As each succeeding year brought around the Junior Gambol the good woman hastened to view it with undiminished interest.
“It would be difficult to say,” answered Miss Walker. “In a class of such unusual individuality it will be very hard to select one who deserves it more than another.”
“It’s a question of popularity more than intelligence,” observed the Professor. “I think I might hazard a guess,” he added in a lower tone, but his voice was drowned in a burst of music. The juniors were singing an old English glee song, “To the Cuckoo.”
“‘Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove,
Thou messenger of spring,
Now heaven repairs thy rural seat
And woods thy welcome ring.’”
Many guesses were hazarded regarding the junior May Queen, not only among the crowds of spectators, but in the class itself.
The votes for the Queen were cast by secret ballot in charge of a committee of three. Wellington traditions required that the name of the chosen one should be kept in entire secrecy until the clock in the tower struck noon on May Day. Then the junior donkey was led forth garlanded with flowers. He had officiated on this occasion now for ten years. This was the great moment when the identity of the most popular girl in the junior class was established for all time, and it was an important moment, because the one selected was generally chosen as Class President the next year.
And now, as the tower clock boomed twelve deep strokes, there was a stirring among the spectators and a craning of necks. Three juniors appeared at the end of the campus, leading the aged donkey, who flicked his tail and walked gingerly over the turf. He wore a garland of daffodils and lilacs and moved sedately along, mindful of the importance of his position.
The three girls were Nance Oldham, Caroline Brinton and Edith Williams. One of them carried a wreath of narcissus and the other two held the ribbon reins of the donkey.
According to the time-honored rule, they approached their classmates with grave, still faces. It was really a solemn moment and the juniors waiting in an unbroken line never moved nor smiled.
The spectators held their breath and for a moment Wellington was so still that every human thing in it might have been turned to stone.