By this time, however, her admirers had found a new love in the Tike, who came dancing before them all in white. She was literally a bower of trailing arbutus, as sprays of that spring flower were fastened all over her gown.
“I am the Pilgrim flower,” she piped pertly, “some call me the Mayflower blossom.” And then catching up her skirts, with a low curtsey she repeated softly:
“Oh I’m the flower that never dies,
’Neath leaves so brown in bed so low.
The arbutus, who in glad surprise
Bloomed ‘Welcome’ from fields of snow
To our Pilgrim sires of long ago.”
“Oh, here’s Lillie Bell!” called some one. “Isn’t she a duck of a dear!” Simultaneously the girls forsook the Tike and flocked around Lillie, who, gowned in pure white, with kerchief and lace cap, represented Susannah White, the first bride of the colony.
“Yes, and I want you to note, girls,” she asserted impressively, with a nonchalant nod to the welcome accorded her, “that I am not only the first bride, but the first mother of the colony, for my little Peregrine was born when the Mayflower rode at anchor in Cape Cod Bay, and Mrs. Morrow claims this is even a greater honor than to be the first bride. But, girls—” she ended abruptly, dropping her matronly pose, “have you seen Edith—she was to be Helen Billington—I never knew her to be so late before?”
“There! that accounts for the aching void in my heart, I know I missed some one,” cried Jessie half mockingly. “O dear, what will become of my Pioneer article if the Sport does not appear?” The girls all laughed in appreciation of Jessie’s serio-comic declaration, for it was generally conceded that Edith was the most active spirit of the band, as her sporting proclivities, her general good-nature, and her dashing escapades always furnished plenty of “copy” when any of their various hikes or demonstrations were in progress.
“Oh, don’t fret; a bad penny always turns up!” chimed in Kitty, who did not particularly admire the Sport.
“I’ll bet you a cookie that she has been arrested for appearing in disorderly apparel on the street,” observed Grace roguishly; “for she told me she was going to dress at home.”
“Oh, girls, aren’t you ready?” at this instant asked Louise Gaynor, suddenly appearing in the doorway leading to the room where Mrs. Morrow, as Mistress Carver, the Governor’s lady, was waiting to receive them.
“Her Sweet Graciousness, Mistress Carver, waits for you without in the Common House.”