Hester's Counterpart Part 24

They excused and begged pardon each time their paths crossed. The same formality was continued now. There was no conversation, although both were talkers and their heads were buzzing with the things they would like to have said.

When the retiring bell sounded, there was a short "Good-night, Hester,"

and as short a response, "Good-night, Helen."

There were to be sunrise services in the chapel at which every student was required to be present. But before that time, Hester was awakened by voices far in the distance. She sat up in bed to listen. The gray of the Easter morning was stealing through the window. The voices came nearer and nearer. At last she could distinguish the words.

"Christ is Risen. Christ is Risen. He hath burst His bounds in twain.

Christ is Risen! Christ is Risen! Alleluia, swell the strain."

It was the chorus of girls. This had long been the custom of the school, to wake the pupils by song on Easter morning.

The voices drew nearer. The singers paused at the landing of the stair.

Hester could distinguish Erma's loud, clear notes which soared upward like a bird and floated over all.

"Alleluia, Alleluia, swell the strain."

The spirit of the Easter morn came to Hester.

There was peace and joy. She wished for that. She really had not had it for weeks. While the song rose and fell, her heart softened toward Helen. She would make up with her. She would ask to be forgiven and be friends again. She crept out of bed and went to Helen's bed, but Helen had gone to make one of the Easter Wakening Chorus.

CHAPTER XIV

Proserpina had returned to earth again. The evidence of her visit was everywhere. The campus had turned into green velvet; the p.u.s.s.y willows were soft as chinchillas; the apple trees were in leaf, and just about to blossom. These were the signs of spring everywhere. In addition to these, the seminary had a sign which appealed to it alone. The man with the ice-cream cart had appeared. For several days, his cart had been backed against the curb of the campus and the sound of his bell was like the music of the hand-organ to the girls. It was a bluebird and a robin--the harbingers of spring to them.

May came and was quickly pa.s.sing. The girls were talking caps and gowns and diplomas. The seniors went about with a superior air; the juniors were little better for they had a cla.s.sday at least. The freshmen and soph.o.m.ores, in the plans for commencement week, were but the fifth wheel to a wagon. They were ignored. If they offered suggestions they were snubbed, and informed, not too gently, that they could not be expected to know anything about such matters--being new to the ways of commencement.

Though they had neither commencement, cla.s.s day, nor play, the freshmen and soph.o.m.ores did not lose spirit. What was not theirs by rights, they meant to make theirs by foul means and strategy.

It had long been the custom of the seniors to follow the commencement proper with a banquet. This included only members of the senior cla.s.s.

The Alumnae banquet took place later and was in the hands of old students who had long since left the seminary. Among these were the wives of judges, physicians, bankers--people with whom the freshmen and soph.o.m.ores dare not interfere, though it would have been an easy matter to have taken this Alumnae Banquet, for there was no one on hand to guard it. The menu and serving were wholly in the hands of a caterer from the city.

Knowing that the affairs of the Alumnae must not be tampered with, the freshmen turned all their energies toward the seniors and juniors.

The juniors were to give a play. The costumes were to be rented for the occasion. The play itself was zealously guarded lest it be stolen. Erma, whose talent lay in a histrionic direction, had charge of the copies of the drama. Erma had talent but no forethought. She put the pamphlets in the place most suited to them. Hester, who had been sent out by her cla.s.s as a scout to find what she could of the plans of the juniors, discovered the books the first day; and not only the books but the names of the juniors and the parts which each was to take. Hester reported immediately the results of her investigation. The following day, while Erma was engaged elsewhere the play disappeared, was hurriedly copied by the freshmen and replaced. Not a member of the junior cla.s.s, so the freshmen believed, was aware of what took place and was not the wiser that the freshmen had begun the preparation of the same play.

"We can outdo them," said Louise at the cla.s.s-meeting. "The play is booked for Tuesday evening. Monday evening is the band concert and promenade from seven o'clock until eight-thirty. After that, the freshmen cla.s.s will have the floor and we'll give the play before the juniors. Their efforts will fall flat on Tuesday evening."

"But the costumes!" exclaimed Hester. "What will we do for them?"

"Borrow them from the juniors when they are from their rooms. We will need them but one evening. We'll return them as fresh as ever the following morning."

"Will they lend them?" It was a little first term girl who asked the question.

"No, you dear little fres.h.i.+e, they will not lend them if they can help themselves. We will ask them Tuesday morning and use them Monday. It is the safest way," said Emma, who was exceedingly enthusiastic over this part of school life. While at home, she had read volumes on the subject of life at a boarding school. From the impression left by those books, life at school was one succession of receptions, public meetings, and practical jokes. Discipline and lessons were in the undercurrent of life. Life at d.i.c.kinson had been wholly different from what Emma had antic.i.p.ated. This stealing of the junior play and presenting it before the juniors had the opportunity, appealed to Emma. This was more in the order of the books she had read.

Louise sat up on the rostrum, appointing the students to their parts.

She looked at Emma quizzingly, "About your part, Emma," she began.

"I know what I want to be. Let me be queen. I'd dearly love to put my hair up and wear a train."

"You! The queen!" the girls laughed in scorn. "You never would have dignity enough for that. What you should be is a Dutch doll that moves with a spring."

"I could do the queen part--," she began.

"Hush, hush. You are talking too loud. Some one is coming."

Footsteps were heard along the stair. The door opened and Renee put her head in.

"Are you there, Louise?" she asked. "Do you object to my taking your umbrella? My roommate has gone off leaving mine locked in the closet, and I've permission to go down town."

"Yes, yes, take it," cried Louise. Renee closed the door and disappeared.

"I'm suspicious of that umbrella," said Edna. "I think Renee was sent up here to see what we were about."

"No, I'd be suspicious of any one but Renee. She wished the umbrella. I am sure of that."

"But why should she need it this afternoon. There is not the slightest suggestion of rain and the sun is not bright."

"Because, she couldn't go without borrowing something," said Louise. "It wouldn't be Renee if she could. I suppose she looked about and an umbrella was the only thing she did not have at hand, so that was the only thing she could borrow."

Eventually the parts were given out and partly learned. The girls had planned for a rehearsal the first week in June. The fact that everything had to be done under cover from the juniors, made the practice drag.

They could a.s.semble only at such hours when the juniors were in cla.s.s, and the chapel vacant.

The soph.o.m.ores, confident that the freshmen alone would be able to manage the juniors, turned their attention to the seniors. Their plan was to divert the banquet from the dining-hall to one of the society halls, and feast upon it while the seniors went wailing in search of it.

Their plans were developing nicely when the weather saw fit to interfere. The last day of May, which fell on Tuesday, set in with a soft, fine rain. This was nothing alarming in itself, had it performed its work and gone its way. But it lingered all day, all night and when Wednesday morning broke dull and gray, the volume of water had increased, and was coming steadily down. Thursday was but a repet.i.tion of Wednesday. The rain did not cease for an instant. The sun never showed his face.

The river had crept up gradually until the water was licking the trunks of the apple trees; but this was not alarming. The ice flood had been higher; and further back on the campus were the marks of the flood of '48, the highest flood ever known along the river. Even then the water had not touched the building. There was nothing at all to be alarmed by the river's rising.

After the afternoon's recitations, the girls went down to the river's edge, although the rain poured down upon them. They were learning the tricks of the old river men. They stuck sticks in the edge of the water to mark the rise or fall.

"It's risen over a foot since lunch time," cried Erma. "See, there is my marker. You can just see it. Think of it--a foot. What will become of us?"

"It will rise twenty feet before we need give it a thought," said Hester. She had been reared along the river and had no fear of it. She loved it in any form it could a.s.sume--tranquil and quiet--frozen and white--rolling and bleak and sullen. In every form, she recognized only the beautiful and knew no reason to fear.

"But if it should rise twenty-five?" cried Erma. She was running about excitedly like a water-sprite. Her red sweater gleamed in the sullen gray light. The rain was trickling from her Tam-o-Shanter; but she was oblivious of all, save the far remote danger.

"Oh, what if it should come up twenty-five feet!" she continued asking as she ran along the sh.o.r.e.

"Oh, what if the world should come to an end!" retorted the girls in derision.

The gong in the main hall sounded.

"I knew it," cried Emma. "I knew Doctor Weldon would not allow us to be out long. She's dreadfully careful of us. Now, what harm can a little bit of water do to anyone?" Emma shook her bushy, curly locks.