In Maytime | Page 6

of Little John's christening,
the drinking-horns were filled, and the band threw themselves down
upon the soft grass, covered with violets. All listened while the minstrel
touched his harp, and the beautiful voice of Allan-a-Dale sang the
plaintive old ballad Islington.
Timothy was still hearing the echoes of the song when his guide said to
him, "It is all over. That is the last of the day."
"I should like to see it over again," sighed Timothy.
The girl laughed impatiently. "If you are going back to town to-night, I
am afraid you will have to go at once. The train leaves in about ten
minutes. Good-night," and she held out her hand to him.
"Good-night," said Timothy. "Do you know," he said, "I have to thank
you for one of the pleasantest days of my life."
"I am very glad," said the marshal, not knowing what else to say.
"I am going home to write a love-story," declared Timothy, "all about
Old England and May-day, and you shall be the heroine!"
"Thank you very much," said the marshal. "It is getting very late, Sir
Knight. I must really say good-bye."
"Good-bye, good-bye, Sir Marshal -- till next May-day," cried Timothy.
He stood still, looking after her tall, erect figure, as she made her way
through the dwindling crowd.
Darkness had fallen quickly, and the space about him was almost
deserted. The great grey buildings loomed up dimly in the twilight. A
group of girls strolled past him, singing Islington, and the wind brought

back the sweet, plaintive notes. Timothy still saw beside him the quaint
Figure of the marshal, the curls flying out from beneath her rounded
cap, her eyes looking up at him as she explained the May-day sights
and sounds. It seemed hardly possible that she was not a reality, that he
could stretch out his hand and not touch her. But he would see her
again; Philadelphia and Bryn Mawr were not far apart. The distant train
whistled, and gave a few warning puffs, which rapidly increased in
number as it drew out of the station. Timothy leaned against a tree and
indulged in dreams. Two foresters were standing near by, talking
eagerly. But it was some time before Timothy realized the purport of
their words.
"It was the funniest thing you ever heard of," one of them was saying. "
Poor Eleanor! I saw her with him some time ago, and now she has just
told me what happened. You see I asked her to take care of Jack for me,
and keep him from finding me -- why, yes, of course I had my reasons
-- and somehow she got hold of the wrong man. She has kept this
creature with her all the afternoon, all the afternoon, my dear, thinking
he was Jack! And she says he is the most awful stick, and has bored her
to death, poor dear' Isn't it a joke on her? It is a good joke on me, too,
because I was so sure that Jack would come. I wonder why he didn't!"
Lights were beginning to twinkle in the windows. The chorus of
Islington still came back on the breeze, but it sounded quite different to
Timothy. Somehow everything had suddenly become commonplace.
"I think," he said, with a deep breath, "it was a pretty good joke on me."
Then he pulled down his hat, buttoned his coat, and set off towards the
station, with all possible speed.
Anne Maynard Kidder, class of 1903.
2 RTEXTR*ch

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