IT was a pity to have to stay indoors in such lovely spring weather. Multitudes of songsters came up from the south. The grove was resonant with them, and on Prospect and around the Upper Lake it was a perfect Garden of Paradise. You heard a song, followed it with your ear and then with your eye, and saw a spot of color among the leaves. It might be an oriole or a redstart or a grosbeak with his rose-colored breastpin; it all depended on your knowledge and power of observation how long you were kept in ignorance of his identity.
Parties of girls prowled about the trees and underbrush, even in the sleepy hours of the morning, armed with field glasses or simply with nature's spectacles -- listening, stealing along like Guy Fawkeses, peering down into thickets or stretching their necks to look into the tiptops of tree, Not a twig must crack or a word be spoken above a whisper, lest some treedweller hear and fly away before glasses could be leveled.
It was a pity indeed to have to stay indoors on account of a sprained ankle, when all nature was alive and singing, everyone his own song! But Helen had all she could do to get around on crutches to recitations. The farthest she got to bird walks was to sit on pillows in the grove with her back against a tree and a book in her hand, and wait to see what would come.
But there were compensations, too. For the class had elected her one of the editors on the Mount Holyoke, and she was as proud of it as Helen Crosby was of her Phi Beta Kappa key.
All the girls were dear to her. Her roommate was constantly at her side, anticipating wants, carrying Helen's books to class, and helping her in every way. Molly and Frances were more in Helen's room than in their own. Her Senior friends gave her every attention, and surely Helen saw as much of them as she ever dreamed of seeing. Edith Brewster was in, too, every other minute and did many sweet things for Helen.
Yet in spite of all that Edith did, their relations were not at all satisfactory to Helen. Edith had let every enmity fall as though it were merely a curtain held up before her friendship -- like a scene in the theater, which once swept away merely disclosed another scene. There had been no forgiveness asked for the past unkindnesses and resentments. Not that Helen cared the snap of her fingers for what Edith had ever done to her, or was not generous to forgive if proper penitence was felt. What still scratched at her heart was that Edith seemed to think she had never transgressed, that she could "throw her down when she wanted, and take her up again when she was ready." That Edith now admired Helen was out of the question -- as thoroughly admired her as she had previously disliked -- and, although Helen felt rather inclined to be friendly to her, there was still that something lacking, without which constituent Helen herself was not flexible enough to bend.
Her trouble she confided to Helen Crosby and set her to thinking, and one day the latter took Edith for a long walk.
"Edith," said Helen, when they got well out on the country road where they could see the mountains -- "Edith, what do you think of Helen Thompson?"
"Oh," said Edith, stopping short, "you mean for our society?"
"Oh, stuff! " replied Helen. "No, as a girl!"
"Oh," said Edith, relieved, resuming her walk. "I think she's a great girl!"
"She is, and greater than you think."
"Well, I'll acknowledge she's a mighty lovely girl and a trump."
"Yes, she is all that. She is the trump that saved you when your fate was in the balance."
"What do you mean by that, Helen Crosby? You've always had a partiality for that Freshman. She's a splendid girl, and I'm sorry I ever treated her badly because she was so fresh; but, really, she needed it."
"Then you never got half of what you deserved when you were a Freshman. But mind what I say, Edith Brewster. If you knew what Helen Thompson did for you, you would go and kiss her shoes!"
"I -- I don't understand what you mean," said Edith, turning pale.
"Do you remember when you went to New Haven last February?"
"Why -- why -- do you mean --"
"Yes, I do! It was a most daring thing for a girl to step in and get between you and disgrace -- disgrace, nothing less. She lied for you and then confessed and pleaded with the head of the house not to punish you and not to make your offense public. She herself got into serious trouble, but never so much as breathed a word to any soul but me -- and me because she needed my help that day."
Edith was staring at Helen. Then her eyes shut on tears that oozed out of her lasnes. For a time she stood thus, then:
"Would -- would you mind if I went home alone?" she asked.
And Helen, smiling, left her and went home ahead.
For a long time Edith stood looking out to the blue mountains and the spreading panorama of fields between. Her mind was in a tangled whirl, and she was searching, searching for the end of the thread that was to help her unravel it.
Helen Thompson had done something for her. What was it? She was to be disgraced before the college. The Dean had suspected her -- and Miss Foster! What had she done to Helen? A hundred little unkindnesses cropped up like weeds among the patch of thought she was trying to clear. She plucked at them, but they broke and would not come up by the root, and only cropped out again. They waved uncertainly before her eyes and bothered her as she tried to adjust her sight. The word "disgrace" rang ever in her ears with an insistent din. And, finally, through it all, this idea made itself clear: "You unjustly judged Helen Thompson without trying to understand her. You were doing contemptible things to her while she was shielding you at the risk of her own reputation. Oh, you despicable coward!"
She turned about and started home, plodding along in the dust with feverish haste. Those words recurred to her mind again and again like an insolent gibe. Every tree cried at her as she passed and twittering sparrows gossiped at her expense. She had no clear idea of what she was going to do. She felt only that shc wanted to get to Helen; the rest would come after. There was a tremendous account for her on the debit side! If only, oh, if only she could in some way repay it! No, she could not wipe out the score; but if only something would happen to give her a chance to show her appreciation!
It was near suppertime when she reached the campus. She went straight to Porter and mounted up the winding stairs. She heard voices up the corridor and laughter. She went first to No. 21.
Fanny was combing her hair and dressing for supper. Seated in the Morris chair was Helen, and on the arm of it, side-saddle, rode Molly. Molly was humming over a sheet of paper in her hand.
"What's all the racket?" asked Edith, falling in with the situation.
"Oh, the best ever!" cried Molly. "Sit over there, Edith Brewster, while I perform. Helen has -- Now just be quiet, Miss Tommy, will you? I'm master of ceremonies. As I was saying when I was interrupted, Miss Tommy here has written the most glorious thing -- a Holyoke hymn, if you please, not a jingle song -- words and music -- composer and poet in one! No, please don't protest, Miss Tommy. Listen, Edith, I'll sing it; what do you think of it?
"O Spirit of Holyoke!
In thy presence entering,
Soft be our footsteps on Thy holy ground!
Sweet as the anthems
All Thy Nature sings Thee,
Thy house shall with the glorious chant resound!"
"Oh, my dear! my dear!" exclaimed Edith. "Did you do that?"
"Indeed she did," cried Mdly. "She can't get around on her four feet as well as we can on two; so she composes songs to keep out of mischief."
Edith looked at Helen as though stupefied. Then a smile broke from the corners of her mouth, and of a sudden her eyes lit up with the quick illumination of a thought.
"Well, Helen Thompson," she said slowly, "you are the most wonderful girl! Please let me see what you have written."
They turned the paper over to her, and she examined the notes in the bars of music before her and the verses scribbled under them. She seemed to be musing over them more than was necessary. Then she looked up again steadily and thoughtfully to Helen.
"Tommy," she said, her eyes glistening, "I have a confession to make to you, and the others had better hear it. Tommy, I've been a despicable creature. I have worried the life out of you and ill-treated you. Oh, no, no! Don't protest; everybody knows it!"
"There, there, Edith," said Helen, thinking to save Edith the humiliation of such a public confession. "Let's not talk about it now. Let's be happy."
"Happy? I am happy, because I know about it."
"What do you mean? What do you know?"
"I know about it! Helen Crosby told me."
"Oh, hush! hush!" said Helen, glancing frightened at her roommate and Molly. "Nobody else knows," she whispered.
"I don't care if they do! But let me whisper it in your ear, then. Helen, I thought you were plucky before, because of what you did at the fire. But I know everything now, and I think you are glorious! It has humbled me so -- oh, how it has humiliated me! But humiliation is what I need. I have run away with myself all year. I have done everything annoying to you, and gone out of my way to do it. How can I ask you to forgive me?"
She sat on the arm of the chair Molly had occupied. The others, seeing what was coming, had left long ago. Then the supper bell had rung, and all the girls had left the house deserted to go down.
"I have deserved much of it, Edith," said Helen, looking down on the floor. "You have often brought me to my senses."
"I have just come to mine! Helen, I am in utter misery. What -- what -- Helen Crosby has told me has opened my eyes. I must have had cataract before! I -- I feel as though I were touching something holy to lay my hands on you!"
Helen burst out laughing and put her arm around Edith.
"Oh, you silly!" she cried. "One would think you were having a nightmare!"
"I am! I am! Oh, Helen, could you stand me to put my arms around you?"
Helen drew Edith down to her, and the two sobbed together, with their cheeks touching and tears mingling.
"Oh, you silly! You silly!" sobbed Helen.
In the midst of all the trouble, Helen's hymn had been forgotten and the paper lost. Search as they would, when they returned after supper, it could not be found, and none of the girls knew what had become of it.
"Edith, you had it last," said Helen.
"I? Oh, no. I gave it back to you."
This was Edith's lie.
"Oh, well, never mind," said Helen. "I remember it pretty well, and I'll sit down right now and put it down before I forget it. It's only the words I want; the tune has been running through my head so that it drives me 'most crazy."
And she sat down and made a memory copy of her hymn, put it carefully in a pigeonhole of her desk -- and promptly forgot all about it.
There were some people, however, who did not forget. According to science, nothing is ever lost; and surely Helen's manuscript copy found a good destination -- Edith. Edith, hot with the newly discovered friendship, plotter and schemer, set her plotting to good effect, She and Elinor Haskell put their heads together and hummed the tune and sang the words in an ecstasy of admiration. Then they put their heads together and schemed.
The next day, Professor Howard, passing through the post office with an armful of music, on his way to give a lesson, was pulled into an empty practice music room by the impulsive Edith.
"Mr. Howard," she said, "I have something dandy for you to see!"
"Have you? That's good."
"Look at that! One of the Freshmen wrote it -- Helen Thompson."
"Oh! The hero of the fire -- begging your own pardon, Miss Brewster," said Mr. Howard, smiling. "She's a great one in the choir; and let's see -- didn't Miss Thompson do something or other for basketball -- cheering leader?"
"Yes, but this is the best yet."
Mr. Howard set it before him on the piano and ran his fingers over the keys while he sang the words.
"Why, that's first rate! Fine! How'd she come to do it?"
"Sh!" said Edith, instinctively lowering her voice, as though it could be heard through the brick wall and double-paneled door of the music room. "She doesn't know I have it! I stole it; but don't you think you could fix it and --"
The rest was inaudible except to Mr. Howard's ear; but he smiled.
"I think it's bully," he said, his eyes flashing through his glasses. "Sure I'll do it! It's very simple, but a tiptop hymn, and has a great swing to it. Something like your basket-ball songs -- what is it? 'Soak 'em! Soak 'em!' and this doesn't need a stick, either."
"Mr. Howard," said Edith, delighted, "I'll love you all the days of my life!"
"I'll be greatly honored, Miss Brewster."
They laughed and Professor Howard folded up the precious sheet of paper and put it in his breast pocket, and then hustled out to his lesson.
Helen was getting much better now. In a few days she gave up her crutches, and was walking very nicely on her foot, with the help of a cane and the support of a friend's arm. She was attending recitations regularly, and she gloried in the spring weather.
Nevertheless, she could not understand why Helen Crosby insisted on taking her out driving next Friday afternoon, although she should have gone to choir rehearsal, even though she would not be able to "process" with the girls at vespers.
Helen went, of course, and had a glorious drive-up on the Amherst road, through the "Notch," reputed to have been cut through the Holyoke mountains by the carriage wheels of young Amherst students on their way to visit their Holyoke "cousins," from prehistoric time!
It was all so beautiful in that cool air that swept past their faces and ruffled their hair as they rode, with the great mountains coming nearer and nearer; and the trees and fields falling away fr~m the road; and the birds sitting on fences and pouring out throatfuls of music; and crows flying across the clear blue sky and swooping down upon a planted field -- it was all so glorious, that Helen forgave herself for "cutting" choir rehearsal.
Next Sunday there were vespers, and the Episcopal Bishop of Massachusetts was to conduct the service. It was one of the red-letter days of the choir. There was a hum and a buzz all through supper, as, one by one, the black-gowned girls were excused early and left their cocoa and preserves, to be seen a few minutes later through the dining-room windows, new-laundered surplice over arm, going down the path to the chapel. There was to be a short extra rehearsal, they said, to go over a new processionar they were to sing that night, the new anthem, and some responses for the Bishop. Helen asked one of the choir girls about this new music, but the latter only smiled oddly and said:
"Oh, it's grand!"
"Then I'm awfully sorry I can't pro-cess, too! I don't see why I had to go and sprain my ankle. It just knocked me all out!"
To console her, right after supper came Helen Crosby to engage her for the service.
"We will go and sit up in the gallery," said the little Senior, "and if we start the minute the chapel bell begins ringing, we'll get seats in the first row. Helen, they say it's going to be beautiful to-night. Mr. Howard has the grandest surprise for the college!"
"So they say. It's the most mysterious thing! What do you suppose it is?"
"I'm sure I don't know. There goes the chapel bell!"
Glang-glang! Glang-glang! Glang-glang!
All college, agog with expectation, turned out and was filling the paths to the chapel. Tommy walked along with Helen Crosby as fast as her stili sensitive ankle would allow her. What a great pity she could not get along faster! Yes, she was keeping back Helen, too, she said.
They went in with crowds coming from Holyoke and Amherst, and wound up the narrow stairs to the gallery. It was quite filled, but two Sophomores in the front row, seeing the girls come up, rose and gave their seats to them, smiling oddly at Helen Thompson.
"It's a shame to take the seats away from you," said Helen, as she limped down. "0h, it's great to come with such a popular Senior!"
It was very hot in the chapel. Windows were slid open to let in a little of the evening air. Electric lights glared down from the crossbeams and made it seem hotter. People hummed and buzzed with excitement, fanned themselves with their Order of Service, and gazed after newcomers going down the aisles.
Then the door of the anteroom on the left side of the platform opened, and Professor Howard came in, smiling up to the tips of his grayish hair, and very pleased with himself. He sat down on the organ stool and, pulling out the stops and arranging things to his satisfaction, began to play softly.
Then the President, in academic gown, with the Bishop of Massachusetts looking double his size in his robes, came out of the other anteroom, and they took seats on the platform.
Mr. Howard did not need to play long that night. The chapel was filled long before the five minutes of grace, after the three rings of the chapel bell, were over. His choir were ranged and waiting outside in the Administration corridor.
"Mr. Howard looks pleased," whispered Helen to her Senior chum. "He is evidently going to do some pretty good stunts for the Bishop of Massachusetts."
"Like as not he is -- hush! the choir are coming in."
Professor Howard was softly playing the opening notes of the processional, and, as they became dlsengaged from the nondescript chords, Helen's ear began to puzzle her. She turned to her friend at her side, but Helen Crosby put her finger ta fier lips. The choir was under them; President and Bishop arose, and the college came to their feet. Professor Howard, looking over the top of his organ desk, struck the keys with a full blast that made the chapel resound:
"O Spirit of Holyoke!
In thy presence entering,
Soft be our footsteps on Thy holy ground!
Sweet as the anthems
All Thy Nature sings Thee,
Thy house shall with the glorious chant resound!"
Helen Thompson listened, gasping, her eyes open like twin stars, the first of the evening.
"Helen," she whispered, clutching her friend's hand, all aquiver, "wh-what does this mean?"
"That -- that is Mr. Howard's surprise -- the new Holyoke hymn," responded Helen Crosby, trembling as violently as her namesake. "Isn't that grand? Listen!"
"O God of the Angels!
Be our hearts Thy censer,
A spark from Thy flaming mantle let fall;
Like clouds of incense
Rise our praises to Thee,
The fragrance of our souls, Thou Father of all!"
Greater and greater became the volume, as the aisle filled with white-robed figures. The notes played among the rafters and the chapel reverberated like a sounding-board. Hearts rose with the words and vibrated with the music. It was a paradise of the blessed, and angels sang. And the most blessed of all was that Freshman in the front row of the gallery, who was flushed and hot, whose hands trembled on the railing, whose eyes gushed like a spring that overflows its basin.
"O Light of the ages!
Through the paths of knowledge,
A torch, Thou has gleamed before us as we pressed;
This truth we have found,
Others all surpassing --
It is to learn Thee and to love Thee bestl
"Holy, O Holy!
Thine adoring daughters,
To cleanse their souls, implore Thee, Lord, descend;
Pure, sweet, and holy,
Every soul we offer,
To serve and glorify Thee to the end!"