Keith and Rob, and the other boys who had been invited to the picnic, busied themselves by dragging up sticks and logs for a big bonfire.

The girls began a game of "I spy" behind the great rock where the columbines clambered in the spring, and spread their blossoms like butterflies poised on an airy stem.
"Come on, Eugenia," they called, but she shrugged her shoulders with what the girls called a "young ladified air," and turned to Malcolm with a coquettish glance of her big black eyes.
"I know whose initials you are going to cut with yours," she said.
"Whose ?" asked Malcolm, digging away at a capital M.
"Oh, I'll not tell, but I know well enough.

There's only one that you _could_ cut, you know." "You needn't be so sure about that," said Malcolm, loftily.

"I know plenty of names that I wouldn't mind cutting here in this tree with mine." "With a heart around them, like the ones on this tree ?" she asked, pointing to a rude carving on the trunk against which she leaned.
"Yes, with a heart around them," he repeated.
"But there's only one name you would carve that way, and put an _arrow_ through it," she said, meaningly.

"At any rate, a silver arrow.