EXMOOR COLLEGE.
Busy days followed the sophomore-freshman ball. The girls were "getting
into line," as Judy variously expressed it; "showing their mettle; and
putting on steam for the winter's work." The story of the incendiary had
been reported exaggerated and had gradually died out altogether. Frances
Andrews had returned to college, more brazenly facetious than ever,
breaking into conversations, loudly interrupting, making jokes which no
one laughed at except Molly and Judy out of charity. She was a strange
girl and led a lonely life, but she was too much like the crater of a
sleeping volcano, which might shoot off unexpectedly at any moment, and
most of the girls gave her a wide berth.
The weather grew cold and crisp. There was a smell of smoke in the air
from burning leaves and from the chimneys of the faculty homes wherein
wood fires glowed cheerfully.
At last Saturday arrived. It was the day of the excursion to Exmoor, and
it was with more or less anxiety regarding the weather that the three
girls scanned the skies that morning for signs of rain. But the heavens
were a deep and cloudless blue and the air mildly caressing, neither too
cold nor too warm.
"It is like the Indian summers we have at home," exclaimed Molly, when,
an hour later, they turned their faces toward the village through which
the trolley passed.
Mabel Hinton, passing them as they started, had called out:
"Art off on a picnic?"
And they had answered:
"We art."
Some other girls had cried:
"Whither away so early, Oh?"
And they had cried:
"To Exmoor! To Exmoor, for now the day has come at last!" paraphrasing a
song Judy was in the habit of singing.
Indeed the day seemed so perfect and joyous that they could hardly keep
from singing aloud instead of just humming when they boarded the trolley
car.
Through the country they sped swiftly. The valley unfolded itself before
them in all its beauty and the misty blue hills in the distance seemed
to draw nearer. Over everything there was a sense of autumn peace which
comes when the world is drowsing off into his deep sleep.
"Exmoor!" called the conductor at last, and the three girls stepped off
at a charming rustic station. With a clang of the bell which rang out
harshly in the still air, the car flew on.
The three girls looked at the empty station. Then they looked at each
other with a kind of mock consternation, for nothing really mattered.
"Where is Dodo?" asked Judy, with the smile of the victor, since she had
predicted only a few moments before that Dodo might by this time have
become so frightened at his boldness that he would suddenly become
extinct like his namesake, the dodo-bird.
"Well, if Dodo is really extinct," said Molly, "we'll just take a little
walk back through the fields. Epimenides thought nothing of it. He
expects to walk to-day and meet us at lunch."
But Dodo was not extinct that morning, and they beheld him now running
down the steep road as fast as his heavy boots could carry him.
"Behold, his spirit has risen from its fossil remains and he now walks
among us in the guise of a man," chanted Judy.
"Don't make us laugh, Judy, just as the poor soul arrives without enough
breath to apologize," said Nance, and the next instant the embarrassed
young man stood before them blushing and stammering as if he had been
caught in the act of picking a pocket or committing some other slight
crime which required explanation.
"I'm terribly sorry--have you waited long?--the schedule was changed--I
didn't know--you should have come half an hour later--I don't mean
that--I mean I wasn't ready--" he broke off in an agony of embarrassment
and the girls burst out laughing.
"Don't you be caring," said Judy. "We're here and nothing else really
matters."
"I shouldn't have thought the station of a man's college could be so
deserted," observed Molly, looking about the empty place.
Dodo assured her that plenty of people would be there in half an hour,
when the train arrived; just then everybody was either in the village
on the other side of the buildings, or down on the football grounds
watching the morning practice game. There was to be a real game that
afternoon.
"You see, it's only a small college," he went on. "There are only two
hundred and fifty in all. The standards are so high it's rather hard to
get in, but we are heavily endowed and can afford to keep up the
standards," he added proudly.
They climbed the road to the college almost in silence and in ten
minutes emerged on a level elevation or table land which commanded a
view of the entire countryside. Here stood the college buildings, built
of red brick, seasoned and mellowed with time. They were a beautiful
and dignified group of buildings, and there was a decidedly old world
atmosphere about the place and the campus with splendid elm trees.
Molly had once heard Judith Blount refer to Exmoor as that "one-horse,
old-fashioned little college," and she was not prepared for anything so
fine and impressive as this.
Nor was she prepared for the surprise of Miss Green, sister of Professor
Edwin and Dodo. The girls had pictured her a middle-aged spinster,
having heard she was older than the Professor himself, who seemed a
thousand to them. And here, waiting for them, in the living room of the
Chapter House, was a very charming and girlish young woman with Edwin's
brown eyes and cleft chin and George's blonde hair; the ease and
graciousness of one brother and the youthful fairness of the other. She
had come down from New York the night before especially to meet them,
she said.
Rather an expensive trip, they thought, for one day's pleasure, since it
took about seven hours and meant usually one meal and of course at night
a berth on the sleeper.
"At first I thought I couldn't manage it for this week," she continued,
"but Edwin was so insistent and no one has ever been known to refuse him
anything he really wanted."
Edwin! But why Edwin? Why not the youthful and blushing Dodo? So Molly
wondered, while they were conducted over the entire college; the
beautiful little Gothic chapel with its stained glass windows; through
the splendid old library which was much smaller than the one at
Wellington, but much more "atmospheric" as Judy had remarked; then
through the dormitories where they remained discreetly in the corridors,
and finally back to the Chapter House, in which George lodged with some
thirty schoolmates.
There on the piazza was Professor Edwin Green waiting for them. He had
made an early start, he said, and walked the whole distance in less than
three hours. Some other young men came up and were introduced, and the
entire gay party, Nance shyly sticking closely beside Miss Green, went
off to view the village, which was a quaint old place well worth
visiting, they were told.
The train had evidently come in, and crowds of people were hurrying up
the road. There was a sound of a horn and a coach dashed in sight filled
with students wearing crimson streamers in their buttonholes.
"It's a crowd of Repton fellows come over to see their team licked,"
George explained, "but look, Edwin, here comes Dickie Blount. I thought
he was in Chicago."
"Evidently he isn't," said the Professor, his eyes smiling, his mouth
serious. It was Richard Blount, the hero of the ham bone, and he
straightway attached himself to Molly and declined to leave her side
for the rest of the day.
"Don't tell me that that delightful, joking, jolly person is brother to
Judith," whispered Judy in Molly's ear.
Molly nodded.
"There's no family resemblance, but it's true, nevertheless."
Motor cars and carriages of all varieties now began to arrive. The whole
countryside had turned out to see the great game between the two local
college teams, and the Wellington girls pinned green rosettes in their
buttonholes to signify that their sympathies were all for Exmoor.
"It's the most exciting, jolliest time I ever had in all my life," cried
Molly to Professor Green, who walked on her other side. "And to think I
have never seen a football game before in all my life."
"I must draw a diagram for you and show you what some of the plays are,
or you will be in a muddle," said the Professor, looking at her gravely,
almost, as Molly thought, as if she were one of his English Literature
pupils.
At lunch, according to the etiquette of the place, George and his guests
were placed at the senior table. There was no smoking nor loud talking
and the students behaved themselves most decorously, although George
confided to Judy that ordinarily pandemonium prevailed.
After lunch they started for the grounds in a triumphal procession; for
our Wellington freshmen and their chaperone had an escort of at least
four or five young men apiece. Nance looked bewildered and shy and
happy; Judy was never more sparkling nor prettier, and Molly was in her
gayest, brightest humor.
They had hardly left the Chapter House behind them and proceeded in
a snake-like procession across the campus, when a black and prancing,
though rather bony, steed dashed up bearing a young lady in a
faultlessly fitting riding habit. It was Judith Blount.
Nobody looked particularly thrilled at Judith's appearance, not even
Judith's brother, and Judy almost exclaimed out loud:
"Bother! Why couldn't she stay at home just once?"
"How do you do, Cousin Grace?" called Judith from her perch. "I heard
you were going to be down and I couldn't resist riding over to see you."
"How are you, Judith? I'm so glad to see you," answered Cousin Grace in
a tone without much heart to it. "Why didn't you come sooner? We've just
finished lunch."
"Thanks, I had a sandwich early. I suppose you are off for the grounds.
Go ahead. I'll get Cousin Edwin to help me tie up this old animal
somewhere. We'll follow right behind."
Molly was almost certain that Cousin Edwin was about to place this
office on the shoulders of his younger brother, but glancing again at
the flushed and happy face of Dodo at the side of Judy, the Professor
relented and dropped behind to look after his relation.
Never had Molly been so wildly excited as she was over the football
game that afternoon. It was a wonderful picture, the two teams lined
up against each other; crowds of people yelling themselves hoarse; the
battle cry of the Repton team mingling with the warlike cry of the
Exmoor students. The cheer leaders at the heads of the cheer sections
made the welkin ring continuously. At last a young man, who seemed to
be a giant in size and strength, dashed like a wild horse across the
Russian steppes straight up the field with the ball under his arm, and
from the insane behavior of the green men, including Professor Edwin
Green and his fair sister, Molly became suddenly aware that the game
was over and Exmoor had won.
The cheering section could yell no more, because to a man it had lost
its voice; but, oh, the glad burst of song from the Exmoor students as
they leaped into the field and bore the conquering giant around on their
shoulders. And, oh! the dejection of the men of crimson as they stalked
sadly from the scene of their humiliation.
At last the whole glorious day was over and the girls found themselves
on the way to the trolley station. Richard Blount and his cousin, Miss
Green, had hastened on ahead. They were to take the six o'clock train
back to New York.
"Cousin Edwin, why can't you hire a horse in the village and ride back
to Wellington with me?" asked Judith, when they paused at the Chapter
House for her to mount her black steed.
"Because I'm engaged to take these young ladies home by trolley,
Judith," answered the Professor firmly.
Judith leaped on her horse without assistance, gave the poor animal a
savage lash with her whip and dashed across the campus without another
word.
The ride back at sunset was even more perfect than the morning trip.
The Professor of English Literature appeared to have been temporarily
changed into a boy. He told them funny stories and bits of his own
college experiences, and made them talk, too. Almost before they knew
it, the conductor was calling: "Wellington!"