Chapter III.
ELECTING THE MAY-QUEEN.
There was about five minutes of quiet, only broken by the scratch of pens, and then Mr. Gorham went round and collected the papers.
Susie's face was very bright. Florence saw it, and bent her own still lower, saying, inwardly: "No wonder she's happy, knowing that she'll have every vote except the one she has written for me. If uncle could only understand how hard it is for me to make friends, and how—"
But all thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Gorham's rising from his seat. His face bore a surprised expression, and he looked again at his paper to assure himself no mistake had been made.
"Oh," groaned Florence, "he thinks it strange that out of the forty, I should have only one! If uncle wouldn't keep nodding to me!" But there the Squire sat, gently hitting the floor with his cane, and looking one moment at Mr. Gorham, and the next at his niece, with a most-hopeful expression.
At length there was perfect silence in the room. The Squire had stopped tapping with his cane, and now held it firmly down with both hands on the heavy gold top, with his face turned toward the teacher's desk.
"I find," announced Mr. Gorham, "on counting the votes"—every ear was strained to catch the result—"that Miss Florence has twenty-eight, and Miss Susie twelve. Therefore Miss Florence will be our Queen." And he turned to the astounded girl with a cordial word of congratulation.
The Squire nodded more vigorously than ever, and pounded away in a regardless manner with his cane, but nobody heard it in the general uproar. Some were clapping their hands, others had flocked to Florence's seat, and were congratulating her. The young girl's face was radiant with delight, and Susie's quite as much so.
"You bear defeat bravely," said Mr. Gorham, in his kindest tone, to Susie. "The Squire is asking to see you."
"Ah," said the Squire, as Susie came forward, "we can't all win, you know, my dear. I hope you don't bear Florence any ill-will?"
"Far from it," answered Susie, earnestly. "I wouldn't have it otherwise." And she sent a loving glance toward Florence, which was as quickly returned.
Squire Tracy motioned to Mr. Gorham, and they both stepped aside, and after a few moments of subdued conversation the latter came forward and rang the bell.
"Squire Tracy," said he, "has kindly offered his grounds for the May party, so our fête will be held at Maplewood instead of the grove."
At this announcement the buzzing was louder than ever.
"Fifty times better than those old picnic grounds, where we've been all our lives," said Josie.
"I've always been wild to get in Squire Tracy's grounds," put in Stella, longingly.
"Oh, they're grand," said Sadie. "They have four gardeners all the year round. I went once with papa when he was attending the Squire. That's the advantage, girls, of having one's father a doctor." And she threw back her head playfully.
"Or a minister," added Susie, "for I've been two or three times with papa."
Both speakers were immediately beset with questions regarding the beauty of the Squire's surroundings, and nothing else was talked about all the way home.
"Well, I got my reward pretty soon," thought Susie, as she waved her school satchel to Baby, who was throwing kisses from the nursery window; "for I should enjoy a day at Squire Tracy's more than anything I can think of, and I shall never forget Florence's expression when Mr. Gorham announced the good news. I never felt so like crying, but I kept back the tears for fear Florence would think I was terribly disappointed."
And what were Florence's thoughts at the same moment?
"To think the girls really like me!" as she passed up the broad and softly carpeted staircase; "and Mr. Gorham, too, seemed so pleased! Oh, how I shall study now! And to think uncle really patted me on the head, and said, 'I'm delighted with you, my child!' That was the best of all. What will Bessie say when she hears it? I must begin a letter to her this very moment," and the happy girl hummed a lively air as she opened her portfolio. "There! I hope uncle didn't hear me." Then opening a letter: "I must read again just what he wrote to Aunt Rebecca, and keep it constantly in mind: 'If Florence comes to live with me, she must be studious and quiet, for I have lived so long alone that I can not bear the thought of a romping girl setting things topsy-turvy.' Well, I've been that to the very letter, 'studious and quiet,' but I feel to-day like opening the piano, and pounding away on it every college song Ray ever sang for us; but no, 'studious and quiet,' 'studious and quiet,'" and her pen ran noiselessly over the sheet before her as she wrote the following letter:
"My dearest Sister,—I have time for a few words before dinner, and I never wrote you in so happy a frame of mind. You know I told you how all the girls disliked me, and that I didn't feel any more acquainted with them than I did the first day. Well, I made a mistake, for twenty-eight out of the forty voted for me to be Queen of the May. And my opponent was Susie Kingman, the one I wrote you all the girls were crazy over, and who reminded me of you more than any one I ever saw. It seems even now as though there must be some mistake; but no, I remember how cordial the girls were, and that they didn't seem particularly surprised when Mr. Gorham read the result. But, Bessie, the best thing of all was that uncle was there! When he came into the room, I trembled from head to foot, for I only expected one vote. Dear me! the tears are falling all over this, but they are joyful ones. Well, uncle was delighted, called me 'My child,' and talked to me about school in the kindest manner all the way home—talked more in that quarter of an hour than all the rest of the time I've been here. Bessie darling, this is what I've prayed for—that uncle would care for me if only a very little, for it is dreadful to be in the house with mamma's own brother and have him take no notice of me, except by giving me money and presents; but that 'My child' was worth them all. The bell is ringing for dinner. I haven't told you half how happy I am. Uncle has offered his grounds for the affair, which comes off the last day of school. Will wonders never cease? Your ever loving
"Flo."
Ah! if Susie could have seen that tear-blotted letter that was kissed and cried over by the little absent sister, she might well have said, "I have my reward already."