So, Mr. Errol continued the splore, and smoked the Turk’s head.  Mr. Terry lit his dudheen, and Mr. Bigglethorpe, his briar.  The Squire’s head was too sore for smoking, but he said he liked the smell o’ the reek.  While thus engaged, a buggy drove up, and Miss Halbert and Mr. Perrowne alighted from it, while Maguffin, always watchful, took the horse round to the stable yard.  The doctor had heard of Rawdon’s capture, and had sent these two innocents to see that all was right at Bridesdale.  Miss Halbert sat down by Miss Du Plessis, and the parson accepting one of the colonel’s cigars, joined the smokers.  He also regretted the absence of Coristine, a splendid fellow, he said, a perfect trump, the girl will be lucky who gets a man like that, expressions that were not calculated to make Miss Carmichael happy.  Mr. Perrowne had proposed and had been accepted.  He was in wild spirits, when Mr. Bigglethorpe startled the company by saying, “I’ve got an idear!”

“Howld on to it, Bigglethorpe, howld on; you may never get another,” cried the parson.

“What is it?” asked Mrs. Carruthers, who was shooing the children away to Tryphosa.

“It’s a united picnic to the likes.  Who’s got to sty at home?”

“I have for one,” answered the Squire; “yon deevil o’ a Rawdon has gien me a scunner at picnics.”

“I cannot go,” said his wife, “for I have him and the children to keep me.”

“Paul, you must go, and Cecile also,” interposed Mrs. Du Plessis; “I will attend to the wants of our patient.”

“Then,” spoke up the fisherman, “we shall have Mrs. Carmichael and Mr. Errol, Miss Halbert and Mr. Perrowne, the colonel and Miss Carruthers, Mr. Terry and Miss Du Plessis, and, please Mrs. Carmichael, Marjorie and me.  Can ten get into one waggon?”

“O aye,” replied the Squire, “the waggon’ll haud nine, and Marjorie can sit on Mr. Bigglethorpe’s knees.  Hi, Timotheus, get oot the biggest waggon wi’ three seats, quick, man!”

Once more, the mighty ham was carved into sandwiches, and others were made of sardines and marmalade.  Chickens were hastily roasted, and pies and cakes, meant for dinner and tea, stowed away in baskets, with bottles of ale and cider and milk, and materials for tea-making, and a huge chunk of ice out of the ice-house, and a black bottle that Mr. Terry eyed affectionately.  “This is for you old men, grandpapa,” said Mrs. Carmichael to the veteran; “now, remember, none for these boys, Errol and Perrowne.”  Mr. Terry replied:  “To be sure, ma’am,” but thought in his heart, would it be him that would deprive the boys of a bit of innocent recreation at such a time.  Such a looking out there was of hats and wraps, of guns and fishing tackle.  The colonel was to drive in person.  Mr. Terry was to be chief of the commissariat under Mrs. Carmichael.  Mr. Bigglethorpe was to direct fishing operations, and bring, with the assistance of Mr. Terry, the scow and Rawdon’s boat to the Encampment lake.  Marjorie was wild with delight, and insisted on going with the grandfather and dear Mr Biggles.  It was ten o’clock when all the preparations were concluded, and Timotheus brought round the capacious waggon.  All the household assembled to see the picnic party off, and the young Carruthers lifted up their voices and wept.  The whole ten got in, but there was no free rollicking Irish voice to sing:—­