“I got it because I expected it,” she said.
But Judy came through with flying colors—not a single black mark against her. Jessie barely pulled through, and her friends rejoiced that the prettiest, most frivolous member of the freshman class had made such a valiant fight and won.
CHAPTER XXIII.
SOPHOMORES AT LAST.
“Freshman, arise!
Gird on thy sword!
Captivity is o’er.
To arms! To arms!
For, lo! thou art
A daring sophomore!”
The words of this stirring song floated in through the open windows at Queen’s one warm night in early June. Moonlight flooded the campus, and the air was sweet with the perfume of lilac and syringa.
A group of sophomores had gathered in front of the house to serenade the freshmen at Queen’s, who had immediately repaired to the piazza to acknowledge this unusual honor paid them by their august predecessors.
“I think it would be far more appropriate if they sang:
“‘When all the saints who from their labors rest,’”