the ham and home-made bread and everything on the table were perfectly delicious, and they ate, and ate, and talked and laughed until Kitty wondered how it was that Mrs. Henderson did not come in and ask them to be quiet.  They had all, at the same moment, reached that mood when everything one says, or thinks, or does, sounds or seems amusing; and they laughed and laughed without being able to check themselves, until at last Kitty found herself with her head in the tea-tray, while Dan hung limply over the back of his chair, and Betty and Tony laid their heads on the table and held their aching sides.

“Oh dear!” cried Kitty, straightening herself and trying to compose her face.  “They say it is unlucky to laugh so much.  I wonder if it is true.  It does seem hard, doesn’t it?”

The thought sobered them a little, and they gave themselves up to their tea.

“I never know,” said Betty thoughtfully, after a somewhat long silence, “whether it is better to begin with ham and end with cream and jam, or to begin with cream and then have the ham, but it seems to me that it is just the same whichever I do—­I can’t eat much of both.  I have tried and tried.”

“I call that a real affliction,” said Dan soberly.  “Of course there is just a chance that you may grow out of it in time, but it is hard lines.”

“Yes,” sighed Betty, “it really is,” and lapsed into quietness.  “Another time,” she said at last, very gravely, “I think I shall come twice, and not have both at the same tea.”

“Perhaps you would like Mrs. Henderson to save you some till to-morrow,” suggested Dan ironically.

“No—­o,” said Betty seriously, “I don’t think I will.  I don’t expect I shall want any more as soon as to-morrow, but—­”

“You aren’t feeling ill, are you?” asked Kitty anxiously, as she studied Betty’s face.

“No—­o,” answered Betty slowly, “not ill; but it’s funny that what is so nice to think about before tea isn’t half as nice after.”

“If I were you,” said Dan pointedly, “I would go and sit in the meadow for a bit, and keep very still until it is time to go home.”

“I think I will,” said Betty gravely, and started; but they had all finished their meal by this time, and following Dan’s advice, strolled out once more to the scented garden, and down through the sloping meadow to the riverside.  It was nearly time to wind their way homewards, but they must have a little rest first, and one more look at the river and the woods, so they perched themselves about on the old tree roots, which formed most comfortable and convenient seats—­all but Dan, who seemed to prefer to perch on a rock which stood in the middle of the river, which was shallower here and wider.  To get to it he had to take off his shoes and stockings and wade, which perhaps made up for the uncomfortableness of the seat when he reached it, and soon sent him wading back through the cool rippling water again.