"Oh!" she cried, joyously, reaching up on tiptoe to gather a spray of
wild roses just above her head, "aren't we having the loveliest time,
Dog?"

Her companion wagged agreeingly; he was, at any rate. The hot sun on his
back felt exceedingly good; he began to entertain hopes of actually
feeling really and thoroughly dry again--some time.

"That's the Millers' house--the brown one, beyond the curve," Patricia
told him. And as it was the only house in sight, he had no trouble in
locating it.

"I'm sure you'll be happy there," Patricia added. "It's funny there
aren't any children, or dogs, about. There's Mrs. Miller."

Mrs. Miller was hanging out a wash. "Patricia Kirby!" She pushed back
her sunbonnet, the better to survey the child. "Where is your hat?
You're redder'n one of my big pinies!"

Patricia put her hand up to her head. "Maybe I left it in the meadow;
I'm not sure I've had it on at all this morning."

"Well!" Mrs. Miller's tone was emphatic. "The children and the dogs've
all gone off picnicking," she added. "I suppose you've come to see
them?"

"N-no," Patricia answered. "I came to bring you a--present, Mrs. Miller.
The nicest--"

She stopped abruptly, as Mrs. Miller rushed by her, with a shriek,