“You didn’t!” exclaimed Shirley,
in a tone that meant “You don’t say so!”
She stopped short in her tracks. “And that
was the letter we never got, Kitten. Zeezie had
been entrusted to deliver it and she claimed she lost
it.” Shirley could hardly speak distinctly—emotion
seemed to choke her.
“Oh, can we have it?” asked Sally, her
trembling lips telling on the jerky sentence.
“Right here,” replied Jane indifferently,
taking a small white slip from her blouse. “I
have wanted so much to give it to you, but there never
seemed to be a real opportunity.”
It was Sally who put out her hand.
“I think it is for Shirley,” interposed
Jane.
“Give it to Kitten,” said Shirley.
“We have no secrets from each other now.”
“But Ted and the dance?” asked Judith,
not to be put off on that score.
“Oh,” faltered Sally. “Of course
we will hand Ted around.” She had not quite
recovered from her surprise at the finding of the long
lost letter. “And, Miss Allen, please, whatever
happens, don’t let anything spoil tonight—”
“I won’t, certainly not,” replied
Jane, as the freshmen broke away towards Lenox.
THE DANCE
The night of the dance had come, than which Wellington
could produce no more momentous occasion. For
days the students had been decorating Old Warburton
Hall, stripping their own rooms to the point of desolation
to pile their banners, their flags, and even their
mandolins around the big hall, in artistic and effective
settings from ceiling to the smallest nook around the
chimney corner windows. Judith and Jane were
responsible for the “Bosky Dell” created
around the Inglenook. Here the mandolins were
cluttered, and about the walls were such artistic
woodiness as branches of bright red berries, then
sprays of dark gray bayberry, glowing sumac, deep
brown oak leaves, and this applied foliage provided
the “Bosky” for the juniors’ pretty
dell.
All college departments shared the honors of decorating,
each depending upon its originality to outshine the
others, so that now when all was finished and the
students drew apart to decorate themselves the atmosphere
fairly vibrated with expectancy.
Under the eaves in Sally’s room she and Bobbie
were putting on finishing touches. Too full of
youth to give place to regret, these two freshmen
were keyed to the full pitch of the big, jolly, gleeful
occasion.
“Can you imagine us going, and bound for such
a good time?” said Sally, while Bobbie fluffed
the maline butterfly from her companion’s shoulders.
“Like a jolly time at a funeral,” replied
the other, her tone of voice softening the comparison.
“Dear me, must we really leave?” sighed
Sally. “I have been hoping for a miracle.”
“So have I, Kitten, but we have had a couple
of miracles lately and it wouldn’t be fair to
overwork the fairies. There, you look just like
a golden butterfly. Oh, really, Kit, you—are—a
dream!”
