“Oh! what a nice place!” cried Milly, looking about her, and clapping her hands, as she always did when she was pleased.  It was a point of rock running out into the lake, a “peninsula” Milly called it, when she had been all round it, and it was covered with brown heather spread all over the ground, and was delightfully soft and springy to sit upon.  In the middle of the bit of rock there were two or three trees standing up together, birch trees with silvery stems, and on every side but one there was shallow brown water, so clear that they could see every stone at the bottom.  And when they looked away across the lake, there were the grand old mountains pushing their heads into the clouds on the other side, and far away near the edge of the lake they saw a white dot which they knew was Aunt Emma’s house.  How the sun shone on everything!  How it made the water of the lake sparkle and glitter as if it were alive!  And yet the air was not hot, for a little wind was coming to them across the water, and moving the trees gently up and down.

And what was this under the trees?  Why, a kind of fireplace made of stones, and in front of it a round green bit of grass, with tufts of heather all round it, just like a table with seats.

“Who put these stones here, Aunt Emma?” asked Olly, as she and mother and Mr. Norton brought up the baskets, and put them in the green place by the stones.

“Well, Olly, long ago, when all your uncles and aunts were little, and they used to come here for picnics, they thought it would be very nice to have a stone fireplace, built up properly, so that they needn’t make one every time.  It was Uncle Richard’s idea, and we had such fun building it up.  The little ones brought the stones; and the big ones piled them together till you see we made quite a nice fireplace.  And it has lasted ever since.  Whenever I come here I mend it up if any of the stones have tumbled down.  Numbers of little children come to picnic here every summer, and they always use our fireplace.  But now, come along into the woods, children, and gather sticks.”

Off they ran after Aunt Emma, and soon they were scrambling about the wood which grew along the shore, picking up the dry sticks and dry fern under the trees.  Milly filled her cotton frock full, and gathered it up with both her hands; while Olly of course went straight at the biggest branch he could see, and staggered along with it, puffing and panting.

“You grasshopper, you!” said Mr. Norton, catching hold of him, “don’t you think you’d better try a whole tree next time?  There, let me break it for you.”  Father broke it up into short lengths, and then off ran Olly with his little skirts full to Aunt Emma, who was laden too with an armful of sticks.  “That’ll do to begin with, old man.  Come along, and you and I’ll light the fire.”

What fun it was, heaping up the sticks on the stones, and how they did blaze and crackle away when Aunt Emma put a match to them.  Puff! puff! out came the smoke; fizz—­crack—­sputter—­went the dry fir branches, as if they were Christmas fireworks.