CHAPTER VII.

In good green wood.

They were in the Roseholme woods, all four girls,—­Hildegarde, Bell, Gertrude and little Kitty.  Kitty was only eight years old, but she liked good times as well as if she were sixteen, and when the sisters said “Come along, Kitty,” she had dropped her doll and flown like a bird to join them.  Willy shouted after her, having designs on her in regard to tin soldiers; but for once Kitty was deaf to her Willy’s voice.  Now she was as happy as a child could be, sitting in a nest of warm pine needles, playing at “partridge mother.”

The other girls sat near her, making oak wreaths and talking busily.  Bell was telling of some college experiences.

“So we found we had not nearly green enough to trim the hall, and I volunteered to get some more, while the rest of the committee made the garlands.  I had not far to go, only to the grove, about a mile beyond the campus; but it was growing dark, so I hurried as much as I could.  I ran across Professor Thunder’s yard, as that cut off nearly half the distance, and there my fate found me.  Oh, dear!  Hildegarde, you will never guess what I did.”

“Nothing, I am sure,” said Hildegarde, gravely, “that was not consistent with dignity and decorum.  The college maiden is an awful person, I have always understood.”

“You shall judge!” said Bell.  “Remember that I was alone, with none to help me carry the boughs; that I was late, it being then six o’clock, and the dance beginning at eight.  I had to get the greens, help put them up, get my supper, dress, and be there at eight to receive the juniors.  And there—­there, in the clear afternoon light on the lawn, stood the professor’s wheelbarrow, saying as plainly as a wheelbarrow can, ’You’d better take me along to bring the things home in.’  Could I resist that mute appeal?  I could not.  I saw, I took, I trundled!  The thing went of its own accord, I believe; certainly I never before made such good time to the grove.  Once there, it was a matter of only a few minutes to strip the boughs and fill the friendly barrow.  But, oh!  I filled it not wisely, but too well.  It was all so green and pleasant, and the smell of the trees was so delightful, that I did not know when to stop.  Soon the barrow was heaped high with all manner of pleasantness, and I started to return.  Well, my dear, then the trouble began.  In the first place, full barrows are different from empty ones.  It was very heavy, and the boughs kept slipping this way, and sliding that way, and tumbling down every third second.  I got cross—­oh, so cross! and presently I passed the janitor’s son, lounging along homeward, and he grinned, being an oaf, and said, ‘Better let me help ye, hadn’t ye?’ Oh, no! he didn’t mean to be rude, he really meant to help; but my blood was up, and my hair was down, and I was very short with him, I fear, and trundled