Chapter TWENTY: The May Frolic

The grandfather clock was striking twelve as Donald ran lightly up the front steps of The Lilacs, and hurried on into the hall. He paused at the foot of the winding staircase to gaze appreciatively at the pretty scene above.

“An artist ought to paint that and call it ‘Spring,’” he thought to himself as he admired the bevy of laughing girls who were clustered in an animated group on the landing above, entirely unaware of his presence. He drew farther back into a shadowy corner as Jet jumped up from the window-seat where she had been comfortably ensconced as she listened to the laughing chatter and good-natured banter that was going on, and straightened the cherry-blossom wreath on her long dark curls.

Through the casement-windows a straying sunbeam peeped in, making a glory of Marion’s ruddy locks and bringing out glints of gold in Alice’s fair hair until it looked like a nimbus about her head.

“Is my wreath on straight?” inquired Marion anxiously, shaking out her gauzy green ruffles as Alice leaned over to arrange the wreath of apple-blossoms she was wearing.

Jeannette eyed her admiringly. “Yes, trust Alice for arranging it artistically, and in those pale-green net dresses over the green slips, and with those snowy blossoms in your hair, you and Alice look exactly like wood nymphs.”

“Are you intimately acquainted with many wood nymphs?” quizzed Kitty mischievously, as she bent her own head, with its short brown curls, so that Jet could settle the pink cherry-blossom wreath to her liking.

Marion with a hand on the banisters, paused to glance back over her shoulder. “I _love_ your green dresses over the pink, with the cherry-blossom crowns,” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “It was such a pretty idea having two of us in green and white, and two in green and pink, and I’m so glad they decided this way, ’cause pink would have sworn at my hair.”

“If we look like wood nymphs,” Alice added approvingly, “you and Kitty-Cat certainly look like dryads, and Elizabeth looks like a rose that had come to life.”

“Who’s talking about me? My ears burn,” Polly Wiggles cried gayly, and Donald caught his breath at the dainty vision that floated down the polished stairs as lightly as a rose-petal borne along by the breezes.

Never had Elizabeth looked sweeter than in the dainty pink-net frock, with its fluttering pink ribbons, and slippers and socks to match. Donald thought that Alice’s description had been a good one, for she did look like a very rosebud of a girl, in her gauzy gown with its petal-shaped rosy ruffles. A high-pointed coronet of pink rosebuds crowned the dusky mass of curls that framed the soft oval of her face. Half-way down the stairs she paused shyly, while the rose color deepened in her cheeks, as she spied Donald for the first time, and saw the admiration in his dark eyes.

“Laws sake, if mah baby don’t look sweet enough to eat,” chuckled Mandy, popping her bandanna-covered head out from the pantry, with Hannah peeping from behind. “You-all looks powahful handsome in those get-ups, jest like a bunch o’ posies. Heah’s Prince Donald a-waiting to see you, honey.”

Donald looked puzzled as he saw the startled glances the girls exchanged at Mandy’s remark, and he wondered anew why she always addressed him as “Prince.” It was not the first time. He had noticed it before on several occasions, and once even Alice had inadvertently blurted out “Prince Cha--” when speaking to him, and then quickly corrected her mistake.

“It’s a lowly prince who humbly kneels before the Queen of May,” he protested half laughing, as he sank to one knee. “Prithee tell me, fair Queen, why does yon dusky damsel dub me ‘Prince’? It makes me feel exactly like a collie pup,” he explained ruefully, with a quick glance upward.

Much to his astonishment, Polly Wiggles was plainly confused, but she recovered her composure almost immediately and shot a warning glance at Alice, who turned a giggle into a cough.

“Oh, oh,--I s’pose Mandy thinks you have hobnobbed with all kinds of royalty because you’ve lived abroad so much,” she stammered with heightened color, giving him a swift glance. “How nice he looks!” thought Polly Wiggles, as she noticed with approval the immaculate white-linen suit he was wearing. “It’s silly of me to blush like a goose over Mandy’s remark, but I _can’t_ tell him that we called him Prince Charming. It would sound too silly,--and yet some day some one of us is going to call him that to his face and feel like going through the floor.”

A sudden idea flashed into her mind. “Don’t you think Donald should be rewarded, or knighted or something, for offering us the chariot?” she asked meaningly, turning to the others. They seized the idea with enthusiasm.

“Dub him ‘Sir,’ or ‘Lord,’ or--or ‘Prince,’” suggested Jeannette daringly, suppressing a smile at her sister’s ready wit.

“I dub you Prince Donald,” Polly Wiggles announced solemnly, as she tapped him lightly on the shoulder with the rose-garlanded silver scepter she carried. “Now if we do call him ‘Prince’ by mistake, it won’t sound so funny,” she reflected with secret satisfaction.

Donald entered into the spirit of make-believe with due solemnity.

“I thank you for the honor, O Queen,” he responded, producing a package from his pocket which the girls eyed curiously. “Many leagues have I traversed, and many dangers have I overcome, to bring to you this casket containing baubles which I offer at your feet. Though they are unworthy of a Queen’s attention, still, if they might deck the royal party on this great gala day, it would bring joy and gladness to the one who sends them, my mother, the Fairy Godmother who dwells at the Enchanted Castle of White Birches.”

It was coincidence, of course, that his laughing reply should border so closely on their own fancy of the Enchanted Palace and the Fairy Godmother, but to the girls it was little short of miraculous.

“How did he know? I’m beginning to think he honestly _is_ a fairy Prince,” Marion breathed in Jeannette’s ear.

“Oh, Queen of May, I offer you this treasure-casket and trust it may please your Royal Highness,” continued Donald, banging his head three times on the lower step, and rising to his feet as he handed her a pink-satin box.

“What does he mean? What’s in the box?” demanded Kitty, laughing at his foolishness. “Oh, look at the cunning white-kid cases inside!”

With eager fingers the girls explored the dainty cases marked with their names.

“A string of pearls for each one of us to wear! Isn’t that lovely!” breathed Jeannette rapturously, as she lifted the gleaming string from the pink jeweler’s cotton. Then clasping it about her throat, she ran to the hall-mirror to admire the effect.

Polly Wiggles gave a little cry of pleasure. “My pearls are just the color of my dress,” she exclaimed happily, holding up a necklace of tiny pink pearls for them all to admire. “I just love them, Donald, and it was dear of your mother to give us such a delightful surprise. She certainly is a real Fairy Godmother.”

“What did I tell you?” crowed Alice under her breath, as she bent to fasten the strap of her white slipper. Again the glance flashed about, and Donald, who had heard the whisper, felt more puzzled than ever.

“There’s some kind of a joke,” he reflected sagely, “and I’ll need to turn detective to find out what it is, for they’ll never tell me.”

“Girls, do come and see the chariot,” called Aunt Elsie enthusiastically from the veranda. “It’s a perfect beauty.”

There was a laughing scramble as the five excited girls, with all royal dignity forgotten, rushed pell-mell for the front door. As he sauntered along behind, a confused babel of delighted comment floated back to Donald’s ears.

“Oh, oh, did you ever----?”

“Like a real Cinderella coach.”

“All made of pink roses.”

“The loveliest thing I ever saw.”

Polly Wiggles’ smile alone well repaid Donald for all the time and labor he had spent in decorating the basket-carriage that had once been a mere pony cart, but which his clever fingers had transformed into a flower-chariot fit for Titania herself.

Hundreds of pink tissue-paper roses had been used to conceal the original carriage, which was now a bower of rosy bloom. Great garlands of rose-pink buds twined the wheels and festooned the white reins and harness, while pink plumes nodded behind the ears of Snow Queen and White Beauty, as they tossed their snowy manes and impatiently pawed the ground.

“You look like a fairy Princess,” he murmured admiringly, as he helped Polly Wiggles into the huge pink rose that formed her seat high above the others, while the Maids of Honor grouped themselves about her.

“I feel more like a Rose Princess,” she dimpled in amusement, as she gazed with delight at the canopy of rose-petals that shielded her from the sun. “Where did you ever get all these roses? There must be thousands.”

“We made them,” Donald explained, as he seated himself at her feet and gathered up the reins.

“Oh, are you coming with us?” inquired Marion in surprise.

Donald shot her an amused glance. “Who did you suppose was going to drive? You girls couldn’t, all dressed up in those mermaidy-looking dresses, so Miss Helen appointed me official coachman,” he returned with satisfaction. “Are you all comfortably settled now? If you are, we’d better trot along unless we want to be late. Every one is assembling at the Post Office, and it’s well past twelve now.”

Cubby, standing on the front porch, strained her eyes until the flower-coach was a mere speck in the distance. Then she trotted happily in the house to ask endless questions of every one she met. She kept up a running chatter of excited comment all the while she was being dressed in her daintiest frock, and danced down at the sound of her grandfather’s voice, with a beaming face and starry eyes.

“Well, well, if little Miss Snippets isn’t all dressed up in her bestest frock, too,” teased Grandfather, as she trotted at his heels.

“You ought to see the crowd that has collected,” he continued, turning to the others. “When I came from the village a few minutes ago, the streets were lined with carriages and automobiles, and it looks as if every one and his daddy is out. I do believe that all Meadowbrook and the surrounding towns have gathered for the fun, and I noticed several photographers. I never dreamed that a children’s parade would be such a source of interest.”

Aunt Elsie hurried down the stairs, hastily tucking in a few stray hairpins. “Let’s go out on the lawn,” she suggested, leading the way to the rustic seats that James had placed for them on the grass. They were joined by Mrs. MacAllister, who settled down cozily beside Mrs. Eaton.

“Helen told me,” she explained to the others, “that all the surrounding towns had been invited, and, from the appearance of the avenue, it looks as if all invitations had been accepted. Many families are making a picnic of it, and will bring lunch and spend the day in the meadows, where seats have been arranged so that they can see the coronation afterward. It really has been planned very well. There is parking space for vehicles, and, in addition to the games and races by the children, the Meadowbrook team will have a ball-game in the afternoon. It’s really a gala day, and every one is interested in making it a success.”

“Yes,” replied Aunt Elsie, picking up Boots, who had followed her out, “there is considerable talk of having the parade every year and calling it ‘The Children’s Day,’ if this is a success. I think it would be a lovely scheme.”

“So do I,” responded Mrs. MacAllister vivaciously; “and I think it was a splendid plan, asking the cottagers to decorate. Won’t that long line of lanterns down the avenue look lovely when they’re lighted for the return parade at dusk? Sam is putting ours up now, and your place looks very festive.” She glanced about as she spoke, at the long strings of bobbing lanterns that James had festooned from tree to tree all about the grounds.

“Listen! What’s that?” cried Mrs. Eaton, holding up a warning finger. Far down the road they could hear a faint strain of music and the tramp of marching feet. Cubby squirmed with impatience and clambered up on her grandfather’s knee, holding her breath with eagerness as the sound came nearer and nearer.

“It’s the Meadowbrook Fife and Drum Corps that they invited to lead the parade,” volunteered Grandma Carr. “Hark, there’s a bugle. That must be Gabriel, riding before as Herald. Look, look, Cubby; here they come.”

Cubby folded her chubby hands and stared with eyes like full moons.

Gabriel dashed ahead on a fat brown pony, blowing a bugle and announcing importantly with every toot, “Make way for the Queen of May, make way for the Queen of May,” though no one made any effort to block the road.

Four abreast, the Meadowbrook Fife and Drum Corps marched next, with the sun flashing on their bugles and on the rows of gilt braid that trimmed the leaf-green uniforms they wore. They played so valiantly that it was hard to keep from marching in time to the stirring strains, and Cubby’s foot went tap-tapping against her chair while ecstatic shivers ran down her spine.

At Miss Helen’s suggestion the sewing-classes at the school had made Lincoln-green costumes for the King and his attendants. It gave a picturesque effect to the parade, and as Dick, Billy, and Hugh went marching past, with heads in the air and faces all agrin, as they kept step to the rat-a-tat-tat of the drummer, they made a fine showing. As body-guard to the King and Queen, they carried the bows and arrows that were to be used in the archery contest later, and it looked as if Robin Hood and his merry men from Sherwood Forest had descended on Meadowbrook for the day.

King Allan, blond as a young Viking, rode a prancing black horse that curveted and danced each time the music started.

There was a flutter of handkerchiefs all along the avenue as he came in sight, followed by cheers from the friendly crowd as the Queen’s coach, with its snow-white ponies, appeared.

“Isn’t she a picture?” whispered Mrs. MacAllister, waving frantically, as the May Queen, seated in the heart of the big pink rose, rode by, nodding and smiling shyly to the interested bystanders.

“And don’t the Maids of Honor look sweet and springy in those cool green dresses?” demanded Grandmother Carr, as she smiled and waved at the little girls whose faces beamed with delight, and who fluttered their handkerchiefs in return, regardless of royal etiquette, till the coach was out of sight.

“Don was pleased as Punch to drive them. It would have been rather hard to have been out of all the fun,” Mrs. MacAllister continued reflectively. “Look at these lovely Maypoles. There must be a dozen at least.”

There were pink Maypoles and blue Maypoles, and yellow, green, and lavender Maypoles, as well as a red-white-and-blue, and a rainbow-shaded one, so that Cubby found it difficult to decide which was the prettiest. In their light-colored summer dresses the schoolgirls looked like a flock of brilliant-colored butterflies as they fluttered about the poles, holding fast to the long satin streamers. Behind them marched the boys, carrying gay-colored balloons that floated through the air like enormous soap-bubbles.

“There goes the most important part of the parade,” chuckled Grandpa Carr, as a big wagon, driven by a laughing crowd of schoolteachers, brought up the rear, loaded to the brim with baskets of lunch.

“Speaking of lunch,” began Mrs. MacAllister quickly, as she rose from her seat, “our luncheon no doubt awaits us now, and if we want to be present at the Queen’s coronation--” She paused suggestively and smiled at the wee bear, who slid from her grandfather’s knee in a hurry, anxious for the “party” to begin. Only pausing long enough to send Boots back to the house, the little party strolled across the road to White Birches.

It was a glorious day for Cubby. To be an invited guest at a real luncheon party would have been wonderful in itself, but Mrs. MacAllister had planned the entire luncheon with a thought to her small guest’s enjoyment. So the first thing that greeted their eyes, as they entered the paneled dining-room, was a wreath of pink roses suspended above the table. From the wreath fluttered long pink Maypole ribbons that were fastened at each place to pink basket-favors filled with candied rose-leaves.

Donald, who had hurried home after leaving the May party at their destination, seated Cubby with as much ceremony as if she had been forty instead of “going on four,” and entertained her with such a grown-up conversation that her heart was filled with delight, and she even felt sorry for Jet and Wiggles, who were missing this good time.

Anxious to correct the impression she had made by her naughtiness before, she copied her grandmother’s dignified manner to perfection, but nothing escaped the notice of her dancing brown eyes. Mrs. MacAllister had to repress a smile as she cleared her throat in unconscious imitation of her mother, and ate her roll with Aunt Elsie’s very gestures.

“What an unconscious little actress that child is!” she thought, catching Mrs. Eaton’s amused glance, as she eyed the small mimic, who was on her best behavior and acting like a baby seraph.

Everything that the wee bear liked best appeared at that lovely May Day luncheon, and when ice-cream forms frozen into big pink roses were served, her dark eyes sparkled with delight. Her cup of joy was filled when Mrs. MacAllister opened a little white case, and clasped about her neck a short string of small pink pearls, almost exactly like those that Elizabeth had received.

“It is lovely of you, Marie, to give the children so much pleasure,” Mrs. Eaton said, as Cubby lifted her face to Mrs. MacAllister for a kiss.

“If you knew what a pleasure it was to me,” responded Mrs. MacAllister, rising from the table and leading the way into the hall. “You know I’ve threatened before to steal your girls.”

Sam, Mrs. MacAllister’s chauffeur, had the automobile ready and waiting at the door to take them all to the coronation, but Cubby, proudly fingering her pearls with one hand, stopped short on the steps to dance up and down and clap her hands with joy, for, coming up the driveway, was the Queen’s rose chariot, with Donald driving.

“I promised I’d take you riding with the ponies, and I’m keeping my promise,” he reminded her with a merry glance, as she danced down the steps and clambered up into the Queen’s rose seat. “Now hold tight so you don’t tumble out, and we’ll get there in a jiffy.”

“Look at that child’s rapt face,” exclaimed Mrs. MacAllister from the car, as the ponies trotted down the broad avenue, with Cubby waving ecstatic farewells.

Over at the picnic-grounds time had slipped by rapidly. After the basket-luncheons had been eaten, King Allan and Queen Elizabeth were escorted with pomp and ceremony to their flowery thrones and the real merrymaking began.

Donald and Evelyn, followed by the automobile, arrived just in time, for the coronation was about to begin. They were fortunate in finding parking space near the scene of the ceremonies, where they could watch all that passed.

It was a pretty sight. Billy, as master of ceremonies, knelt respectfully before the King and Queen, and then, advancing down the aisle formed by the Courtiers and Maids of Honor, he fastened a silver star to the Queen’s coronet, and placed a crown on the King’s blond hair.

Over the children’s heads dogwood branches formed an arching canopy of starry white blossoms, while every breeze carried from near-by orchards the delicious perfume of crab-apple and plum blossoms that filled the air with fragrance.

Then, in rapid succession there were potato and sack races, high-jumping contests, and archery and target-shooting, while the school classes competed in drills and folk-dancing on the green turf. The enthusiastic audience, that crowded the meadows and golf links beyond, applauded vigorously each time a winner advanced to the throne to receive a prize from the May Queen’s hands.

Cubby sat as upright as her swaying seat would allow, beaming on the world impartially and hoping every one would know that the May Queen was her big sister. Her eyes danced with delight when Alice received a bow and a quiver of arrows as the prize-winner in the archery contest, and when Billy advanced to receive a camera for the best high jump. Her happiest moment came when Donald, whom she greatly admired, and who had been invited by Miss Helen to try his hand at target-shooting, knelt at the Queen’s feet to receive for his clever marksmanship the tiny gold pin, shaped like a rifle, that Polly Wiggles fastened to his coat.

“Say, aren’t the prizes fine? The teachers gave them all,” puffed Dick, appearing suddenly, hot and dirty, at the automobile door with a huge watermelon in his arms.

“Where _did_ you get that?” demanded Mrs. MacAllister much amused. Dick fished first in one pocket and then in the other, finally producing a much-soiled handkerchief with which he wiped his flushed face, adding to its smudgy appearance.

“I won it in a pie-eating contest,” he announced proudly, placing the watermelon carefully on the running-board of the car and seating himself beside it. “Say, but isn’t it hot? I ate nine small pies, and Gabriel ate seven. I won the melon, and he got a box of candy, but somehow we don’t seem to feel very hungry.”

“I should think not,” gasped Grandmother Carr in horror. “What will you do next? You’ll probably die with indigestion to-night. I must confess that I agree with Polly Wiggles when she says, ‘Aren’t boys the queerest?’”

“Don’t you worry about Dick,” put in Mrs. MacAllister comfortably, while Dick’s admiration for her mounted sky-high. “Most boys have digestions like ostriches, and the pies probably won’t hurt him at all. I remember once when Donald was much younger,” she continued with a reminiscent smile, “that he ate four large mince pies, and he’s still here to tell the tale.”

“Marion and Jeannette each won a set of books in the potato races,” Dick continued hastily, thinking it wise to change the subject, “and Hugh got a bully knife in the sack race.”

“How about Kitty?” inquired Aunt Elsie presently. “Seems to me that the royal party have walked off with a good many prizes.”

Dick snickered. “See that sour-looking girl over there that looks as if she had swallowed a quart of vinegar?” he murmured confidentially, pointing to a sullen group just a short distance away. “Well, that’s Jane Juggins, with her few particular cronies, and ever since Kitty beat her in the obstacle race and won a silver pencil, she’s been sore as a boil. Kit’s as light as a feather, you know, and simply sailed along like thistle-down, and Jane has worn a particularly black scowl ever since. She’s disgruntled, anyway, ’cause she isn’t in the royal party.”

Aunt Elsie leaned forward to look, and couldn’t help laughing at Dick’s apt description. “There’s a discontented subject, if ever I saw one,” she remarked lightly. “She certainly does _not_ love our Polly Wiggles, and if black looks were dangerous, the May Queen would need a heavy guard.”

“She makes me sick,” growled Dick. “I only wish that Wiggles and Allan could have competed in some of the games, but, of course, royalty had to act dignified. Look, Aunt Jean, the Maypole dances come next, and they are mighty pretty. May I leave the watermelon here while I go over to watch the baseball game?”

“Suppose we take it home for you,” suggested Mrs. MacAllister, making room for it at her feet.

The day passed like a happy dream for Polly Wiggles. Surrounded by her closest friends, not even Jane Juggins’ cutting speeches could bother her, though the boys openly laughed each time Jane flounced by with her nose in the air.

“You’re beneath her notice,” murmured Allan in a teasing undertone, as Jane spoke sweetly to him, and looked right through the May Queen as if she did not exist. “Don’t you feel terribly cut up about it?”

“Dreadfully,” sighed Polly Wiggles with a saucy glance at him. “My day is quite, quite ruined.”

“I heard her tell one of her friends that you lacked a queenly air,” confided Gabriel, appearing from the ball field and passing his candy about. “I hope you realize the seriousness of that offense. You should take lessons in nose-tilting from the scornful Jane and act as if we were the dirt beneath your feet.”

“None but the noble Jane possesses the lofty dignity, the icy stare, the haughty carriage, combined with the ‘I know not what,’ that any queen who is a queen should possess. Now Wiggles couldn’t manage an icy stare if her throne depended on it. I always wondered what it was that she lacked, and now, alas, I know,” put in Billy mournfully as he helped himself to more candy.

“Oh, but the noble Jane can give coy melting glances, too,” grinned Gabriel, shooting a quick glance at Allan, who scowled in response.

Little by little the crowd dispersed. At seven o’clock the line of march was resumed, and the parade started its return journey through a lane of glowing lanterns and colored fire. Every cottage along the way had decorated, in honor of the day, with bunting, and swaying lanterns that gleamed through the gathering dusk like enormous scintillating fireflies.

White Birches had been turned into a fairyland of colored lights, and the children halted a few minutes while Sam, assisted by James, set off glowing pinwheels and sparkling flowerpots, with Cubby waving sparklers to and fro with a happy though sleepy smile.

In front of the post-office the parade disbanded, and most of the children hurried home for hasty suppers. Down in the grove a band concert, that would last till nine-thirty, had already begun.

Donald backed the cart up to the sidewalk, and jumped down, almost colliding with the “noble Jane,” as Billy insisted on calling her, who was hovering near. As he rounded up the royal party, she watched him from the corner of her eye, secretly angry because this good-looking new boy, with the beautiful ponies, should already be on such friendly terms with the group of girls she disliked.

“All the May-Day royalties pile in,” commanded Donald, hurrying back with Gabriel and Allan in tow. “We’ll have to squeeze a bit to seat eleven, but I’m sure we can manage. No one needs to go home to ask, for Mother has already received permission for you all to come to White Birches for a little supper party.”

“What fun,” murmured Polly Wiggles, serenely unconscious of Jane’s angry glances from behind, as the ponies trotted off with the load of laughing young people. “It’s the lovely end to a lovely day, isn’t it, Jet?”

“Indeed it is,” Jeannette said smilingly in return, glancing with happy dark eyes at her sister. “Why, Donald, where are you taking us?”

No wonder she inquired, for the ponies swept past the big porch, where Mrs. MacAllister was entertaining her friends from The Lilacs and Sweet Briar, and trotted on down the winding path toward Willow Lake.

“Look, look,” cried Alice, catching Marion’s arm and pointing toward the rustic summer-house at the edge of the lake. “Oh, how pretty!”

“It looks like fairyland,” added Kitty, leaning forward to gaze at the bobbing lanterns that swung across the little rustic bridge and cast fantastic shadows on the round table that had been laid for eleven in the pavilion. “I never saw anything so lovely.”

“It looks like a Fairy Godmother’s idea,” breathed Alice, as Billy assisted her from the rose coach. “Probably all she did was to wave a wand and the table sprang up through the floor, all covered with silver and china in readiness for us.”

“And at the stroke of twelve ’twill vanish like a puff of smoke,” declared Allan dramatically, snapping his fingers to illustrate.

“Yum-yum, I smell chicken, and I’m hungry. I hope the clock won’t strike twelve yet awhile,” said matter-of-fact Marion, interrupting the chorus of delighted exclamations.

“The idea of speaking of such a prosaic thing as hunger, when you can feast your eyes on an enchanting scene like that,” rebuked Billy from the rear. “However, since you have mentioned the subject, let me say that I could stand a little solid nourishment myself. A chicken wing to gnaw upon, or ‘Only three grains of corn, Mother,’ would help me stay the faintness that has come upon me. Lead on, MacDuff.”

“Somebody take this poor starving creature and give him a bowl of broth,” sang out Donald, giving Allan a laughing push to lead the way. “I’ll be right along, but I have to wait till Sam comes to get the ponies.”

Not much urging was necessary, for something did smell wonderfully appetizing, and they all were hungry. In the gayest of spirits they rushed pell-mell down the marble steps and across the bridge to the summer-house, while Donald handed the ponies over to the grinning Sam, and turned to help Polly Wiggles, whose floating pink ribbons had caught fast to a rosebush. It wasn’t an easy matter to untangle them, but at last he was successful.

“Pin them down with this, please do,” he begged eagerly, stooping to fasten the little pin he had won to the fluttering ribbons. “There, that holds them fast.”

Polly Wiggles surveyed it doubtfully. “But it’s yours,” she objected, the color surging in her face as she glanced at him shyly.

“It’s a trophy, won for the Queen in tournament, and she must wear it,” he jested, but with an air of finality, as he smiled into the blue eyes raised to his.

“Why, if here isn’t Boots!” exclaimed Polly Wiggles in astonishment, glancing sharply at a dark object that came purringly forward. “He’s come to join the party, too.”

A chorus of calls from the summer-house sent them scurrying to join the others at the table, where sandwiches, chicken, and ice-cream were appearing as if by magic. There was a clatter of silver and china, and a babel of laughing voices that could be heard up on the porch of White Birches as the hungry children did justice to the dainty supper that Mrs. MacAllister had provided, while the grown-ups smiled in sympathy at the peals of infectious laughter.

It was the first time that Polly Wiggles had had a near view of Willow Lake, and, sinking down on the circular seat that ran about the pavilion, she exclaimed at sight of the loveliness revealed, as she pushed aside the tangled wisteria vines and looked dreamily across the waters, where moonbeams were cresting the ripples with a silvery radiance, and slender white birches leaned down to gaze at their own reflections. Through the air came the delicious odor of wild honeysuckle and syringa, while showers of pink-and-white cherry-blossoms drifted with each puff of the breeze down to the rush-bordered banks.

With a tired little sigh the May Queen leaned back in her seat, but looked up with a smile as Donald solicitously tucked a cushion behind her. “Tired?” he asked sympathetically, amid the laughter and chatter about them. “It’s been a pretty busy day for you.”

“How about yourself?” she returned with a merry glance, as she settled herself luxuriously against the soft cushion. “I’ll confess I am a wee bit tired, but it’s been worth it.”

“Isn’t this fun?” demanded Allan, looking the picture of contentment, with a sandwich in one hand and a glass of fruit punch in the other.

“I drink to the health of Miss Wiggles, our Queen,
The loveliest sovereign that ever was seen,”

he proposed, rising with his glass in hand, and bowing low to laughing Polly Wiggles.

“How about the fair Maids of Honor?” inquired Kitty coolly, patting Boots, that had jumped in her lap. “Don’t they come in for a toast, too?”

“Stay your impatience, it’s not polite,” reproved Billy, who had been restored to “life and health,” as he expressed it, by several generous helpings of sweetbreads and chicken patties. “Now here is a toast to those that really deserve the honor,” he drawled teasingly, as he lazily rose to his feet.

“A toast to the Herald, a toast to the King,
To Courtiers noble and gallant, I sing--”

“While for fair Maids of Honor in dainty array,
I propose three loud cheers, and a hip-hip hooray,”

added Jeannette rapidly before Billy could finish. She turned as she finished to survey her cousin, and couldn’t repress a giggle at sight of his astonished face at having the words taken from his mouth.

“See here, youngster, don’t you know that interrupting is against all royal etiquette?” he asked in an aggrieved voice. “What I was going to say when you so rudely interrupted, was--”

“Don’t say it. Listen to the band concert instead,” Alice advised mischievously, pulling him down into his seat. “Doesn’t it sound lovely and dreamy at this distance?”

“And just look at the reflection of these beautiful lanterns in the water,” added Marion, leaning over the rail of the summer-house to admire the many colors that sparkled and shimmered in the clear lake.

Allan jumped up to inspect the decorations more closely. “I never saw any like these before,” he said admiringly as he glanced at the array of silk lanterns shaped like flowers, fish, and dragons that were suspended over his head and swayed with every passing breeze.

“We brought those from Japan with us. I don’t believe you could get them over here,” Donald explained, seeing his interest. “Somebody throw me a sandwich, please.”

“What a beautiful day we have had!” mused Polly Wiggles softly. “Isn’t it a shame that such good times have to end?” She sighed regretfully as she listened to the soft whisper of the ripples against the bank, for they seemed to murmur mournfully, “All is over, all is over.”

Gabriel looked about glumly. “Yes, all the fun is over, and now we’ll have to knuckle down to spelling and history and poetry afternoons,” he finished gloomily as he ate his ice-cream with gusto.

“And arithmetic exams come in the very near future,” put in Alice dismally as she nibbled a macaroon. “O dear! O dear! How I hate good times to end.”

“Cheer up, little one, school closes in another two weeks and we always have fun on the last day. I think it’s great that they’ve decided to give prizes for the best poems submitted. So let your heart rejoice. Maybe you’ll get one,” Billy consoled her, tweaking her blonde locks.

“And maybe I won’t,” she retorted witheringly, but Billy refused to be squelched.

“Now Mary Ann, the star pupil doesn’t seem to be worrying about exams, or letting the thought interfere with her appetite,” he teased wickedly, as Marion started leisurely on her second plate of cream.

“You stop calling me ‘Mary Ann.’ You know how I loathe that name, and if you do it any more, I’ll call you Little Willie.”

“Wow, that would be a hard one to live down,” Donald laughed as he tossed an olive-pit out on the grass and helped himself to more sandwiches. “Somebody tell me, please, why good times are at an end, anyway? I should think they were just beginning, with a lovely long vacation to look forward to. Just think of the jolly fine times we can all have together.”

“What kind of times?” demanded practical Marion, absently twining one of Jet’s long brown curls about her finger as she spoke.

“Oh,--all kinds,” put in Dick rather vaguely. “Say, Don, what’s the name of that little bit of an island in the middle of Willow Lake? It would be a bully place for picnics, wouldn’t it?”

“Great,” Donald responded with enthusiasm as he turned to glance where Dick pointed. “You deserve a vote of thanks for such a fine idea. It’s called ‘Paradise Island,’ I believe. We’ll paddle out some day and look it over, it only takes a few minutes to get there.”

“Isn’t it beautiful? It looks like a Paradise,” murmured Polly Wiggles as she gazed at the moonlight flooded wooded island where willow branches trailed green boughs down to the water’s edge, and wild azalea was a riot of color against the background of green. “Oh, I know what we can do!” She sat up suddenly and clapped her hands. “Each one of you must tell of the special good time you are looking forward to this summer,--in verse.” She glanced about expectantly, and smiled at Gabriel’s stricken face.

“Oh, Wiggles,” protested Marion, “that is dreadfully hard to do.”

“No, it isn’t,” insisted the May Queen shaking her curls. “It’s really lots of fun, and no one may say a single solitary word till orders are obeyed. Verse first,--free speech afterward. I’m still May Queen till the clock strikes twelve,” she added mischievously, seeing signs of mutiny in Gabriel’s face, “and I _command_ that you all obey. The penalty will be a ducking in the lake.”

Gabriel gave an anguished howl. “Here’s where I get a bath,” he groaned. “You _know_ I simply _can’t_ make up poetry.”

“Yes you can,” persisted Polly Wiggles encouragingly. “Now all of you think hard.”

The silence was profound for a few minutes.

“I want to go fishing,
That’s what I am wishing,”

piped up Dick suddenly. “Now I may talk, may I not, Woggsie? We boys could go fishing and then build a camp-fire and cook the fish on stones over at the island, isn’t that a wow of a plan? You girls could help with the eats of course,” he added hastily.

“Let’s take some horns to toot on loud,
And have a straw-ride for the crowd,
We’d stop some place for tea at night,
Returning when the moon was bright,”

suggested Jeannette, blushing as every one applauded the idea vigorously.

“Oh, that would be bully good fun,” began Gabriel, forgetting orders, and looking aghast as Polly Wiggles pointed a stern finger at him. “And--and I hope you’ll invite me to come,” he brought out at last apologetically amid much mirth.

Billy gave a loud “ahem.”

“Let’s go on a hot-dog roast,
Take marshmallows, too, to toast.
Corn and ’taters piping hot,
Would taste bully, like as not,”

he proposed, looking about the group and giving a subdued snicker at sight of Alice’s and Marion’s anguished expressions. “Cheer up, the worst is yet to come,” he hissed dramatically. Alice made a saucy face at him.

“Living pictures we could pose,
All dressed up in fancy clothes,
Tableaux would be fun, I know,
And perhaps we’d make some dough,”

she repeated rapidly with the anxious frown leaving her forehead.

“That’s the best of all,” said Polly Wiggles, much pleased.

“Such slang from the Lady Alice! Where did you pick up such a disgusting expression as ‘dough?’” reproved Billy sadly. “Never do such slangy words drop from _my_ lips. I fully expected after that choice phrase to have you continue thusly:

“‘It would be a lot of fun,
For some Cause, we’d make the mon.’

“However, maybe Mary A--excuse me, Marion, can ’render us a selection.’”

“I’d propose to give a fair,
Boys can work and do their share,”

returned Marion, serenely, giggling at the howl of protest that arose from the boys.

Allan munched a bit of candy reflectively.

“But the boys say, ‘Nay, nay, nay,
We’d far rather give a play,’”

he responded swiftly with a laughing glance in Marion’s direction. “Hurry up, Don.”

“Let’s go berrying, I say,
Some fine morn at break of day,
Take along this happy bunch,
Big tin pails, and _lots_ of lunch,”

Donald suggested, seating himself on the rail of the summer-house and whistling under his breath.

“All these suggestions sound grand,” Dick said, “and it’s up to us to carry them out. But how about the May Queen? Why are you so backward about coming forward, Woggsie, are you asleep?”

“Picnics morning, noon, and night,
I’d consider a delight,”

Polly Wiggles suggested stifling a yawn, while Kitty chimed in:

“Why not start a club? ’Twould be,
Lots of fun, as you’ll agree.”

“That would be lovely,” chorused the girls, much pleased at the idea.

“Speak up, Hugh and Gay,” ordered the Queen, giving Gabriel a nudge with her scepter. “You two are last.”

“Why, I did give you a rhyme, don’t you remember?” Gabriel protested in an injured tone.

“Not a good-time rhyme,” Polly Wiggles objected decidedly. “Hurry up.”

Gabriel pondered desperately.

“I’d like to tramp around the lakes,
And hunt for turtles, bugs, and snakes,”

he volunteered finally, looking thoroughly disgusted when the girls shrieked at the idea. “Now what’s the matter with that, I’d like to know?”

“You have no tact, my son,” Billy informed him. “Don’t you know that such things offend their delicate sensibilities?”

Allan jumped up with determination in his eye. “Into the lake you go, Hugh,” he cried grabbing his friend’s auburn thatch of hair while Dick seized his feet and a laughing scuffle started. “Do you mean to say that _Gay_ can beat you at rhyming?”

“Ouch, let go. You’ve all talked so much that I haven’t had a chance,” Hugh excused himself, freeing his hair with a jerk, and searching his mind for an idea. “How’s this?

“Some parties would be fun, I think,
With lots to eat and lots to drink!

“Now gimme another glass of punch.”

“Oh, Hugh,” protested Marion in disgust, “don’t you ever think about anything but eating? Boys certainly are queer.”

“Well, I think,” Jeannette said, acting as peacemaker, “that we won’t be able to complain of our good times being over, if all the lovely things happen this summer that we have suggested in our rhymes. Hark, Wiggles! Isn’t that Mother calling?”

Sure enough, through the bower of bushes and shrubbery banking the terraces that sloped up to the house they could hear, “Elizabeth, Jeannette, it’s time to say ‘good-night.’”

“O dear! May Day is over,” sighed the Queen, rising reluctantly.

“We must go, too,” chorused the other girls, jumping to their feet regretfully, “but we’ve had a wonderful time.”

Up the path they scampered, pausing at the corner of the big shadowy veranda where Mrs. MacAllister was swaying gently to and fro in a swinging chair, and she looked up with a smile at their approach.

“We don’t know how to thank you,” began Polly Wiggles gratefully, as she stooped to kiss the kind friend who had added so much pleasure to the May Day for them all.

“I don’t want you to thank me,” broke in Mrs. MacAllister, smiling at the circle of girlish faces. “I want you all to use the ponies and boats whenever you wish, and to play in the summer-houses any time. I just love to have a crowd of rollicking young people about, and so does Donald. You know I told Mrs. Eaton that I’d like to steal her daughters, and an even better plan would be to adopt you all,” she finished jokingly.

“Yes, do,” agreed Donald eagerly. “Adopt them as godsons and goddaughters.”

“And we’ll adopt you as our Fairy Godmother,” Alice put in contentedly.

“I’ll walk across the road with you,” Donald said as the girls, arm in arm, skipped down the path between the silvery birch-trees, while the boys followed close behind. Over at The Lilacs the lanterns had been taken in and all signs of the revelry were over.

“It must be nine-thirty, for the band is playing ‘Good Night, Ladies,’” yawned Jeannette as they paused at the gate. “How appropriate. Do sing!”

Up at The Lilacs Mrs. Eaton looked at Grandma Carr and smiled as the clear voices rang out in the song, followed by what the boys called “The Nightcap Chant,” as shoulder to shoulder they tramped down the avenue behind the laughing girls.

“Good night, lovely maidens, we’re grieving,
With sorrow there is no relieving,
But the hour is late,
Ere you give us the gate,
We think it is wise to be leaving,”

they chanted lustily.

As the last strains of the ridiculous song died away, only the rustling of the trees and the shrill piping of the crickets broke the stillness of the evening as Donald turned to go.

“See you to-morrow,” he said, pausing with his hand on the gate to glance back over his shoulder, and Jeannette and Polly Wiggles standing with their arms about each other beneath the swaying lilac-bushes, waved “good-night.”

THE END

Transcriber's Notes:

Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.

Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.

Perceived typographical errors have been changed.