“Here we are!” said Graham at last, bringing the Flyaway up nicely on a pebbly beach, in good boating style.

Graham and Joe made a chair with their hands and arms, and so carried Phil very comfortably to the place under the trees which Miss Rachel had chosen for their encampment.

“Now,” said Miss Rachel, as she brought out Phil’s portfolio, a book, her own embroidery, and Lisa’s sewing, “I propose that Graham, being a more active member of society than we are, go off with Joe and catch some fish for our dinner.”

“Just the thing!” said Graham; “but I did not bring a line.”

“Joe has everything necessary—­bait and all,” said Miss Schuyler.

“Now,” said Miss Rachel, when the fishermen had gone, seeing Phil’s longing look, and knowing well how much he would have liked to go with them, “we must go to work too, so that we may enjoy our play all the more afterwards.  I could not let you go with Graham, my dear Phil; it would have fatigued you too much; but I want you to try and draw me that drooping bush on the edge of the water, and while you draw I will read aloud for a while.”

Miss Schuyler read, explained, talked to Phil about his drawing, and gave him the names of the trees about him.

The time flew fast, and it seemed a very little while when Miss Schuyler said to Lisa, “I think I hear oars; we had better be getting our feast ready.”

They brought out the basket and pails, spread a nice red dessert cloth down on a smooth patch of grass, laid broad green leaves down for the rolls and biscuits; golden balls of butter were in a silver dish of their own, and so were the berries in a willow basket, around which they put a few late wild-flowers.

“Now we want a good flat stone for our fireplace, and—­Ah! here come our fishermen just in time.”

Graham and Joe now appeared with a few perch, but plenty of catfish.  They went to work with zeal, and soon had enough brush for the fire, which they built at a good distance.  And while Graham fed it, Joe skinned his catfish, salted the perch, and laid them on the stone.

Then they all sat around their grassy table, and Joe served them in fine style, bringing them their fish smoking hot on white napkins.

How merry they were over the good things, and how eager Graham was to cook fish for Joe, and serve the old fellow as nicely as he had done all of them!  And Phil cut the very largest slice of cake for Joe.

“It is just the jolliest picnic I ever was at,” said Graham, helping to wash and clear away, and re-stow spoons and forks.

“Of course it is,” said Phil.  “There never can be another quite so nice:  it is my first one, you know.”

“Yes; just think of it, and it’s my fiftieth, I suppose; but then you must not think all picnics like this.  It is something really remarkable to have everything go off so smoothly.  Why, sometimes all the crockery gets smashed, or the fire won’t burn, or if it does, you get the smoke in your eyes, or your potatoes get burned, and your lemonade gets in your milk, or somebody puts your ice in the sun, and, to crown it all, down comes a shower.”