Chapter SIXTEEN: Hail to the King and Queen of the May!

Polly Wiggles’ work went poorly. Her sketched work looked more like an overgrown orange than the teapot for which it was intended. The colors ran and blurred on the erased and re-erased work until it was a messy, blotchy sight. Over in the next aisle, Alice was lovingly adding finishing touches to her nearly completed drawing, and wishing with all her heart that painting periods might come far oftener, and that arithmetic periods could be skipped altogether.

Polly Wiggles craned her neck to look admiringly at the daintily-colored teapot, and wondered despairingly why her own work could never stay neat and tidy like Alice’s.

She surveyed her paper in disgust. “It looks like a sunset on a foggy day,” she mused, as she tried to smooth the trickling threads of color that blurred out in smudgy rays from the squat body of the teapot. “No one would guess in a million years that it was s’posed to be a teapot. I really think it looks more ‘teapotty’ upside down than it does right-way-about. Guess I’ll label it so that Miss Mason will know which way to look at it.”

In a neat hand she wrote, “This is a teapot,” and added her name beneath in black ink, which unfortunately, mingled with the still wet paint, and produced a most peculiar and unwished-for effect.

Allan leaned over her shoulder, to look with unflattering astonishment at the completed work of art.

“What _is_ it?” he breathed curiously in Wiggles’ ear, leaning closer for a better view.

Polly Wiggles stifled a giggle and pointed silently to the label underneath.

“I thought it was a crook-neck squash,” added Allan with more honesty than politeness. “Hand it over, and I’ll try to smooth it out for you.”

With a grateful glance, Polly Wiggles cautiously edged the sopping piece of paper over the back of her seat, and then, after thoroughly cleaning her brushes, settled down to study the next day’s spelling lesson.

A few deft strokes from Allan’s magic paint-brush did wonders to the “squash,” but he did not dare add too many frills to a work not his own. Polly Wiggles accepted it back with joy, and resumed her spelling in a more contented frame of mind, while Allan restlessly looked about for new worlds to conquer.

He had finished his painting long before, but, lacking anything better to do, he aimlessly added a soft blurred background, and wrote “Allan Harrison” in a dashing hand below. On an extra sheet of paper he started sketching at random, until his alert blue eyes were attracted by the beautiful American flag that hung in the front of the room, and he hastily set to work to reproduce it with his brush and colors. The heavy cream-colored drawing-paper was most unsatisfactory, and refused to show the proper white stripes between the vivid red ones. Pad paper was even worse, as it was crossed with narrow blue lines, and the artist in him sighed for a sheet of plain white on which to work. Then suddenly his roving eyes were attracted by the expanse of stiff, dazzling-white linen that was the back of Polly Wiggles’ linen frock. With fascinated gaze he watched it for a full minute, but with him, to think was to act, and, never pausing to consider after-consequences, he rubbed his brush briskly across the red paint, and, unhindered by the short black curls above, proceeded with an artist’s delight to work on this novel easel.

Allan’s deportment marks were usually among the best in the room. He was always absorbed during painting periods, so his work continued unchecked, for Miss Mason was busily correcting arithmetic papers, and he had the last seat in the aisle.

Polly Wiggles, absorbed in her speller, never even felt the deft touch on her back, and beneath his nimble, clever fingers the flag grew rapidly.

Alice put down her paint-brush reluctantly, and jumped to her feet to begin gathering together the finished work from the front desks of each aisle, where papers were passed when completed, to be laid in neat piles for the monitor to collect. It was great fun being a monitor and having the privilege of tiptoeing from one end of the room to the other, and arranging the drawings on teacher’s desk. Alice fluttered about like a busy bee, occasionally buzzing a whisper to some particular friend as she removed wet brushes and glasses of water.

Miss Mason looked up with a smile at rosy Alice, who was a great favorite of hers. “You may put the teapot on the closet-shelf,” she said pleasantly as she accepted the pile of drawings, “and be careful, for it is a very fine piece of china, and I should hate to have it broken.”

Alice grasped it as gingerly as if she expected it to explode any minute, but, in spite of all her care, it was the teapot’s last appearance. As she lifted it carefully with both hands, a wicked little head with a swiftly darting tongue reared up from the spout, and with a startled shriek that could be heard through the entire school, the pretty teapot crashed to the floor, and panic-stricken Alice fled to the back of the room, where she stood shivering with fright.

In a twinkling the class was in an uproar.

“A snake, a snake!” shrilled frightened girls, clambering on their seats and gazing with startled eyes at the small wriggling snake that was as frightened as they were.

“Some one of you boys catch it,” ordered Miss Mason hastily. “Quick, Allan, head it off. This is some of Gabriel’s doings.”

The door into the corridor opened quietly, and Gabriel entered, his errand completed and nothing farther from his mind than the thought of his pet’s escape. To tell the truth, he had entirely forgotten bringing the snake to school. He stood frozen a moment in the doorway at sight of the uproarious class-room. Then, as the meaning of the excitement dawned on his puzzled face, his eyes sought Polly Wiggles’ blue ones in mute questioning.

Miss Mason surveyed him sternly. “What does this mean?” she questioned sharply, rapping for quiet. “Shut that door quickly.--Look out, or it will be out in the hall.”

Gabriel slammed the door, plunged hastily across the floor, and scrambled to secure his pet, while the class squealed in wild excitement.

“You may take that creature outside,--and leave it,” Miss Mason ordered, wondering wearily what next the children would do. “Then dispose of this broken china, ... and remain after dismissal to-night.”

Gabriel stole quietly from the room with a very red face, to return shortly and pass ten uncomfortable minutes on his knees before the class as he gathered up in a dust-pan all that remained of the once lovely teapot. Evidently the snake had crawled inside and coiled down while the children were at recess, for the lid had been off when they returned, and Miss Mason had clapped it on, unconsciously making the snake a prisoner. And there he had quietly stayed until Alice had disturbed his resting-place.

Lessons could not be resumed for quite a while, for it was hard to get the wildly excited pupils to come to order, and for snickerings and rustlings to calm down. Alice was still shaking from the shock, and worrying because she, the monitor of the paint-boxes, had broken the teapot. She felt much better after Miss Mason assured her that it was not her fault at all.

Gabriel unobtrusively returned with the empty dust-pan and slipped into his seat with downcast eyes, his very ears scarlet with mortification.

Every Friday afternoon was poetry afternoon, and four pupils were selected each week to learn any poem of not less than twelve lines to recite before the class. Poor Gabriel! It certainly was his unlucky day, for he despised “elocuting,” as he called it, and, unfortunately, his turn came first.

Gabriel’s choice in poetry was most peculiar. The time before he had recited a sentimental ballad, with what he considered appropriate gestures, so the pupils waited with breathless interest as he unwillingly rose from his seat. But they broke out afresh, and even Miss Mason had to press a handkerchief to her lips, as he clasped his hands before him, raised his eyes toward the ceiling, and gloomily chanted with all the pathos he could put into his young voice, the hymn starting:

“Hark from the tombs a doleful sound.”

Much to Miss Mason’s relief, Alice came next, and she was always to be depended upon. She had learned “The Children’s Hour,” and recited so well that Miss Mason nodded approvingly.

“Very good, indeed, Alice,” she smiled, “and you made an excellent selection. Elizabeth, you may copy the first two verses on the blackboard.”

Polly Wiggles jumped to her feet eagerly. She loved the poetry afternoons, so she started toward the front blackboard entirely unconscious of the sensation she was causing. There was a moment of electric silence as she picked up her chalk, and then the class broke into a perfect gale of laughter, and Miss Mason turned to look with astonishment at the beautiful American flag that covered the back of Polly Wiggles’ frock from shoulders to waist.

It was a cleverly painted flag, and only one pupil in the school could have done it. Scarlet stripes alternated with dazzling white ones, while a blue field was liberally sprinkled with stars; but neither Miss Mason, after her first startled glance, nor Polly Wiggles, when she discovered the cause of the commotion, quite appreciated its beauty.

“Allan, you may remain with Gabriel after school,” announced Miss Mason grimly, switching Wiggles around so she could examine the dress more closely, and wondering distractedly what had gotten into two of her best pupils.

It was the most exciting day the class had ever known, and in the midst of the excitement the assembly-bell rang to call all the school to the auditorium to hear the results of the voting.

“Whatever shall I do?” whispered Wiggles despairingly to Miss Mason, trying to twist about so as to look down her own back. “Everybody will laugh if I march in looking like this, but I don’t want to miss hearing the names read.”

“Never mind, my dear. The paint is dry, and the school is so excited that you’ll not be noticed after you are once seated, and we march in among the first. I only hope that your dress is not ruined. I think, as it’s water-color, that it will come out in the wash.”

“It’s an old dress, anyway,” returned Polly Wiggles, taking her place in line, and obeying the crisp directions, “Forward, march.”

Hearts beat high with excitement as they marched into the big assembly-room where all the other classes in the school were gathering. Bows were hastily perked up, and neckties straightened, as one by one the pupils took their seats. Alice and Elizabeth, by careful maneuvering, managed to sit side by side, and both twisted around to smile at Jeannette and Marion, who were two rows behind with the older girls.

“There’s that horrid Jane Juggins,” whispered Alice softly in Polly Wiggles’ ear. “_Will_ you look at her self-satisfied ’spression.”

“She looks like a cat that has swallowed a canary,” breathed Wiggles wickedly, choking back a giggle as she inspected blonde, complacent Jane, who was already assuming a queenly air. “Do look at her airs and graces, and watch her toss her head,--it’s killing. If she doesn’t look out, her barrette will fall off.”

“Hope she won’t be queen. It would spoil the whole May Frolic,” responded Alice behind her hand. “But she’s so certain-sure, that she’s already asked her Maids of Honor. Would you think she’d dare?”

Further conversation was checked by the arrival of Miss Helen, and as she mounted the platform-steps, Polly Wiggles felt a little thrill shoot down her spine. “My, what fun it would be!” she thought to herself, “to have one’s name read aloud as May Queen, and to march first in the big parade.”

“Oh, oh, why doesn’t she begin?” buzzed Alice flouncing about in her seat impatiently. “I’ll burst if she doesn’t tell us soon. My hands are just as cold as ice, and I prickle right up to the roots of my hair.”

Luckily for Alice’s peace of mind, Miss Helen chose to begin at once, and, taking up a big sheet of paper, she smiled at the school and said, “I am pleased to announce that the greatest number of votes have been cast for a pupil who has high standing both in lessons and deportment.”

“Then it can’t be Jane Juggins,” muttered Alice with satisfaction, but quieted at a pinch from Polly Wiggles.

“The largest number of votes for Queen,” resumed Miss Helen clearly, “were cast for Elizabeth Eaton. Elizabeth, will you please come forward so that the school may see their future Queen?”

Polly Wiggles nearly jumped out of her skin.

“I told you so,” hissed Gabriel in her ear. “Didn’t I vote for you?”

“No, no, it’s a mistake,” gasped Wiggles, shrinking back in her seat. “She doesn’t mean me; it’s a mistake.” She crouched down in her chair, trying to make herself as small and inconspicuous as possible, for every one was turning to stare at her. Seeing she made no effort to move, a dozen eager hands pulled her up, and in a daze she felt Alice give her a violent shove forward.

“You’re Queen,--go up on the platform,” directed Alice happily. “Oh, I’m so glad; I’m so glad I don’t know what to do. Won’t Jane be furious?” Unconsciously she jumped up and down in her seat, until a poke from Gabriel brought a startled “Ouch!” from her.

“Say, what do you think you are,--a jumping-jack?” he asked heatedly.

Alice subsided hastily, after a quick glance around at Jane. “She looks like a thunder-storm,” she thought with satisfaction.

“As for Polly Wiggles, her knees felt like bits of tissue paper as she walked forward to the platform steps, until, like beacon-lights, she saw Jeannette’s happy smile and Marion’s beaming face, followed by their quick look of surprise as they spied the flag that stood out in bold relief against the back of her white dress. Their puzzled expression and the buzz of astonishment that swept over the room acted as a bracing tonic to her nervous embarrassment, and, tossing her heavy black curls, she gave the school such a mischievous glance that Gabriel the irrepressible bobbed up in his seat to give three cheers for “Queen Polly Wiggles,” which every one echoed with a will; that is, all but Jane Juggins, who laughed disagreeably. Then, lowering her voice, she whispered to Kitty Lane who sat next to her, “Whoever chose that little Gypsy tomboy for a Queen? Why, she’s a fright.”

“Well, I think she’s lovely,” returned Kitty with spirit. “She’s as nice as can be, and I voted for her, and evidently lots of others did, too.”

No one was more delighted at the outcome of the election than Miss Helen. Polly Wiggles was a great favorite with all the teachers, for she was so natural that she chattered away as easily when talking to them, as she did with her best friends, and they all rejoiced at her good fortune. Nevertheless, popular opinion had been that an older girl would receive the honors, so Miss Helen welcomed her with delight.

There was a little stir of interest as Miss Mason rose to her feet, and made a little announcement that was not on the program. “I just wanted to explain that our May Queen has unexpectedly been decorated ahead of time by our school artist,” she told the interested audience, while Allan did his best to disappear from the laughing looks thrown in his direction. But he was made more miserable than ever, and wished the ground would open and swallow him, when Miss Helen rose to announce that “Allan Harrison had been chosen May King.”

“Both King and Queen from our room,” whispered Alice rapturously; “O goody!”

“Pooh, I knew Polly Wiggles would be Queen,” crowed Gabriel triumphantly, standing up in his excitement and giving Allan a push that sent him out in the aisle more suddenly than he expected.

“Kitty Lane was second choice for Queen, and Richard Gerard for King,” announced Miss Helen, stepping forward to congratulate Elizabeth and Allan, and to offer them seats on the platform.

“Now, Queen Elizabeth, will you please announce the names of your Maids of Honor?”

Polly Wiggles arose in blushing confusion, and took a graceful step forward.

“I--I thank you for choosing me Queen,” she began, smiling at the many friends who were rejoicing with her; “and I choose for my Maids of Honor, Jeannette Eaton, Marion West, Alice Maxfield, and Kitty Lane” she finished, feeling it would be courteous to include the little girl who had been second choice for Queen, and whom she liked very much.

Then the four fortunate Maids had to walk forward to be inspected by the school and receive their share of applause, while the Queen laughed till deep dimples showed in each cheek and every curl on her head danced with excitement.

It really seemed a dream to Polly Wiggles. Never in her wildest day-dreams had she thought to be the fortunate girl selected as Queen of the May. “Won’t Mother and Daddy be s’prised?” she whispered to Jeannette, who had been given a seat next to her sister. “And won’t it be fun for us to march first in the parade?”

Jeannette gave her sister’s hand an ecstatic squeeze. As for Marion and Alice, they were nearly overcome by the unexpected honor, as they afterward explained.

“Now, King Allan, call forth your three Courtiers, and your Herald,” prompted Miss Helen to the abashed King, who was greatly regretting his unruly paint-brush, and hoping he would not have to forfeit his newly-won crown because of his mischievous prank.

“I proclaim Gabriel LeClare as my Herald, and name Dick and Billy Gerard and Hugh West as my Courtiers,” announced Allan in tones that could be heard all over the auditorium.

“Isn’t that lovely?” whispered Jeannette. “We are all such good friends that we’ll have a lovely time. Oh, Wiggles, aren’t you happy?”

“Happy” was not a forceful-enough word for what Polly Wiggles felt, she was sure. She was quite positive that never again would she feel such a tingle of rapture as that which thrilled her through and through when her name was read aloud.

School came to an end at last. Back in the classroom, a disconsolate King and Herald looked longingly out of the window at the merry, laughing groups that surrounded the popular Queen, her attendants, and the Courtiers as well. It was hard to miss all the fun on the big day of days, and Allan resolutely decided to control his paint-brush, while Gabriel sadly vowed not to take any more snakes to school, in the lonely hour that followed.

As for the rest of the May Day attendants, they raced after a panting, disheveled Queen, down the road that led toward The Lilacs, as fast as they could follow her twinkling white-shod feet.