“And the picnic,” said Alice.  “Have you heard it is really coming off this time?  Next Monday.”

“Then Sarah will be able to come,” remarked Tavia, “I am just glad we waited for her.”

All the girls agreed it would be especially nice to have a genuine reunion, as this would be the last holiday until vacation, and that, of course, would mean a scattering of classmates.

“It will be a star picnic,” declared Alice, as the girls returned to the school room.

“If nothing else happens,” said Dorothy with apprehension for which she could not account.

“Why did you say that?” asked Tavia.

“I don’t know.  But somehow I feel as if something will happen,” and Dorothy had sufficient reason afterward to remember the premonition.

CHAPTER XVIII

DOROTHY IN DANGER

Picnic day came at last, and with it there drew up to the gate of Dalton School two four-horse wagons, the regular “straw-ride” variety.

Mr. Ford had provided the conveyances, and when all the girls had been seated on the big side benches with parasols, lunch boxes and “happy smiling faces,” the ride itself constituted a thoroughly enjoyable outing.

Sarah was there, between Dorothy and Tavia, and upon her arrival at the school (the wagon had stopped for her as it came up) she received a hearty welcome—­an ovation, Tavia called it.

Her face was pale, and her manner nervous, but she whispered aside to Dorothy that she was so happy, and that she could never have been happy with the girls after the trouble if Dorothy had not “straightened every thing out for her.”

Miss Ellis, too, seemed very much pleased at the prospect of a happy day—­“after all,” she thought, “her girls were well worth working for.”  It was a beautiful day in June and the ride to the woods was perfumed with that rare and wonderful incense—­vapory sweetness of flowers warmed by the soft sunshine of early summer.

Blossoms brushed the faces of our friends as the picnic wagons rumbled on and many a wreath of “laurel” was pressed to the brow of fair graduates as the maple leaves in the hands of willing weavers, were made into crowns for the “grads.”

A secret was plainly lurking in the eyes of Alice MacAllister.  Dorothy had remarked that girls, alone, would probably be lost in the great, dark picnic place, for the pine trees grew so close there, the grounds were often called “Twilight Grove”; but Alice only smiled broadly and replied: 

“You just wait—­the woods may be enchanted.”

“Splendid idea,” declared Tavia, “I do need so much a little Brownie or a goblin to help me with my housework.  Fancy going home with a dear little Jackanapes to carry my ’dinner pail’!” and at this suggestion every one seemed to enjoy the grotesque idea that Tavia had outlined.

The grove was finally reached, and the happy picnic party lost no time in leaving the wagons, and making for the “best spots.”