Kit agreed that they did, and long afterwards, up in the old cupola council room, she read them aloud to Helen and some of the Gilead girls.  One in particular rather hit her fancy, because Kit hated early rising.

    “Rise, sweet maid, when the cock is crowing,
     If Fortune’s bugles you’d be blowing.”

The Saturday before they left was Kit’s day for entertaining.  Miss Daphne took the keenest delight in making it a success.  There was a luncheon at one, followed by a whole afternoon of entertaining.  Even the Dean emerged from his sanctum to mingle a little, and the “Jinx” declared she had never seen him so human before.  He brought out the royal statuette of Annui and even the sacred memorial urn to show the girls.  As Miss Daphne said afterwards, this showed what a friendly, benign mood he was in.

Kit was standing on the outskirts of the group around the old grand piano, where he had placed both antiques, when she suddenly saw, through the long French windows, Marcelle Beaubien coming up the drive.  The Dean was deep in a happy, explanatory speech and she slipped away unnoticed by the rest.

“It was awfully nice of you to come, Marcelle,” she exclaimed.  “I’ve been watching for you ever since lunch.  Why didn’t you come earlier?”

“But I am early,” smiled Marcelle.  “It is only about three o’clock.  Generally, I have to stay in all day Saturday, and give the boys a chance to go out.  Will you write to me when you are away?”

“I’d love to.  You know it’s a queer thing, Marcelle, but really and truly, out of all the girls I have met here I feel better acquainted with you than with any of them.”

Kit said this rather slowly, as if it were a sort of self-revelation which she had just discovered that minute.  And yet it was true.  She had enjoyed the class friendships at Hope immensely, but Marcelle had seemed to stand out from the rest of the girls as such a distinctly interesting personality.  In a way, she was like Billie, because she loved nature and all the romance of adventure.  There was in her nature the mingling of the three races, the French, the Indian, and the Scotch, and besides, Kit felt personally responsible for her success up at Hope.  The girls had played absolutely fair and square, once they had decided to bury the hatchet, and given the chance, Marcelle herself had justified the opening of doors to her.  As Amy said: 

“It doth not behoove us to say a blessed word against Marcelle when she is racing ahead in all our classes, and plucking honors right and left.”

Marcelle smiled at Kit’s remark.

“I have heard my grandmother say that in her girlhood her people of the northern forests pledged their friendships by saying, ’While the grass grows and the waters run, so long shall we be friends.’” She turned and smiled at Kit her grave-eyed slow smile.  “I will say that to you now, before you go.”

Kit laid one arm around her shoulders.