A full month of school life had passed at Glenwood. The beautiful autumn had come to tint¹ the leafy New England hills, when Mrs. Pangborn announced that her classes might go on a little picnic to the top of Mount Gabriel. The day chosen proved to be of the ideal Indian summer variety, and when the crowd of happy students skipped away through the woods that led to the mount, there seemed nothing to be wished for. Miss Crane had been sent in charge, and as Edna said, that meant just one more girl to make sport.  
As usual Viola did not join the merry-makers. She had the continuous excuse of her mother's illness, which had really been a matter of great worry to her, as Mrs. Pangborn, if no other at the school, knew to be true.
 
"It's as warm as August," declared Nita Brant, scaling a darling little baby maple² and robbing it of its most cherished pink leaves.
 
"Oh, Nita," sighed Tavia, "couldn't you take some other tree? That poor little thing never wore a pink dress before in all its young life!"
 
"Too young to wear pink," declared the gay Nita, affecting the brilliant leaves herself. "I just love baby leaves," and she planted the wreath on her fair brow.
 
This started the wreath brigade, which soon terminated in every one of the picnickers being adorned³ with a crown of autumn foliage⁴.
 
At the foot of the mountain the girls made an effort to procure⁵ mountain sticks, but this was not an easy matter, and much time was taken up in the search for appropriate staffs. Those strong enough were invariably too hard to break, and those that could be procured⁶ were always too "splintery." But the matter was finally disposed of, and the procession started up the mountain.
 
It was growing late in the afternoon, the pilgrimage not having been taken up until after the morning session, and when the top of the mountain was finally reached, Miss Crane told her charges that they might scurry⁷ about and get such specimen⁸ of leaves or stones as they wished to bring back, as they would only remain there a short time.
 
The air was very heavy by this time, and the distant roll of thunder could be heard, but the gay girls never dreamed of a storm on that late October afternoon as they ran wildly about gathering⁹ bits of every procurable¹⁰ thing from moss¹¹ to crystal rocks. Tavia wanted Jacks-in-the-pulpit, and sought diligently¹² for them, getting away from all but Dorothy in her anxiety to find her home flower. She dearly loved Jacks—they grew just against the Dale wall in dear old Dalton, and she wanted to send one flower home to little Johnnie. It would be crushed in a letter of course, but she would put some dainty little ferns beside it and they would keep the lazy look. Then she could tell Johnnie all about the mountain top—send him some bright red maple leaves, and some yellow ones.
 
"Oh, Dorothy!" she exclaimed. "I see some almost-purple leaves," and down the side of a ledge¹³ she slipped. "Come on! The footing is perfectly¹⁴ safe."
 
Dorothy saw that the place was

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