"No-o, not a circus," Old Tilly said doubtfully. "It's some kind of a
big picnic. See, there's a kind of a track laid out over there where
that flag is. They're going to have some kind of athletics."

"Foot-races and hurdles and things! Oh, I say, can't we stay and see
'em?" Kent cried eagerly.

At that instant appeared Jot, waving his cap in great excitement.

"Come on--we're invited!" he shouted. "There's going to be lots of fun,
I tell you! We can buy ice-cream, too, over in that striped tent, and
there are boats we can hire to row out in, and--everything."

"Hold on a minute!" demanded Old Tilly with the sternness of authority.
"How did you get your invitation? and what is it that's going on,
anyway?"

"Tell quick, Jot--hurry! They're getting ready for a foot-race,"
fidgeted Kent.

"It's a Grangers' picnic, that's what. And a big jolly Granger invited
us to stop to it. He asked if we weren't farmer boys, and said he
thought so by our cut when I said, yes sir-ee. He wants us to stop. He
said so. He says his folks have got bushels of truck for dinner, and we
can join in with them and welcome."

"And thanking him kindly, I'll stop!" laughed Kent, in high feather.
"Come on over there, Jot, and see 'em race." And the three young
knights were presently in the midst of the gay crowd, as gay as anybody.