The Ramble was always the occasion for the most childish behavior among the seniors; a last frenzied outburst, as it were, before putting away childish things for all time and settling down to the serious work of life.
And now the seniors in the first wagon stood up and began singing back to the girls in the second wagon:
"Seniors, do you hear the call?
Great Pan has blest the day.
Heed the summons, one and all,
Voulez vous danser?"
The seniors behind answered:
"We will make the welkin ring,
Voulez vous danser?
Sound the trumpet, shout and sing,
Voulez vous danser?"
"I think this should be called the 'Senior Rumble,' and not ramble," some one said, as the wagon groaned and creaked on the hilly road.
"What's the matter with 'Grumble'?" asked Mabel Hinton.
But there was no real grumbling, although the six miles that lay between Fern Woods and Wellington included some rough roads. They were jolted and shaken and tumbled about and there were shrieks of laughter and cries of "Wait, wait! I'd rather walk!" But the stolid driver went calmly on without taking the slightest notice.
"One would think we were a lot of inmates in a crazy wagon," cried Molly, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes.
A box of salted nuts had come open and the contents were scattered all over the bed of the wagon, and some apples had tumbled out of a hamper and were rolling about under people's feet.