Here Julia paused to take breath.

The girls cheered wildly.

Julia bowed right and left, her hand over her heart.  When the noise had subsided, she continued.  She bewailed junior misdeeds and professed meek repentance.  She dwelt upon the beauty of peace and she begged her hearers henceforth to live with each other amicably.

It was a capital address, delivered in a mock-serious manner that provoked mirth, and did more toward establishing general good feeling than any other method she might have tried.  In closing she said: 

“The hatchet is the symbol of war.  The wheat-sheaf represents our elderly grudge; but the immortelles are the everlasting flowers of good will that spring from the planting of these two.  We will now listen to a few remarks from the pride of the sophomore class, Assistant Master of Ceremonies Grace Harlowe.”

Grace attempted to speak, but received an ovation that made her flush and laughingly put her hands over her ears.  When she was finally allowed to proceed, she delivered an oration as flowery as that of the master of ceremonies.

When the cries of approbation evoked by Grace’s oration had died away, it was announced that the “renowned elocutionist,” Miss Anne Pierson, would recite a poem appropriate to the occasion.  Anne accordingly recited “The Bridge of Sighs,” done over by Julia Crosby, and beginning: 

    “Take it up gingerly;
      Handle with care;
    ’Tis a relic of sophomore
      And junior warfare.”

The intense feeling with which Anne rendered this touching effusion, caused the master of ceremonies to sob audibly and lean so heavily upon her assistant for support that that dignified person almost pitched head first into the opening, and was saved from an ignominious tumble by one of her attendants.  This was too much for the others, who, forgetting the solemnity of their office, shrieked with mirth, in which the spectators were not slow to join.

“I think we had better wind up the ceremony,” said Julia with great dignity.  “These people will soon be beyond our control.”

The attendants managed to straighten their faces long enough to assist in the concluding rites that were somewhat hastily performed, and the master of ceremonies and her assistants held an impromptu reception on the spot.

“Now,” said Julia Crosby, “we have done a good day’s work for both classes.  I only hope that no prying freshmen hear of this.  They will be sure to come here and dig up what we have gone to such pains to bury.  They have no respect for their superiors.  However, you have all behaved yourselves with true High School spirit, and I wish to announce that you will find a spread awaiting you around the corner of the Omnibus House.”

There was a general hurrah at this statement, and the guests rushed off to the spot designated.

Grace had held an earnest conference with old Jean, and the result showed itself in the row of tables rudely constructed to fit the emergency.  He it was who had dug the “grave.”  He now sat on the steps waiting to build a fire, over which Grace had planned to make coffee for the hungry girls whose appetites had been whetted by the fresh air.