“Don’t you wish you’d been there when they dug them up? That’s what I’d love, the exploring part, don’t you know. I should think it would be fearfully dry trying to make bones sit up and talk, when you are so far away from it all.”
“They are not sending me bones,” replied the Dean with dignity, “but they are sending me the Amenotaph urn, and a sitting image of Annui. I believe with these two I shall be able to establish as a fact the survival of the Greek influence in ancient Egypt. My dear, you have no idea,” he added, warmly, “how much this explains if it is true. There may be even some Phoenician data before I finish investigating.”
“Phoenicians,” thought Kit, although she said nothing. “Yes, I do remember about them, too. Tin,—ancient Britain—and something about Carthage, or was that Queen Dido?” Then she said aloud very positively and earnestly:
“I know I can help you a lot with this, Uncle Cassius, if you will only let me, because history is my favorite study, and the reason I came to speak to you to-night is this: We girls are going to have a Founders’ Tea, Saturday afternoon, up at Hope; just a little informal affair, but I’d like to give it a——” She hesitated for the right word, and the Dean nodded encouragingly, being in a better mood.
“Semblance of verity? Are you preparing a treatise?”
“No. I want something they can look at,” Kit explained, “and I knew if I told you about it, you’d let us take a few of the old things out of that cabinet in your room at Assembly Hall. All I need would be—well, say a few portraits of any of the founders of Hope, and any of the relics of the Indians or French explorers.”
The Dean graciously detached a key from the ring at one end of the slender chain which barred his waistcoat.
Kit retired with it, as though she bore a trophy, and the next day the last preparations were completed for impressing on the freshman class the honor of having a Founder’s granddaughter in their midst.
IN HONOR OF MARCELLE
“I think you ought to preside, Kit,” Charity said as she arranged the tea table more handily before the corner couch. “It’s your party, and you ought to pour.”
“Takes too much concentration,” Kit returned. “Anne’ll help you. I want to have my mind perfectly clear to manage the thing. You see, Marcelle doesn’t know a blessed thing about it yet, and there’s no knowing how she’ll take it. Wouldn’t it be funny if she got proud and haughty, and marched away from our Founders’ Tea?”
“I don’t think you ought to spring it until after we’ve had refreshments. Food has such a mellowing effect on human nature. It’s all a question of tact, though. If I were you, I’d talk to them in an intimate sort of way instead of lingering too much on the historic value. Better straighten Malcolm, over yonder; he looks kind of topply.”