Molly Brown's Junior Days Part 34

"Now, tell us how you did it," they demanded in one voice.

"I only told her the truth," answered Molly, "but I didn't put it so that it would hurt her. I said the reason why the girls were stand-offish was because they were afraid of her learning and her gold medals."

"Marvelous, brilliant creature!" cried Judy, embracing her friend, while Nance laid a cheek against Molly's.

"You are a perfect darling, Molly," she said.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE JUNIOR GAMBOL.

"Hail, Wellington, beloved home!

Hail, spot forever dear!

We greet thy towers and cloisters gray, Thy meadows fresh in spring array; We greet thee, Wellington, to-day; Thy hills and dales; thy valleys green; Thy wood and lake--tranquil, serene; We greet thee far and near."

Molly and Judy were responsible for the words of these stirring lines, which with three other verses were sung by the junior cla.s.s to the air of "Beulah Land," the music having been adapted to the words rather than the words to the music.

The entire junior cla.s.s, a long, slender line of swaying white stretched across the campus, lifted its voice in praise of Wellington that May Day morning at the Junior Gambol. In the center waved the cla.s.s flag of primrose and lavender. In the background was the gray pile of Wellington and in the front stretched the level close-cut lawn of the campus, fringed by the crowd of spectators. It was an impressive sight and when the fresh young voices united in the cla.s.s song of "Hail, Wellington!", Miss Walker was moved to tears.

"The dear children!" she exclaimed to Professor Green at her side, "really I feel all choked up over their devotion."

Winding in and out in an intricate march, the cla.s.s moved slowly across the campus until it reached the soph.o.m.ores grouped together in one spot.

Here they paused while the President of the juniors made a speech and presented the President of the soph.o.m.ores with a small spade wreathed in smilax, a symbol of learning, or rather of the delving for learning which that cla.s.s had in prospect in another year. Next the juniors approached the seniors and sang one of the Wellington songs, "Seniors, Farewell."

Then the line broke up and moved to the center of the campus, where stood a May pole. An orchestra, stationed under one of the trees, began playing an old English country dance, and the juniors seized the streamers and tripped in and out with the graceful dignity suitable to their new, uplifted position of seniors about-to-be.

Not one of the Wellington festivals could so stir her daughters of the present or the past, now grouped on the edge of the campus, as this Junior May-Day Gambol.

"Perhaps it is so sad because it is so beautiful," Miss Pomeroy observed to Miss Bowles, teacher in Higher Mathematics, wiping her eyes furtively. But Miss Bowles, not being an ex-daughter of Wellington, and having a taste for more prosaic and practical pleasures, regarded the scene with only a polite and tolerant interest.

"Who is to be the May Queen?" asked Mrs. McLean, standing in the same group with Miss Walker and Professor Green.

As each succeeding year brought around the Junior Gambol the good woman hastened to view it with undiminished interest.

"It would be difficult to say," answered Miss Walker. "In a cla.s.s of such unusual individuality it will be very hard to select one who deserves it more than another."

"It's a question of popularity more than intelligence," observed the Professor. "I think I might hazard a guess," he added in a lower tone, but his voice was drowned in a burst of music. The juniors were singing an old English glee song, "To the Cuckoo."

"'Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove, Thou messenger of spring, Now heaven repairs thy rural seat And woods thy welcome ring.'"

Many guesses were hazarded regarding the junior May Queen, not only among the crowds of spectators, but in the cla.s.s itself.

The votes for the Queen were cast by secret ballot in charge of a committee of three. Wellington traditions required that the name of the chosen one should be kept in entire secrecy until the clock in the tower struck noon on May Day. Then the junior donkey was led forth garlanded with flowers. He had officiated on this occasion now for ten years. This was the great moment when the ident.i.ty of the most popular girl in the junior cla.s.s was established for all time, and it was an important moment, because the one selected was generally chosen as Cla.s.s President the next year.

And now, as the tower clock boomed twelve deep strokes, there was a stirring among the spectators and a craning of necks. Three juniors appeared at the end of the campus, leading the aged donkey, who flicked his tail and walked gingerly over the turf. He wore a garland of daffodils and lilacs and moved sedately along, mindful of the importance of his position.

The three girls were Nance Oldham, Caroline Brinton and Edith Williams.

One of them carried a wreath of narcissus and the other two held the ribbon reins of the donkey.

According to the time-honored rule, they approached their cla.s.smates with grave, still faces. It was really a solemn moment and the juniors waiting in an unbroken line never moved nor smiled.

The spectators held their breath and for a moment Wellington was so still that every human thing in it might have been turned to stone.

Why was it so exciting, this choosing of the May Queen?

No one could tell, and yet it was always the same. Even Miss Bowles felt a lump rise in her throat. Many of the alumnae shamelessly wept, and Professor Green, watching the three white figures move slowly in front of the line of juniors, wondered if no one else could hear the pounding of his pulses.

Presently the committee came to a stop. The Professor thrust his hands into his pockets and drew a deep breath.

Nance stepped forward and placed the wreath on somebody's head. The spectators could see that she was quite tall and slender, and that she shrank back with surprise and shyness as she was led forth and bidden to mount the donkey, which she did with perfect ease and grace, as one who has mounted horses all her life.

"Who is it?" cried a dozen voices. "They look so much alike."

Scores of opera gla.s.ses and field gla.s.ses were raised.

"It's Molly Brown, of course," cried a girl.

The Professor smiled happily.

"Of course," he repeated, thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets.

And now the ban of silence was lifted. The orchestra played; the audience cheered and the three cla.s.ses gave their particular yells in turn, while the juniors, marching two by two, followed Molly Brown, riding the donkey, around the entire circuit of the campus.

As for Molly Brown, she hung her head and blushed, looking neither to the right nor to the left.

"The sweet la.s.s, she might be a bride, she is so shy!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs.

McLean as the procession moved slowly by.

"Hurrah for Miss Molly Brown of Kentucky!" yelled a group of Exmoor students.

"'Here's to Molly Brown, drink her down,'" sang the entire student body of Wellington.

It was a thing that happened every year and there were those who had seen it thirty times or more, and still the spectacle was ever new.

"I think I must be dreaming," Molly was saying to herself. "Of course, I might have known Nance and Judy would have voted for me and perhaps one or two others,--but so many--and what have I done to deserve it? I have hardly seen anything of Caroline Brinton and her crowd. 'Oh Lord, make me thankful for these and all thy mercies,'" she added, repeating the family grace, which somehow seemed appropriate to this stirring moment.

After the triumphal march, Molly with the cla.s.s officers, flanked by the rest of the cla.s.s, held an informal reception on the lawn. This was followed by the Junior Lunch, quite an elaborate affair, served in the gymnasium, decorated for the occasion by the soph.o.m.ores.

Lawrence Upton was Molly's guest for the day. Many of the girls had asked Exmoor students, but Nance had been visited with a disappointment that was too amusing to be annoying.

Otoyo Sen, on the soph.o.m.ore committee for decorating the gymnasium, and therefore ent.i.tled to ask a guest, had not let the gra.s.s grow under her little feet one instant. The moment the committee had been selected, she sent off a formal, polite note to Andy McLean, 2nd, inviting him to be her guest.

"Oh, Nance, that's one on you," cried Judy, when she heard this bit of news. "You always thought Andy was so much your property that no one would ever think of treading on your preserves. It's just like j.a.pan, creeping quietly in and taking possession."

"I suppose Andy will be hurt because I didn't get there first," replied Nance, laughing good-naturedly. "I suppose I shall have to ask Louis Allen, but I don't think it will do Andy any harm to know there are other fishes in the sea."