When the fudge was done they put the pan out of the window and hoped that it wouldn’t fall down and all be lost. It didn’t, and, before it had fairly cooled, they cut it and lifted the squares in their eager fingers,—great, rich, soft, wonderful squares of delight,—and ate them with greedy pleasure, down to the last, last crumb.
[CHAPTER XIII—SPRING AND ANNAPOLIS]
In the days that followed after the winter snow’s melting it seemed to Peggy that she was seeing the world by sunlight for the first time. The wonderful new lights that fell on everything, making even a roof or a clay bank a beautiful thing to behold, the subtle perfume that came drifting out on the breeze over orchard and woodland, the pink blossoms on the apple trees, all these things sent her about with her head in the clouds and a happiness at her heart that was just the joy of living.
The girls sauntered now on their way to classes, instead of hurrying and scurrying to escape the cold. They sang on their way to chapel, they lingered on the porch steps after luncheon, every Saturday they planned some kind of tramp or picnic that was different, very, from the gay, romping affairs of the fall. These parties, or “bats,” as they always called them, not knowing at all that that word was considered of rather vulgar significance out in the world, were long, lazy, enjoyable affairs, where groups went together with arms twined about each other’s shoulders, always singing, singing. They sang Yale songs and Harvard songs and Princeton songs, then each group of girls sang the songs of the college they themselves hoped to attend, and wound up with the Andrews favorites.
“People along here would think us German soldiers, the way we sing as we go,” said Peggy. “Oh, isn’t it all heavenly, heavenly. Music with us that we make ourselves, and apple blossom petals as sweet as roses dropping down on us from the trees wherever we go, and all the world—ours—”
To her own surprise a sob choked her, and the other girls did not laugh, but looked away with the tolerant dreaminess the spring had given them.
The great topic of every spring at Andrews was Annapolis, and, as soon as they had thoroughly exhausted the subject, Annapolis all over again. Which girls were to go and which must stay at home?
“Oh, girls, the marine band!” one group would remind another as they met going to and from classes.
“And, oh, that gymnasium floor—” the other group would sing out.
Peggy dreamed of nothing but picturesque white buildings and uniformed young middies drilling, and wonderful girls in wonderful gowns dancing, dancing with wonderful representatives of the navy.