"I shouldn't think they'd want to have any Queen on such a cold day as this," replied mamma. "Look how the boughs are blowing in the wind. It feels like March out doors."
"Oh, they're sure to want a Queen," said Blossom. "May-day is such fun. I used to like it better than any day in the year."
"Somebody wants to spake to ye, ma'am, if you pl'ase," said Norah, putting her head in at the door.
"Very well. Blossom, dear, you don't mind being left alone for a minute?"
"Oh no, indeed. I've such a nice book here." But Blossom did not open her book after mamma went away, but lay looking out of the window to where the elm-boughs were rocking in the wind. Her face grew a little sad.
"How nice it used to be!" she said to herself.
Just then she heard a queer noise in the entry—drumming, and something else which sounded like music. Next, the door opened, and a procession of two marched in. Charlie was the head of the procession. She wore a pink-and-white calico, and tied about her neck with a pink string was Willie Smith's drum, borrowed for the occasion. Winnie, in her best blue gingham, brought up the rear, her mouth full of harmonica. Winnie also carried a flat basket, covered with a white napkin, and the two girls kept step as they marched across the room to Blossom's bedside, who lay regarding them with eyes wide open from amazement.
"Happy May-day, Queen Blossom," sang Charlie, flourishing her drumsticks.
"Happy May-day, Queen Blossom," chimed in Winnie, taking the harmonica from her mouth.