`` Oh , we 'll wear rubbers , '' was Anne 's concession to practicalities . `` And I want you to come over early Saturday morning and help me prepare lunch . I 'm going to have the daintiest things possible ... things that will match the spring , you understand ... little jelly tarts and lady fingers , and drop cookies frosted with pink and yellow icing , and buttercup cake . And we must have sandwiches too , though they 're NOT very poetical . '' Saturday proved an ideal day for a picnic ... a day of breeze and blue , warm , sunny , with a little rollicking wind blowing across meadow and orchard . Over every sunlit upland and field was a delicate , flower-starred green . Mr. Harrison , harrowing at the back of his farm and feeling some of the spring witch-work even in his sober , middle-aged blood , saw four girls , basket laden , tripping across the end of his field where it joined a fringing woodland of birch and fir . Their blithe voices and laughter echoed down to him . `` It 's so easy to be happy on a day like this , is n't it ? '' Anne was saying , with true Anneish philosophy . `` Let 's try to make this a really golden day , girls , a day to which we can always look back with delight . We 're to seek for beauty and refuse to see anything else . ` Begone , dull care ! ' Jane , you are thinking of something that went wrong in school yesterday . '' `` How do you know ? '' gasped Jane , amazed . `` Oh , I know the expression ... I 've felt it often enough on my own face . But put it out of your mind , there 's a dear . It will keep till Monday ... or if it does n't so much the better . Oh , girls , girls , see that patch of violets !
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