The Skating Carnival.
All fears of a thaw on the heels of this unprecedented cold wave were
put to flight next morning. The thermometer hovered at four degrees
above zero and the air was dry and sparkling. Only those who remained
indoors and lingered over the registers felt the cold.
There was a great deal to be done before evening. Costumes had to be
devised, bonfires built along the lake and at intervals on the links,
lanterns hung everywhere possible and, lastly, a quick rehearsal. The
best skaters were chosen to give exhibitions of fancy skating; there
were to be several races and a grand march.
Molly learned the night before that a sense of balance having once been
acquired is never lost. After supper she had ventured out on the campus
with Judy and Nance, who were both excellent skaters. With a grace that
was peculiarly her own in spite of the first unsteadiness, Molly had
been able to skate to the Quadrangle. There, removing her skating shoes,
and putting on slippers, she had skipped upstairs to thank Mary Stewart
for her kindness. The return to Queen's over the campus had been even
easier, and next morning she felt that she could enter the carnival.
Nobody had a chance to talk about costumes until after lunch on
Saturday, when there was a meeting of the three friends to decide.
"I don't see how I can go. I haven't a thing picturesque," exclaimed
Nance dejectedly.
"Now, Nance, you have no imagination," said Judy.
"One day you tell me I have no sense of humor, and another that I have
no imagination. You'll be telling me I have no brains next."
"Here, eat this and stop quarreling," interrupted Molly, thrusting a
plate of fudge before them. "When in doubt, eat fudge and wisdom will
come."
Judy ate her fudge in silence. Then suddenly she cried exultantly.
"Eureka! Wisdom hath come, yea even to the humble in spirit. Heaven hath
enlightened me. I know what we'll wear, girls."
"What?" they demanded, having racked their brains in vain to think of
something both warm and picturesque.
"We'll go," continued Judy impressively, "as three Russian princesses."
"What in?"
"Leave that to me. You just do as I tell you. Nance, skate down to the
village and buy a big roll of cotton batting. Make them wrap it up well,
so as not to offer suggestions to others."
"What must I do?" asked Molly.
"You must turn up the hems of skirts. Take your old last winter's brown
one, and Nance's old green one, and--and my velvet one----"
"Your best skirt!" exclaimed Nance aghast.
"Yes, why not? We only live once," replied the reckless Judy. "Turn up
the hems all around and baste them. They should reach just to the
shoetops."
That afternoon they hurriedly sewed bands of cotton batting around the
bottoms of their skirts, bordered their jackets with it, made cuffs and
muffs and high turbans. Then Judy dotted the cotton with shoe blacking
and it became a realistic imitation of royal ermine. Each girl wore a
band of brilliant ribbon across the front of her coat with a gilt
pasteboard star pinned to it.
"I suppose this might be taken for the Order of the Star and Garter,"
observed Judy. "At any rate, we are royal princesses of the illustrious
house of Russia, the Princesses Molitzka, Nanitska and Judiekeanovitch.
Those are Russian enough, aren't they?"
Never will Molly forget the fun of that glorious evening, nor the
beautiful picture of the meadows and fields dazzling white in the
moonlight. While the "workers" of the four classes lit the fires and
lanterns, the "drones" circled about on the ice singing college songs.
From over at Exmoor came a crowd of youths who had skated the ten miles
up-hill and down-dale to see the carnival. Sleighing parties from nearby
estates drove over with rough-shod teams to draw the sleighs, and all
Wellington turned out to see the sights.
"I didn't believe there could be so much originality in the world,"
thought Molly, admiring the costumes of the students.
There were many Teddy Bears and Bunny Rabbits. One girl wore a black
velvet suit with a leopard's skin over her shoulder. On her head was a
mythological looking crown with a pair of cow's horns standing upright
at each side. There were numerous Russian Gypsies and two Dr. Cooks
wearing long black mustaches, each carrying a little pole with an
American flag nailed at the top.
Jessie Lynch, not being a skater, sat in a chair on runners, while her
good-natured chum, Margaret Wakefield, pushed her about the lake.
Margaret wore a Chinese costume and her long queue was made of black
skirt braid.
After the parade and the exhibitions of skating, there was general
skating and the lake became a scene of changing color and variety.
"It's like a gorgeous Christmas card," thought Molly, practicing strokes
by herself in one corner while she watched the circle of skaters skim by
her. "And how very light it is. I can plainly recognize Nance going over
the hill with Andy McLean."
"Here she is," called Lawrence Upton, breaking from the circle and
skating towards her as easily, apparently, as a bird flies. His body
leaned slightly. His hands were clasped behind his back, and Mercury
with his winged shoes could not have moved more gracefully.
"Come on, Miss Molly, and have a turn," he said.
"What, me, the poorest skater on the pond?"
"Nonsense! You couldn't dance so well if you were a poor skater. Just
cross hands like this and sail along. I won't let you fall."
Off they did sail and never was a more delightful sensation than
Molly's, flying over the smooth ice with this good-looking young
Mercury. Around and round they skimmed, until one of the Exmoor boys
blew a horn, the signal that it was time to start the ten miles back to
college. Very rough skating it was in places, so Lawrence informed
Molly; rather dangerous going down some of the steep hills, but glorious
fun.
"Why don't you do like Baron Munchausen on the mountain? Sit on a silk
handkerchief and slide down," suggested Molly.
"We have done some sliding of that kind," he answered, laughing, "but it
was accidental and there was no time to get out a pocket handkerchief."
At last the great carnival was over, and Molly, falling in with a crowd
of campus girls, started for home, singing with the others:
"Good-night, ladies, we're gwine to leave you now."
It was nearly ten when she tramped upstairs, still on her skates. Judy
called out to her from her room, but Nance had not returned. Molly
unlaced the skating boots, removed the Russian Princess costume, and
flinging her time-worn eiderdown cape around her shoulders, sat down to
toast her toes.
"Judy," she called presently, "what have you done with Nance?"
"The last I saw of the Lady Nance she was going over the hill with her
sandy-haired cavalier."
"I saw her, too, but I haven't met up with her since. I'm afraid she
will get a 'calling' if she isn't back pretty soon."
The girls waited silently. Presently they heard the last of the carnival
revellers return. The clock in the tower struck ten. Mrs. Markham locked
the hall door and put out the hall light, and still no Nance.
"She's gone off skating with Sandy Andy and forgot the time," whispered
Judy, who had crept into Molly's room to confer. "It's a good joke on
proper old Nance. I think she was never known to break a rule before."
"You don't suppose anything could have happened to them, do you?"
"Of course not. But you know how absorbed they do get in conversation.
They wouldn't hear a cannon go off a yard away."
"They are awfully strict here about being out with boys," observed Molly
uneasily. "I do wish she would come home."
The girls lingered over the register talking in whispers until the clock
struck half-past ten.
"Molly, suppose they have eloped!" Judy observed.
"Eloped!" repeated Molly, amazed. Then she began to laugh. "Judy, is
there anybody in the world so romantic as you? Why, they are mere
infants. Andy isn't nineteen yet and Nance was only eighteen last month.
I think we'd better slip out and find them. Come on."
Very quietly the two girls got into their things. They wore their
rubbers this time, and Molly very thankfully carried the imitation
ermine muff. The entire household was sound asleep when out into the
sparkling, glittering world they crept like two conspirators.
"Suppose we try the links first," suggested Judy, "since both of us saw
them disappearing last in that direction."
"If we were really ladylike persons we'd be afraid to go scurrying off
here in the dark," observed Molly.
"I'm not afraid of anything," Judy replied, and Molly knew she spoke the
truth, for Judy was the most fearless girl she had ever known.
When they reached the summit of the hill, they began calling at the tops
of their voices, "Nance! Nance Oldham!"
There was no answer and not in all the broad expanse of whiteness could
they see a human being.
"I wish I knew what to do," exclaimed Molly, growing more and more
uneasy. "Suppose she has been injured--suppose--suppose----"
"There they are!" cried Judy. "The young rascals, I believe they are
utterly oblivious to time."
Far over the ice appeared the two figures. They were not skating but
walking, and several times before they reached the girls they slipped
and fell down.
"You are a nice pair," cried Judy. "Don't you know it's way after hours
and everybody is in bed long ago?"
"Why, Nance, dear, what has happened? Why are you walking?" asked Molly,
who was rarely known to scold anybody.
"I am very sorry," said Nance stiffly. "I couldn't help it. The heel of
my shoe came off and I couldn't skate. Mr. McLean----"
Judy smiled mischievously.
"They've been quarreling," she said under her breath.
"And Mr. McLean had to bring me back much against his will."
"Nothing of the sort, Miss Oldham," put in "Mr." McLean, flushing
angrily. "I was very glad to bring you back. I only said----"
"Never mind what you said. It was your manner. Actions speak louder than
words."
"Come along," put in Molly. "This is no time for quarrels. It's after
eleven. Andy, what will you do? Skate back to Exmoor or stay at your
father's?"
"I shall skate back, of course," he answered in an heroic voice. "The
other fellows might think something had happened to me."
"Here, Nance, put on one of my overshoes," said Judy. "That will keep
you from slipping and we must hasten e'er the midnight chime doth
strike. Farewell, Andrew. God bless you, and a safe journey, my boy."
Judy struck a dramatic attitude and Molly was obliged to laugh, in spite
of the serious faces of the others.
"Hadn't I better see you home?" asked Andrew stiffly.
"Forsooth, no, good gentleman. Begone, and the sooner the better."
"Come on, you silly goose," laughed Molly, and the three girls hurried
home. Once they stopped to look back, and young Andy, skating as if the
foul fiends were after him, was almost at the end of the course.
There was no Miss Steel that winter to keep a sharp ear open for
late-comers and the girls crept safely up to bed. Twice in the night
Molly heard Nance weeping bitterly. But she said nothing because she
knew that such quarrels are soon mended.