"I do hope," said Dorothy, "that you will be able to go on the picnic
with us, Sarah. Perhaps that, too, will be all the better for being
postponed."
"Only my lunch," sighed Tavia, melodramatically. "I shall never be able
to put up another such!" and she smacked her lips in remembrance of the
good things the borrowed lunch box had contained.
"Perhaps, then, I will be able to invite you to take some of mine," said
Sarah politely. "Mother just loves to do up dainty lunches."
"Accepted with pleasure," replied Tavia, imitating society manners.
"Make it enough for yourself, plenty for me, and a little to spare. Then
we will be sure to come out all right."
Mrs. Ford came out to ask the visitors to remain to tea, but they
politely declined. She was especially kind in talking to Tavia, and
invited her to come again with Dorothy.
"They say," remarked Dorothy to Tavia, as the girls hurried along the
lane, "'that love scarce is love that does not know the sweetness of
forgiving,' and it does seem that way, don't you think so?"
"Oh, that was what ailed us all, was it? Not our fault at all, but the
fault of some old mildewed poet, that wanted to make good his verses.
The 'sweetness of forgiving,' eh? Well, it is better than scrapping,
I'll admit, but I wish poets would make up something handier.
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