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ended their at-bat by popping up. At least this
     time he’d get the feel of the ball.
    Chico ran out to the field, wondering what he was doing wrong. He tore up a handful of grass, and flung it angrily behind
     him. Three times at bat and not one hit!
    The Marlins began to hit and drove in a run. Then a man laid down a neat bunt toward third. Neither Frankie nor Dutch could
     get to it in time.
    As Frankie released the first pitch to the next batter, the runner on first stole second. Dale didn’t make the play on him.
     The man on third might try to run home.
    The score was now 6 to 4. There were two men on and no outs.
    Chico saw the next batter come to the plate, but he paid him little attention. He was thinking about his own hitting. Itseemed impossible that he couldn’t hit that big fat ball Mills threw. You would think he had never hit before!
    Frankie stretched, then pitched.
Crack!
    Chico saw the ball shoot into the air toward left —
deep
left. His eyes widened, and just for an instant he glanced at the batter, who was now scrambling for first base.
    It was the Marlins’ slugger! Their long-ball hitter!
    Chico turned and raced back as fast as his legs could carry him. He looked over his shoulder and saw the ball streak over
     his head! It hit the ground and bounced to the fence. Chico ran after it, picked it up, and pegged it in.
    Dutch Pierce caught it and relayed it home. The runner was racing in. He slid, dust exploding in front of his feet. Dale put
     the ball on him.
    “Safe!” yelled the plate umpire.
    A home run!
    Chico felt terrible. It was his fault. He had been thinking so much about his poor hitting, he had neglected to watch who
     was batting.
    Kenny Morton took his place after that, but neither team scored again. The Marlins won, 7 to 6.
    String Becker glared at Chico as they walked off the field.
    “You lost the game for us, you know that?” he cried. “You knew that guy hits a long ball. Why didn’t you back up when he came
     to bat?”
    “I know. I’m sorry,” said Chico.
    “Sorry, yeah!” said String with disgust. “That helps a lot now!”

13
    A ll right, boys!” said Coach Day. “Don’t forget the picnic at Orchard Falls Park!”
    Chico headed straight toward the gate. His head was down. String’s strong words were still ringing in his ears.
    “Chico!” called the coach. “You’re coming to the picnic, aren’t you?”
    Chico turned and paused. Yes, he wanted to go. But if everyone blamed him for losing the game, why should he? How could he
     enjoy himself?
    “Come on, Chico!” said Buddy. “We’ll hike and swim and have a lot of fun.”
    “Sure!” said Coach Day, smiling. “Don’t worry about today. It’s all over with. Get home, change your clothes, and I’ll pick
     you up in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
    Chico thought about it a moment. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll be ready.”
    Orchard Falls Park was ten miles beyond the city limits. A huge playground area was on the right side as you drove in from
     the highway. Farther in was the large lake. Sitting atop a high platform, a sun helmet on his head, was the lifeguard. He
     was busy watching the swimmers.
    At the far edge of the lake were the high, frosty-white falls. A heavy mist hovered near the bottom, where the water dropped
     into the lake with a loud, steady roar.
    Scattered in dozens of places under the trees were picnic tables and fireplaces. Three cars, including Coach Day’s stationwagon, hauled in the boys. They found two empty tables close to each other and put them end to end. Then the men began to
     prepare the dinner.
    Most of the boys dashed to the bathhouse, where they changed into their bathing suits.
    “I don’t really want to go swimming yet,” said String to Buddy. “Let’s go on a hike along the gorge.”
    “Okay!” said Buddy. “Want to come along, Chico?”
    “Does he have to go everyplace you go?” String snorted.
    Buddy smiled. “No. But he’s never been here. Have you,