"Fit warranted," said Miss Freak, putting her little foot out into the sunlight. "I wonder you don't offer me your own, Mr. McLean, at once, and save what is left of mine." "You wouldn't need but one," said Rig; "and regulations require me to have two." "Much you care for regulations, up here." "Freaky, my dear," said her aunt, "I wish you girls would unpack the baskets, and heat up our coffee. I am just worn out." "But you must have a fire," said Miss Lane. "Who'll make it?" Then followed the prettiest, liveliest bustle. The hilltop all around them was covered with a low growth of huckleberry bushes; and here and there, scattered about among this, were twigs and sticks and chips, dry and bleached and just ready to burn. Choosing with some care a rock whence the fire could not easily spread, a gay little blaze was soon kindled, and the cold coffee put under--or over--its care. Then busy hands unpacked or uncovered the baskets. Sandwiches were in one, cake in another, late peaches filled a third. Miss Freak had a box of Huyler's somewhat luscious sweets; Miss Newcomb an assortment of peanut brittle, cocoanut cakes, and sweet chocolate; and the wind kept still, and did not blow even a napkin away. But the last time Magnus Kindred had been at a picnic, it was in the far-away home region, and with just the home group around him; and now it all came back to him in a moment; with the tones of his mother's voice as she asked for a blessing on their day's pleasure. And I suppose it was this that made him pause unconsciously, after he had taken his stand by the fire to pour out the steaming coffee. "What is it?" said Mrs. Newcomb, in her plaintive voice. "Not hot yet?" Then Miss Freak laughed out, and Miss Newcomb looked at her, and Miss Lane watched this cadet who had "views." "Oh, aunty!" cried Miss Freak, "don't you know he's one of the too-good-for-this-earth boys? Why, coffee out of an ice box would scald his throat, if somebody didn't pray over it first. He's waiting for you to say grace, ma'am." "Waiting for me!" Mrs. Newcomb repeated helplessly. "But your uncle always does it, you know, Freaky." "Well, he isn't here," said Miss Freak. "Come, aunty!" The girls were choking themselves with their pocket-handkerchiefs; the cadets, better used to endurance, kept their gravity intact. Charlemagne Kindred stood absolutely still; but his thoughts went flying back to the honeysuckle-wreathed porch, and Cherry, and how she had waited for him. Blessings on her! she never came near him but to do him good. "Why doesn't the man pour out his coffee?" Miss Lane was saying impatiently to herself. "Mr. Kindred," said Mrs. Newcomb in a sort of appeal--"girls, be quiet--I am ashamed of you. Mr. Kindred, will you be kind enough to say grace yourself? Of course, it is quite proper to have it done, and a man can do it so much better."