At The Bay Shore Farm
by
The Newburys were agog with excitement over the Governor’s picnic. As they talked it over on the verandah at sunset, they felt that life could not be worth living to those unfortunate people who had not been invited to it. Not that there were many of the latter in Claymont, for it was the Governor’s native village, and the Claymonters were getting up the picnic for him during his political visit to the city fifteen miles away.
Each of the Newburys had a special reason for wishing to attend the Governor’s picnic. Ralph and Elliott wanted to see the Governor himself. He was a pet hero of theirs. Had he not once been a Claymont lad just like themselves? Had he not risen to the highest office in the state by dint of sheer hard work and persistency? Had he not won a national reputation by his prompt and decisive measures during the big strike at Campden? And was he not a man, personally and politically, whom any boy might be proud to imitate? Yes, to all of these questions. Hence to the Newbury boys the interest of the picnic centred in the Governor.
“I shall feel two inches taller just to get a look at him,” said Ralph enthusiastically.
“He isn’t much to look at,” said Frances, rather patronizingly. “I saw him once at Campden–he came to the school when his daughter was graduated. He is bald and fat. Oh, of course, he is famous and all that! But I want to go to the picnic to see Sara Beaumont. She’s to be there with the Chandlers from Campden, and Mary Spearman, who knows her by sight, is going to point her out to me. I suppose it would be too much to expect to be introduced to her. I shall probably have to content myself with just looking at her.”
Ralph resented hearing the Governor called bald and fat. Somehow it seemed as if his hero were being reduced to the level of common clay.
“That’s like a girl,” he said loftily; “thinking more about a woman who writes books than about a man like the Governor!”
“I’d rather see Sara Beaumont than forty governors,” retorted Frances. “Why, she’s famous–and her books are perfect! If I could ever hope to write anything like them! It’s been the dream of my life just to see her ever since I read The Story of Idlewild. And now to think that it is to be fulfilled! It seems too good to be true that tomorrow–tomorrow, Newburys,–I shall see Sara Beaumont!”
“Well,” said Cecilia gently–Cecilia was always gentle even in her enthusiasm–“I shall like to see the Governor and Sara Beaumont too. But I’m going to the picnic more for the sake of seeing Nan Harris than anything else. It’s three years since she went away, you know, and I’ve never had another chum whom I love so dearly. I’m just looking forward to meeting her and talking over all our dear, good old times. I do wonder if she has changed much. But I am sure I shall know her.”
“By her red hair and her freckles?” questioned Elliott teasingly. “They’ll be the same as ever, I’ll be bound.”
Cecilia flushed and looked as angry as she could–which isn’t saying much, after all. She didn’t mind when Elliott teased her about her pug nose and her big mouth, but it always hurt her when he made fun of Nan.
Nan’s family had once lived across the street from the Newburys. Nan and Cecilia had been playmates all through childhood, but when both girls were fourteen the Harrises had moved out west. Cecilia had never seen Nan since. But now the latter had come east for a visit, and was with her relatives in Campden. She was to be at the picnic, and Cecilia’s cup of delight brimmed over.
Mrs. Newbury came briskly into the middle of their sunset plans. She had been down to the post office, and she carried an open letter in her hand.