“There was an old man of Kilkenny.
Who never had more than a penny.
He spent all that money in onions and honey,
This wayward old man of Kilkenny.”
They all laughed heartily. We began our descent but were changed about somehow. Every body helped the one who came to hand. Now it was Dick, then Mr. Ogden or Stuart. We slipped and scrambled and uttered small shrieks, making the way very lively.
“See here!” exclaimed Winthrop—“a wild rose and buds, I think them so especially beautiful. Who is queen of the May to be crowned?”
“You are too late;” laughed Fan, “May has gone.”
“Queen of Midsummer, then. Miss Endicott accept this late treasure. Let it blossom and wither on your heart—sweets to the sweet.”
This was to Fan. Her blue eyes laughed saucily.
“The sweet in both cases being about alike,” she made answer.