Her meditations on chinny Australians lasted till they reached the Fairy Dell, the sight of which chased every other thought from her head. Surrounded by she-oaks and native cherry trees a smoothly curved hollow lay at the foot of a rocky declivity, its sides clothed with ferns almost startlingly green amidst the dried-up grass which covered most of the country around. A silvery cascade of water fell down the rock at the far side, its fine spray blown by the wind over the little hollow, looking in the sunlight like the veil of a fairy bride. Mollie recognized the delicate fronds of maidenhair growing in clumps here and there, and the edge of the pool at the bottom of the hollow was fringed with wild forget-me-nots. The children scrambled down and seated themselves in a shady spot, untying their sun-bonnets and holding their hot and dusty faces towards the filmy veil of foam. "It is heavenly," Mollie said, with a long sigh, as she sniffed up the cool scent of the damp ferns. "I don't wonder you call it the Fairy Dell." "It is Mamma's favourite spot, and we often have picnics here," said Prue, hanging her sun-bonnet on a branch of she-oak that spread above them. "There's the water all ready, you see, and there's a place up there where we can light our fire. Mamma sketches, and we bring our books or we hunt for wild flowers; it is always a nice place to be in. Now we can eat our fruit." She produced a knife from her basket and cut a melon in halves. Its delicate pink flesh and black seeds called forth more enthusiastic admiration from Mollie. "Let us arrange all the things among the ferns," she suggested, "and gather some forget-me-nots to put beside that pink melon; then the purple grapes; then the peaches--isn't it _pretty_, Prue?" Prue nodded her head; she was speechless with melon, and soon the other two were following her example; and melon was followed by peaches. Then Grizzel jumped to her feet. "There is a cache here," she said. "Papa often pops something in for a surprise when he passes this way. I'm going to look; there might be a pencil there, and I want to draw that fruit." She soon returned, carrying in her hand a small basket, which yielded up two books, a small sketching-block, and a box of chocolates. "You can have the books," she announced, "one is _From Six to Sixteen_, by Mrs. Ewing, and the other is _Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea_, by Jules Verne." Mollie, being the guest, got first choice and took Jules Verne, turning the pictures over with much interest as she compared the _Nautilus_ with the submarine of 1920. "I do think," she said emphatically, helping herself to a large chocolate-cream with entire disregard of both past and future, "I do think that your father is a perfect _peach_." Grizzel glanced up from her drawing to the still-life study before her. "He is more the shape of a water-melon," she remarked. Mollie laughed.