“No, precious, I’m not,” replied Kit, happily.  “I wish this minute I could mount yon rostrum, Mid declaim the feats of my ancestors.  They were pathfinders and Cavaliers, but I don’t know of a single blessed founder among them.  Peggy, don’t sit on the almonds.  They’re right behind you in that glass dish.”

The room filled up rapidly with members of the freshman class, and Kit declared after she had been the rounds four times that she felt exactly like the lecturer in the curio hall in a museum, telling the history of the relics over and over again.  Nobody but Anne knew how anxious she became as the moments slipped by and no Marcelle appeared.  It would never do to have a climax happen without the surprise of her presence to carry it off.  The refreshments had all been served, and the little bronze dragon clock on top of the book shelves showed the hour of five, when Charity called: 

“You’d better start in on your Founders’ talk, Kit; we’ve only got about half an hour.”

There was a baffled look in Kit’s eyes, as she picked up the challenge and rose from the brown willow chair.  Charity must know perfectly well how untimely it was to start to spring the surprise while there was a running chance of Marcelle appearing.  Still there was a hush, and the girls faced her expectantly.

“As you all know,” began Kit, “the old bronze tablet in the lower hall carries names on its roll of honor which not only uphold the glory of Hope College, but also of the entire town of Delphi, of the entire state, I may say, of Wisconsin.”

“Kit,” murmured Peggy, sotto voce, “if you start declaiming like that you’ll have ‘the Jinx’ after your scalp.  First thing we know, you’ll begin, ‘Ladies and fellow constituents.’”

Kit waited until the laugh had subsided, and Peggy had replaced the shell pins from her tumbled braids after a tussle with “the Jinx,” who took all political allusions as personal affronts.

“There are few of us here to-day, if any,” continued Kit, slowly, one eye watching the concrete walk across the campus from the nearest window, “who can boast of a Hope founder in her family.”

“I can, almost,” interrupted Antoinette, otherwise Tony; “my big sister Marie was engaged for a very little while to Bernard Giron.  If she had only married him, we would have had a ‘Founder’ in the family.”

“Tony,” said Kit, severely, “I am dealing with facts, not prospects, and you ought not to reveal any family secrets, either.  I say it is a great honor to be a direct descendant of a ‘Founder,’ and we have one in our class.  A girl, too modest to take advantage of her grandfather’s record.”  She paused impressively, but with a quickening gleam in her eyes, as there suddenly have in view a hurrying figure in gray sweater and dark crimson cap on the campus walk.  It was Marcelle herself, late, but in time to create the desired sensation.

Kit drew a deep breath, and plunged back to her subject, considering exactly the time it would take for the belated guest to reach the study.