Next time you will.

I hope you'll come often on our picnics.

You'll see what fun we'll have." "Fine day for a picnic, ain't it?
There ain't a cloud." "That's so," exclaimed Trina, looking up, "not a single cloud.

Oh, yes; there is one, just over Telegraph Hill." "That's smoke." "No, it's a cloud.

Smoke isn't white that way." "'Tis a cloud." "I knew I was right.