“Oh, what fun! Are we all going? And way down to Summit Ridge? Who planned it? Are we to stay all day long?” were the questions which poured rapidly from Denise’s lips one bright October morning when Hart came rushing over to ask if she might accompany a party of young people upon an outing planned for the coming week. He had been away from Springdale for several weeks, reveling in the delights of the seashore, but his family had now returned for the winter, and his studies, as well as Denise’s, had commenced.

Mrs. Lombard stood beside them listening, and smiling at the eager faces before her. Presently she said:

“Which day next week have you chosen?”

“We had to choose Saturday, you know, on account of school. We aren’t all so lucky as Denise, having a governess who will let us off at a pinch,” and Hart looked mischievously up into Mrs. Lombard’s face.

She reached over to give a tweak to his curly “forelock,” and reply: “Don’t be so sure of that. She is not let off so easily as you seem to think. After such a long holiday we expect even more wonderful things. So the frolic is planned for Saturday next. Was it prearranged?”

“Why no; what do you mean?”

“Oh, oh! I know! It will the thirteenth, and my birthday! Isn’t that just splendid?”

“Honest? Oh, I say, that’s just dandy, isn’t it? No, I didn’t know a thing about it, and I don’t believe the others did, either. At any rate, they didn’t say a word about it. But it’s great luck. Say, we sort of stumble on each other’s festive days, don’t we? Do you remember how you hit upon mine last spring? Then I’ll tell them you will go, of course?”

“Of course I’ll go; won’t I, Moddie?”

“First a positive assertion, and then a doubt; ‘he who hesitates is lost,’” quoted Mrs. Lombard, laughing.

“Then I won’t hesitate; I’ll go,” and Denise ran prancing off to the Birds’ Nest, followed by Hart, for they had many things to talk over after a separation of six weeks, and much to plan for the coming picnic.

The Saturday named dawned clear and frosty, promising in the form of many hickory nuts and chestnuts, an extra treat for the party gathering so merrily at Hart’s home. Not that they literally gathered at dawn, but it was not long after eight o’clock when the first horseman was seen coming along the road to the meeting-place. There were to be fourteen in the party, besides the older people who went along to guard against accidents, but who, as it later proved, did not succeed in so doing after all.

Mrs. Murray and Mrs. Lombard drove in the former’s carriage, and carried a good portion of the refreshments, but each boy and girl rode their own beastie, whether it was a pony or a horse, for Springdale’s young folk were pretty well supplied with mounts of one sort or another, and could, when occasion called for it, turn out quite a brave array of equestrians. There were horses and ponies of all sorts and kinds gathered in Mrs. Murray’s driveway that beautiful October morning, and they possessed as varied dispositions as the boys and girls mounted upon them. Ned and Pinto were, of course, special cronies, and rubbed noses, and whispered secrets as only old cronies can. They tolerated the other horses, but did not encourage familiarities, and when one overgrown specimen of horsedom, noted especially for his pronounced Roman nose, and monstrous feet, undertook to force his way between them while they were comparing notes about the flavor of their morning oats, they promptly united forces and administered justice, thereby creating a wholesome respect for small horses in that misguided animal’s brains, and a lively diversion for their respective owners, who rushed to settle the disagreement.

But all was ready in the course of half an hour, and away they went, as merry a party as ever set forth for Summit Ridge, a plateau upon the summit of South Mountain, where many years before a gentleman had erected a beautiful home and planted extensive orchards. It was an ideal spot for such an orchard, and the trees had flourished marvelously, bearing pears, plums, and apples, such as were not to be found for miles around. The gentleman had lived there until the death of his wife several years before, and then left the place abruptly, never to return. Its remoteness from all other dwellings, and the difficulty of reaching it, kept most people from visiting the place, and it was only at long intervals that the residents of Springdale plucked heart of grace and clambered up the rough, neglected mountain-road which led to it.

During October the winter pippins and several other varieties of winter apples proved a strong inducement to the young people, and hardly an autumn passed without a party being made up to form a raid upon Mr. Powell’s orchard, and carry off apples enough to keep them supplied for months.

Up the mountain scrambled the riders, the horses harnessed to the carriage scrambling along behind, and doing their best not to get left altogether. Denise, Hart, and one of their young friends, who had recently become the possessor of a little mustang, sent her by her uncle, who had a ranch in the West, and who assured her that Comanche was all that she could wish for, were leading the party, scrambling up the steep places, racing along the level ones, and picking their way down the descents. Flossy Bennett was a bright, pretty girl, but one wonderfully fond of her own way, and, once having taken it into her head to do a certain thing, it was no easy matter to persuade her to do differently.

Two hours’ hard scrambling and picking their way at last brought them to the old house high up upon the mountain, and all dismounted to unsaddle their mounts, and tether them to the rustic fence which ran all about the neglected grounds, separating them from the orchards beyond. Then came the preparation of their luncheon, and rigging up a tripod to swing the kettle. After the merry feast ended, all repaired to the orchard to fill every sort and size of bag with the bright and luscious apples, which were almost breaking the branches with their weight.

But October days are short ones, and, when three o’clock came, the preparations for the homeward journey were begun. Most of the boys and girls put their bags in the carriage, although some of them tied them in the middle and placed them across their saddle-bows. This plan worked well enough where the horses, or ponies, were accustomed to such liberties, but in some cases it was an entirely new experience, and the mountain-road was not a wise place upon which to make experiments.

Flossy Bennett’s little mustang, although apparently as gentle as a kitten, seemed strongly disinclined to have her bag of apples strapped upon his withers, as his mistress wished to have it strapped, and fussed and fidgeted when one of the boys undertook to fasten it there. There was no one with the girl who was in a position to say either yea or nay, for she had joined the party just as many of the others had joined it, with the understanding that Mrs. Murray was, for the time being, both hostess and chaperon.

Seeing how restless the pony seemed, Mrs. Murray came over to where the children were, and suggested that Flossy put her bag of apples in the carriage with the others, but Flossy did not care to act upon the suggestion, and Mrs. Murray, who did not possess Mrs. Lombard’s quiet dignity, and the power to control with a firm, though a gentle word, had rather an animated discussion with the young lady.

“You must not try to carry those apples in that way, Flossy. It is dangerous, and I cannot allow it,” she said rather warmly, when suggestions failed to dissuade Flossy from having her own way.

“He has just got to carry them that way, Mrs. Murray. It is all nonsense. The other ponies are carrying the bags, so why shouldn’t he? Uncle Frank said that he was thoroughly broken, and if he is, he will do what I wish him to do.”

“But this is neither the time nor the place to make him, and I insist upon your putting that bag into my carriage at once. I am astonished that you presume to argue the point with some one older than yourself. Give me that bag at once. You are keeping the entire party waiting. Do you hear me?”

Now Flossy’s disposition was one which had never encountered, and never could brook, downright opposition. Her mother had died when she was a tiny child, and her father had either indulged or neglected her, as the occasion prompted. Having been left to the care of the maids, and a long-suffering, rather weak governess, it was no wonder that at the age of fourteen Flossy Bennett had pretty strong ideas of her own, and carried them out whenever she could.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Murray, but I think it is, and I shall carry the bag right here. Comanche may as well submit at once, and, as you see, he is behaving properly now;” and, with a defiant toss of her golden head, Miss Flossy braced herself in her side-saddle with an air of, “How do you intend to stop me if I choose to do it?”

Meantime, the other members of the party were gathered about listening to the controversy with varying emotions. Mrs. Lombard had seen and heard it all, but had not, of course, taken any part in it. Now Mrs. Murray turned to her and said impatiently:

“Emilie, will you come here and see if you can dissuade this headstrong child from taking her life in her hands, as she seems determined to do? I am out of all patience to think that she will insist upon having her own way about such a trifle when it is so liable to prove disastrous to her. I am surprised at you, Flossy.”

Now if there was one person upon earth for whom Flossy entertained a warm regard, and whose good opinion she valued, it was Mrs. Lombard’s. Had fate ordained that she should have been placed under such a wise training as that lady would have exercised over her, a very different girl would have sat upon Comanche’s back than the one who sat there at that moment, and whose face was the very picture of perversity and defiance. Deep down in the girl’s heart was a strong desire to do as she felt sure Mrs. Lombard, as well as Mrs. Murray, wished to have her, and had the first word been spoken by the former, there would never have been a sign of discord. Now, however, the first misstep had been taken, and she felt that she would lose prestige if she drew back.

Mrs. Lombard walked over to where the disputants were standing, and, laying her hand gently upon Flossy’s, which grasped her reins, said, in her sweet, gentle voice:

“Will you not oblige Mrs. Murray by yielding this point to her wishes? I should be much gratified if you would do so, as it will spare us all much uneasiness.”

“I should be sorry to cause any one uneasiness, Mrs. Lombard, and would hate to make you anxious, but there really isn’t the least danger. Uncle Frank said that I could do anything with Comanche, and all he needed was firmness. I shall ride slowly, and you know that I have ridden all my life.”

Mrs. Lombard did not say another word, but looked steadily into the girl’s eyes for just one moment, with a look which she remembered for a long time after, and never ceased to wish she had heeded. Then, returning to Mrs. Murray’s carriage, she took her seat in it, saying to that lady:

“I think that we would better start without more delay. It is growing late.”