, it is some other wood." "But it is nobody's ground." "How can you venture to affirm that?" "Well, I mean, it is nobody's ground in particular."