I wish I hadn't come." "Francis," called Gypsy, "I guess I won't race, I'm going to ride with Joy awhile." "Why, you needn't do that!" said Joy, rather ashamed of her complaining.
But Gypsy did do it; and though her face had clouded for the moment, a sunbeam broke over it then that lasted the rest of the day.
The day passed very much like other picnics.

They stopped in a broad, level place on the summit of the mountain, tied the horses where they could graze on the long, tufted wood-grass, unpacked the dinner baskets, and devoted themselves to biscuit and cold tongue, tarts, lemonade and current wine, through the lazy, golden nooning.
It was voted that they should not attempt the long, hot ride down the mountain-side until the blaze of the afternoon sun should be somewhat cooled.

So, after dinner they went their several ways, finding amusement for the sultry hours.

Mr.Breynton and Tom went off on a hunt after a good place to water the horses; Francis Rowe betook himself to a cigar; Sarah curled herself up on the soft moss with her sack for a pillow, and went to sleep; Mr.and Mrs.Hallam sat under the trees and read Tennyson to each other.
"How terribly stupid that must be," said Gypsy, looking on in supreme disgust; "let's you and I go off.

I know a place where there used to be some splendid foxberry blossoms, lot's of 'em, real pretty; they looked just as if they were snipped out of pearls with a pair of sharp scissors." "I wouldn't go out of sight of us all," called Mr.Breynton, as the two girls roamed away together among the trees.
"But you are most out of sight now," said Joy, presently.
"Oh, he didn't say we _mustn't_," answered Gypsy.