Then, when the potatoes and eggs were ready, all was
devoured with a zest that paid its own tribute to the fair young
cooks; and the health of the fair young cooks was drunk in Swan
Creek water, cupped in sturdy masculine hands; and even the girls
tried to drink from those same cups, laughing so they almost
strangled. A mad, merry and supremely delightful feast.
After she had eaten, for some reason Missy felt a craving to wander
off somewhere and sit still a while. She would have loved to stretch
out in the grass, and half-close her eyes, and gaze up at the bits
of shining, infinite blue of the sky, and dream. But there was
Raymond at her elbow--and she wanted, even more than she wanted to
be alone and dream, Raymond to be there at her elbow.
Then, too, there were all the others. Someone shouted:
"What'll we do now? What'll we do, Missy?"
So the class president dutifully set her wits to work. Around the
flat white stones of the ford the water was dribbling, warm, soft,
enticing.
"Let's go wading!" she cried.
Wading!
Usually Missy would have shrunk from appearing before boys in bare
feet.
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