"Don't forget your 'g' letters!" called Nan, shaking her finger at her sister. "You must say 'going' and 'standing' not 'goin',' my dear, or 'standin',' you know." "Yes, I know. But when you feel like wigglin'--I mean wigglING," and Flossie said the last syllable very loudly, "why, then you don't think about 'g' letters; do you, Freddie?" "I don't guess so," he answered, not taking his eyes off the knife that was flashing in Bert's hand, making the white slivers of wood scatter over the green grass. "Oh, I just can hardly wait till the auto truck comes; can you, Nan?" asked Flossie, dancing over the lawn like a fairy in a play. "Oh, I'm so glad it doesn't rain!" and she looked anxiously up at the sky as if some cloud might float across the wonderful blue and spoil the day of pleasure. "Yes, the weather is lovely," agreed Nan. "And if you don't think so much about it, Flossie, the truck will get here all the sooner." "But I _like_ to think about it!" cried Flossie. "It's the same as Christmas! The more you think about it the more fun it is! Oh, I'm going to look down the road and see if the truck is coming!" Down toward the front gate she skipped, the big bow of ribbon on her hair flapping up and down like the wings of some great blue butterfly. "Be careful about climbing on the gate!" warned Nan. "If you get rusty spots on your white dress they won't come out!" "I'll be careful," Flossie promised, calling back over her shoulder, and, as she tripped along she sang: "We're going to a picnic! We're going to a picnic!" "I think I'd better watch her so she won't soil her clothes," said Nan, getting up from a bench, where she had been sitting beside the boxes and baskets of lunch. "It would be too bad if she should get her dress dirty and couldn't go." "I'm not going to get my clothes dirty, am I, Nan?" asked Freddie, as he looked at his white blouse. "I hope not," Nan answered. Suddenly there was an exclamation from Bert, as Nan started down the path toward Flossie. "Ouch!" cried Bert. "What's the matter?" Nan asked quickly. "Cut myself!" "Oh! Oh, dear!" screamed Freddie, who did not like the sight of the red blood which oozed from the end of his brother's finger. "Oh, don't get any on my clean blouse, else I can't go to the picnic!" Bert, who had popped the cut finger into his mouth as soon as he felt the hurt, now took it out to laugh. "That's all you care about me, Freddie!" he joked. "I cut my finger, while making you a little boat, and all you care about is that I mustn't dirty your white blouse! I'll make you a lot more ships--I guess not!" "Oh, but I am sorry for you!" Freddie declared. "Only I do so want to go to the picnic!" "Yes, I know," Bert went on, seeing that Freddie was taking his talk too seriously. "I won't get any blood on you!"