It was a sunny Thursday evening, and my dad came home with a big surprise. He said we were going on a picnic the next day! I was so excited that I hardly slept a wink that night—surely nothing could spoil our picnic!
Then, just as I was getting up, I happened to look out of the window. Oh dear! I didn’t want to get up at all. It was just pouring with rain! I went downstairs crying: never in all my life had I wanted anything so much as that picnic. To think it was so near and yet so far! But dad cheered me up by saying that he wasn’t sure about the rain himself.
So we went up to have breakfast, hoping that Alice and Oliver wouldn’t come too soon. Then suddenly, just as we were going to look out again, there was a ringing at the bell and there were Alice and Oliver. Dearie me! There was nothing else for it; we had to show them the things and tell them about our picnic. At first, I thought I should cry again. But dad said, “Don’t be silly, Sam. There are showers and then sunshine. Let’s give them their breakfast, and we shall soon know what this rain is going to do.” So we weren’t long in making a meal—for my mother had made piles of toast. I always liked Alice better than Oliver, though she is the elder of the two. I think she and I have more in common, not being so very much older than one another.
“We shall very likely come in for a shower before morning, so you had better bring your own umbrellas,” said Dad to Alice and Oliver when breakfast was over.
Off we all started together, and I must confess I liked them with me. I seemed to cheer my heart, and just after we passed a certain corner near our house that is always giddy (but thankfully for me never dizzy, for I am never dizzy), I looked up—I do not know why—and, lo and behold! the rain ceased, the sun appeared, and the sky seemed at once blue and smiling. I should never have cried again, after all, if it hadn’t been for that enormous fat, ugly man who crossed us, and who proved to be more ugly because he proved more than fat. You must know we had as our five passengers Auntie, my mother’s sister, and Oliver’s and Alice’s aunt, and as we three started in front we were bound to turn round to see who was coming behind. Well, I turned, and would have given anything not to have done so. If it had been that chubby one that we’d seen first, who was hanging on to Mum’s arm, I should have been pleased. But, as luck would have it, it was the horrible man, oh! so much more hideous than I had thought. That made me so very glad that I was by myself to turn round to see everybody coming instead of with the whole party. For to think that one of our party was that dreadful man! But, hold on Sam, thought I again, blooming as one would say of oranges when they are very fine; things will always do right. It’s quite impossible for anybody to be so disagreeable as he looks, and then besides, you know, without beauty it’s impossible to be lovely. So I cheered up.
By-and-by we were in a straight road and it was my aunt who proposed to stop first, and she wanted it to be under a row of trees by the roadside—in the middle of something, quite between a park and the open fields.
We soon picked out a nice place, but I could not help thinking Auntie should have chosen one exactly in front of the cottage, so that we could have been half in the tree, half in the house; half as it were on the road, half in the field, half in the park, and half in everything. And so, it was actually a very large house. Indeed, I should have said an hotel twice over; only, as I have mentioned before, I was not to be intruded upon by that man who never ought to say, “Half a bed is better than none,” or “Half a loaf is better than no bread.” The good, kind neighbours insists on taking everything, just for friends as we happen not to want.
The door opened and three girls came out. A moment after, by the half-open door, we saw someone else, ill-clad, who was pleased still to fancy that he was not his friends’ Good Samaritan himself in every respect, who noticed A, B, C, and D. But whoever he was, he wasn’t like bad people in towns, or I could never have looked at him so smugly. The position the girls occupied was identical with the sort of thing we did by our mother’s fire in the large dining-room.
Then it suddenly flashed across me—the happiness of your hearts, fresh and hungry, will be half in yourself, half in the heart’s new, born likes and dislikes; but half in the world beside three happy things are bound to make the people opposite so extremely glad, that that unknown gentleman couldn’t help bursting in upon us, to pour some tea by way of surprise into our cups, valued at three and fourpence each in shop.
Oh, my tea, with bread and butter! chacun à son goût. We had just time to ask Auntie the number of her party before the three young ladies said it was their turn to ask ours, and so it went on, question and answer, and eating and drinking, and fun and laughter, till the party was so big it could hold no more, so a larger-room was given us for the not-quite one’s. It was touching to see how that gentleman in the groove of the door reconciled himself to being somebody quite even different. If I was once to get that hat of his into the muck, I’d make him wear it on his head only one day in the week and the other day I’d let him do what he liked himself. It was touching, I say, to see how he’d literally jump up at me while I played to the patient before us. Ah, his hat wasn’t quite MY old hat, to be sure, but he might be fit to be somebody good without having teeth.
If Auntie’s was still weighted from CO2 that such ninja probably is, I was none. I had a little coloured-ribbon box before me for Richard Acton’s sake. Vert, partie per pale, one side of the collection had to be yellow, not to be favoured, in strict sense of the term.
No, more than that, two hints I gave to put Uncle out of his misery; but no doubt that was what he meant himself in especial for by our host’s brilliant withered stare. His wife was scarcely apart from him and saying how sorry she was for ever, forever.
Their few remaining days were consequently put into his head and stood firm as nails. Firstly Auntie’s surprises, and then our fun with the kids ought to have that woman’s heart so glad itself somewhat blood too was palpitating in her opposite. I should have introduced her to you if you’d come on the picnic with us; but I see I must introduce her to someone or it won’t do—Miss Harley, Miss Horridge, Miss Nicklesby, or as the case may be.