“’Flow gently sweet Afton among thy green braes,” caroled Betty. She was picking out the accompaniment with her first finger on the Assembly Hall piano, one stormy afternoon, for the benefit of Angela and Polly. They were trying to compose a Senior class song to Seddon Hall.

“‘Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a song in thy praise.’”

“That ought to do,” she said, abruptly swinging around on the piano stool to face them.

“The rhythm is good and I love the tune.”

Polly and Angela considered for a moment.

“It is rather nice,” Polly agreed, “if we can only find words to fit it.”

“That’s easy, use the same idea as the song,” Betty suggested. “Supplement Hudson for Afton, and

“Oh, Bet, how can you?” Angela’s poetic taste objected. “Imagine a school song that began ‘Flow gently sweet Hudson.’ I suppose you’d go on with: ‘Among thy sign bordered banks.’ It would never do, would it, Polly?”

Polly was laughing too hard to reply at once.

“I don’t know; it would be original, anyway, Ange,” she said at last.

“And you know our class has always been original,” Betty reminded her.

“There’s a difference between originality and silly nonsense, but I suppose it’s too much to expect either of you to appreciate it,” Angela said, with dignity.

Betty played a loud chord on the piano.

“Ange, when you’re crushing, I always feel like running away,” she said, timidly. “However, I still protest that there’s nothing wrong with telling the Hudson to flow gently,” she added. “Of course, I’m open to argument.”

Angela was exasperated. The rest of the Senior class had appointed these three to write the class song, over a week ago. It had to be ready before the Senior concert. This was as far as they had gotten.

Christmas vacation began the next week, and the concert was to be the night before. Angela felt, that given a piece of paper, a pencil and a quiet place, she could compose a fitting song, but with Betty and Polly saying ridiculous things every minute to make her laugh, she couldn’t think of even one sensible line.

“You can’t use the words, gently and sweet, in relation to a mighty river like the Hudson.” She referred to Betty’s question. “You might as well call it a cute little brook,” she finished in disgust.

“Why, Angela! I do believe you’re cross.” Polly looked up in sudden surprise at the irritable note in Angela’s voice. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing but a cold in my head and pages of Virgil translations,” Angela replied, woefully. “You and Betty won’t be serious for a minute. It’ll mean I have to sit up the night before the concert with a wet towel around my head and write a song that won’t be any good.”

“Polly, we ought to be ashamed. Angela’s right,” Betty said with sudden seriousness. “From this minute on, I promise to behave,” she added solemnly, “and agree to anything you say. We’ll discard ’Flow gently sweet Hudson,’ as no good, and proceed.”

“How about starting ‘On Majestic Hudson’s Banks?’” suggested Polly.

“We can’t use majestic, it’s too long and grand’s a horrid word.” Angela considered, frowning.

“Well, leave out the adjective and say:

“On Hudson’s bank
Stands fair Seddon Hall

“That’s all right, listen, I’ll play it.”

They sang the words to Betty’s accompaniment.

“Truth, honor and joy
Is her message to all.”

Angela added inspired:

Her daughters are loyal

Betty would have gone on, but Polly stopped her.

“I won’t agree to that, every class song I ever heard, said exactly the same thing,” she protested. “Let’s get something about happiness.”

“Hardly more original.” Betty laughed, but Angela interrupted.

“I know what Poll means. How’s this?”

Theres no limit to

“Slang,” Polly said abruptly.

“It isn’t really.”

“Yes, it is. ’Common usage often converts the most ordinary phrase into slang or colloquialism. The writer should take care to avoid them,’” Betty quoted. “Try limitless depth.”

“All right, that’s better still,” Angela agreed.

“There’s a limitless depth
To her bounteous store.”

“Oh, marvelous!” Polly exclaimed. “What rhymes with store paw, law, door, war, more More, that’s it.”

“Each year she gives of her her We can’t use bounty again. Give me a word somebody.”

“Riches,” Betty suggested.

“Of her riches the more.

“Oh, that’s perfect!”

Angela didn’t exactly agree, but she didn’t say so. Instead she gave them the verse she had just composed.

“Each daughter has shared
In the wealth of her days,
United we join now
In singing her praise.”

“Jemima, one of us has a brilliant mind!” Betty exclaimed. “That’s too good to forget. Wait till I find a pencil.”

There was one in the pocket of her sailor suit and she wrote the words down on the back of a sheet of music.

“Why, that’s three verses,” she said as she finished with a flourish.

“Let’s add one more!” Polly suggested, “with Seddon Hall in it and something about leaving like this:

And when the time comes

“Yes, I know,” Betty interrupted eagerly.

When we must depart

“That’s good, but I like each, better than we,” Polly said critically.

“And when the time comes
When each must depart”

“Finish it for us, Ange.”

“The memory of Seddon Hall
Will remain in our hearts.”

Angela chanted promptly. “Seddon Hall is rather too long for the line but I guess it will do.”

“Of course it will!” Polly assured her, as Betty scribbled hurriedly. “We’ll claim poetic license. I’m sure it’s worth it. Let’s go find the girls, and read it to them.”

“Where are they?” Angela inquired. “I think the Dorothys have gone to the village.”

“Evelin’s in the gym, and Mildred’s in the Infirmary,” Betty said. “Where’s Lo?”

“In the studio.” Polly closed the lid of the piano, preparatory to leaving.

“Well, we can get her at any rate,” Betty said. “Come on.”

Fanny was in the studio with Lois, when they got there. Ever since Polly’s promise of friendship, she had been with one or the other of the three girls. Even Angela had taken an interest in her, now and then.

As the friendship grew, and the girls found that she “filled the want that the year lacked,” as Betty put it drolly:

“Fanny’s so nice and such a relief just because she isn’t ‘us.’” By this she probably meant that the little Southerner would always see things differently from the three who, though totally different, thought and looked at things in pretty much the same way.

“We’ve finished the song,” Polly announced, proudly, as they entered the studio.

Lois looked up from her drawing board.

“I’ve nearly finished the poster. How do you like it?”

The girls crowded around her, to admire a crayon sketch of a group of wakes dressed in costume, singing. There was a house like Ann Hathaway’s cottage in the background, and a big yellow moon just rising behind a hill.

They were delighted with it.

“Just right, Lo!” Polly insisted. “It ought to be English because all the ballads we’re going to sing are early English ’Good King Wenceslas Looked Out’ and ’God rest ye, Merry Gentlemen,’ and the rest.”

“Oh! I adore those old things,” Fanny said eagerly. “We always sing them down home, every year.”

“Read the song,” Lois demanded. “I’m crazy to hear it.”

“Hadn’t I better go?” Fanny offered. “I’m not a Senior.”

“Oh, never mind,” Polly said, “you won’t tell.”

“Just the same, I’ll go. Will you all have tea in my room this afternoon? I’ve just gotten a box of cookies from down home,” she asked at the door.

“We will,” Betty replied without hesitation. “Tea and homemade cookies are the one thing I need after my labors.”

The others accepted with equal enthusiasm and Fanny left to prepare for them.

When she had gone, Betty seated herself on the window seat and referred to the piece of music.

“Here’s the song entire,” she announced. “We all helped with, but most of it is Angela’s.”

“I knew that,” Lois said with a grin, but Betty ignored the interruption.

“The tune is ‘Flow gently Sweet Afton’ and the song is dedicated to Seddon Hall, with apologies to Robert Burns. Here it is,” and she read:

“On Hudson’s bank
Stands fair Seddon Hall.
Truth, honor and joy
Is her message to all.”

“That’s the first verse.”

“Go on,” Lois prompted, “I like it.”

“Each daughter has shared
In the wealth of her days.
United, we join
In singing her praise.

“There’s a limitless depth
To her bounteous store,
And yearly she gives
Of her riches the more.

“And when the time comes
When each must depart,
The memory of Seddon Hall
Will remain in our heart.”

“Somehow it sounds better when it’s sung,” Betty said, wonderingly. The poem was not quite up to her expectations, but Lois’ enthusiasm banished all doubts.

“I think it’s great, and I know the others will too. Isn’t it a relief to have it finished? All my poster needs now is the printing, and Maud’s promised to do it for me in Old English Script.”

“Fine, but put your things away, and let’s go over to Fannie’s room. Those cakes call.” Betty smacked her lips in anticipation as she helped Lois collect her materials.

Fanny was singing as they entered Junior Mansions. It was an old Negro melody, and the crooning notes were soft and beautiful.

“Why I didn’t know Fanny could sing,” Polly exclaimed in surprise, and the rest stopped to listen.

“‘Swing low, sweet chariot Ise comin for to carry you home

The music ended abruptly, and they heard the rattle of the cups.

“Why didn’t you ever tell us you had a beautiful voice?” demanded Betty between cookies, a few minutes later. “You ought to be studying.”

“The very idea!” Fanny laughed in reply.

“Hasn’t anybody ever told you you had before?” Lois asked wonderingly. But Fanny shook her head.

“I reckon they none of them ever had time to pay any attention to me,” she said. “They were always busy listening to my cousin.”

“Which cousin?” Polly inquired.

“Caroline,” Fanny said. “We were brought up together, and when we were little, Mammy Jones used to say: ’Honey, the only way for to do, if you wants to sing, is to swaller a hummin’ bird.’ One day Caroline came in and said ‘she had swallowed one.’ Well, later, she did develop a lovely voice you know, and poor mammy believed till the day she died that ’Miss Carrie had done swallered a hummin’ bird.’” The girls were delighted.

“How rare,” Betty chuckled.

“Bless her old heart,” Polly added. “Where’s Caroline now?”

“In Washington. She’s studying both voice and piano.”

“I don’t believe her voice is any sweeter than yours,” Lois insisted. Fanny shook her head.

“Maybe not, but everybody thinks so, so there you are. Carrie just naturally does get ahead of me in everything. I told you she cut me out with one of my beaux,” she added, laughing at herself. “A thing she could never have done two months before.”

Three days later the discovery of Fannie’s voice proved of much more importance than any of the girls had foreseen. Evelin Hatfield, who had a very clear soprano voice, and who had been cast for the solo parts in the concert, came down with tonsilitis and had to go to the Infirmary. The Seniors met in English room to discuss finding a substitute, after Miss King had assured them that there was no chance of Evelin’s immediate recovery.

“Of course it’s a Senior concert, and as long as I can remember no one has ever helped them out, but our class is hopeless,” Lois said. “Evelin’s was the only real voice, except yours, Ange, and you’re already cast for the King. Do you think you could take the page’s part in ‘Good King Wenceslas,’ Dot?” she asked Dorothy Lansing.

“Goodness! No! Why, I’d be scared to death,” she answered hastily.

“Then there’s nothing to do, but to ask one of the Juniors to help us,” Polly said decidedly. “She could leave the platform when we sang our song.”

The rest agreed. “But who?” Helen inquired.

“Fanny Gerard has a sweet voice, and I know she knows the carols,” Betty said, “and she’s a Junior.”

There was a little discussion before Fanny was selected, but in the end Betty carried her point.

The few days before the musical were taken up with rehearsals. The party was to be very informal just something to do on the last night. The Seniors sang carols in costumes and later on served light refreshments.

Fanny was delighted to sing. The day of the concert she went out with Polly and Lois to get evergreen branches to decorate the hall with, and between them they turned the platform into a veritable forest.

By seven-thirty the school was assembled, and at a quarter to eight the Seniors entered. They marched around the room and up to the platform singing: “God rest ye, Merry Gentlemen.” Fanny’s clear voice was so above the others that the girls and teachers began to whisper among themselves. There was a lull of expectancy as they began “Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephan.”

Angela, who was dressed as the King, sang her part:

“Haste thee, page, and stand by me,
If thou knowest it telling,
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where, and what, his dwelling?”

With so much expression that the deficiency of her voice was overlooked.

But it was Fanny, in her green page suit that was to score the triumph of the evening. She stepped out a little from the others, when her turn came to answer the King.

Sire, he lives a good league hence
Underneath the mountain.
Right beyond the forest fence
By Saint Agnes’ fountain.”

Her notes were full and beautiful, and the sympathetic quality of her voice enchanted her audience. They broke out into enthusiastic applause.

“I told you so,” Betty whispered as Fanny bowed her thanks.

The rest of the evening may be truly said to have belonged to Fanny. Even the Seniors’ class song was hurriedly applauded, so that she might return to the platform.

The girls made her sit down at the piano when the carols were over, and sing them song after song.

At nine o’clock, Betty insisted that she stop long enough to have some refreshments.

“You all don’t really think I can sing, do you?” she asked seriously, when they had joined Polly and Lois and Angela.

“Of course we do,” everybody told her with enthusiasm.

“You’ve swallowed a bird all right,” Betty laughed.

Fanny shook her head. So much praise was embarrassing.

“Maybe I did,” she said shyly, “but it was probably nothing but a poor no account sparrow.”