Roxanne came last and she saved hers until the Colonel had packed us down together in a nest of hay at Miss Priscilla’s feet like two kittens in a basket, with Lovelace Peyton squirming around as a third.

“You never encouraged me to kiss you before, Phyllis,” she whispered, with her arm around my neck; “but I’m going to whenever I want to after this, and here’s a wish that we will never get separated farther than kissing distance, now that we have found each other.”

Only Lovelace Peyton kept me from crying out loud like a baby from happiness.  He burrowed between Roxanne and me in a search for some peppermint he smelled in the hay, and stuck one knee right into my mouth to stop the sob, which was a laugh when I removed the knee for it to get out.  My first hug around Roxanne’s waist was mighty awkward, but I know she understood.

After that the picnic unfolded its minutes in such a cloud of moonlight and rosy happiness, accompanied by song, that I don’t know very well what really did happen.  For once I felt that I was looking on life from the same exalted point of view that Roxanne always has, and I hope it will become a habit with me.  Only I know it won’t.

Tony’s surprise, that he had got Father to help him about, was a hot-air balloon that the Scout book tells them how to make, and they sent one up from the place we stopped at, out on Providence Road, with “Phyllis,” cut out in great big letters and lighted with a candle inside, which wobbled and set the whole thing on fire before it got much higher than the trees.  Still, it did go up and it had my name on it!  When I got off the train in Byrdsville two months ago I couldn’t have believed in that balloon, if it had been revealed to me in a vision.  Do I deserve it all?

One of the reasons of my rosy view was that the Idol rode upon the front seat of the wagon, with the farmer who drove, and smoked one of Father’s cigars and led all the songs in the most marvelously beautiful voice I ever heard.  He was on the Glee Club at Princeton, and of course to have him come to the party at all was a compliment.  He helped Miss Priscilla and me unpack the suppers out on Tilting Rock, and acted only a little more grown-up than Tony and Pink, I don’t know whether I quite liked to have him unbend so far as to throw a biscuit back at Tony.  He is too great a man for that, and I was relieved when he took the Colonel’s horse and started back to town, because he said he had something to attend to.  It is more comfortable for me to have him on the pedestal I keep for him, than down in the ordinary walks of life with me and the rest of my friends—­fine and unusual people as they all are.  Also I am afraid I might betray in some way my great affection and veneration for him if we got too familiar over a pickle jar, and he might not like it.  How do I know he wants to be enthroned and “idolized” in my heart?