"Do be careful of the stuffed eggs. It would be a shame to ruin an hour and a half of hard work." "Tell the man to wait. I forgot my tea basket." "Haste thee, nymph," called Edith Williams, after the fleeing Judy. "And bring your volume of Shelley along, there's a dear. I forgot mine." "Bring my sweater," Nance called. Already the van load of girls in front was moving down the avenue, while the crowd in the second van waited impatiently for Judy's return. The two big vehicles were decorated with lavender and primrose, the class colors, for this was the day of the Senior Ramble, and the whole class was off for the woods. At last Judy appeared, laden with many things--a tea basket, a book, her camera and two sweaters; also a brass trumpet. "Who says I'm not good-natured?" she exclaimed, handing up the articles and clambering into the vehicle. "I'm the kindest soul that ever lived." "I'm glad you feel that way about it, Juliana. It must be a sweet personal satisfaction," remarked Edith, seizing the book and thrusting it into the pocket of her ulster. The seniors were to ramble in Fern Woods that year, so-called not because of the superabundance of ferns, but because they were a part of the estate of Major Fern, father of Alice Fern. The Major had no objections to the students of Wellington and Exmoor using his woods for picnics, but the Exmoor boys were not given to such excursions and it was a long drive from Wellington, six miles over a rough road. However, Fern Woods it was to be this time, and away went the two vans, Judy blowing her trumpet with a grand flourish as they passed out of the Wellington grounds. The Ramble was always the occasion for the most childish behavior among the seniors; a last frenzied outburst, as it were, before putting away childish things for all time and settling down to the serious work of life. And now the seniors in the first wagon stood up and began singing back to the girls in the second wagon: "Seniors, do you hear the call? Great Pan has blest the day. Heed the summons, one and all, _Voulez vous danser?_" The seniors behind answered: "We will make the welkin ring, _Voulez vous danser?_ Sound the trumpet, shout and sing, _Voulez vous danser?_" "I think this should be called the 'Senior Rumble,' and not ramble," some one said, as the wagon groaned and creaked on the hilly road. "What's the matter with 'Grumble'?" asked Mabel Hinton. But there was no real grumbling, although the six miles that lay between Fern Woods and Wellington included some rough roads. They were jolted and shaken and tumbled about and there were shrieks of laughter and cries of "Wait, wait! I'd rather walk!" But the stolid driver went calmly on without taking the slightest notice. "One would think we were a lot of inmates in a crazy wagon," cried Molly, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes.