“The harp that once through Briarwood Hall
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute o’er the campus fount
As though that soul were dead.”
Madge Steele, with her strong voice, led the chant. The girls, crowded at the open windows, began to giggle, for they could hear Heavy, at the end of the procession, sing out a very different verse.
“That rascal ought to be fined for that,” murmured The Fox, the sandy-haired girl next to Ruth.
“But, isn’t she funny?” gasped Helen, on the other side of the Chief of the S. B.’s.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Belle Tingley. “I hope Sarah Fish got there ahead of them. Won’t they be surprised when they get a baptism of a glass of water each from the fountain, as they go by?”
“They’ll think the statue has come to life, sure enough, if it doesn’t twang the lyre,” quoth Helen.
“They’ll get an unexpected ducking,” giggled Lluella Fairfax.
“It won’t hurt them,” Ruth said, placidly. “That’s why I insisted upon the mackintoshes.”
“It’s just as dark down there by the fountain as it can be,” spoke Helen, with a little shiver. “D’you remember, Ruthie, how they hazed us there when we were Infants?”
“Don’t I!” agreed her chum.