Sarah Fish was actually laughing, but in a hysterical way.
“Oh, dear me! was ever anything so ridiculous before?” she gasped.
“Hush! Don’t get Miss Picolet after us,” begged Madge.
“What really happened?” demanded Ruth, eagerly.
“Why—I’ll tell you,” replied Sarah, whose gown clung to her as though it had been pasted upon her figure. “See? I’m just soaked. Talk about sprinkling those silly lambs of candidates! Why, I was immersed—you see.”
“But how?”
“I slipped over there before the procession started from these steps. I was watching the girls, and listening to them sing, and didn’t pay much attention to anything else.
“But when I dodged down into the little garden, I thought I heard a footstep on the flags. I looked all around, and saw nothing. Now I know the person must have already climbed up on the fountain and gotten into the shadow of the statue—just as I wanted to do.”
“Was there really somebody there?” demanded Madge.
“How do you think I got into the fountain, if not?” snapped Sarah Fish.