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leave.”
    Finally Jessie moaned and moved and Sister propped her up against the wall and sent us for some hot tea. “Oh if only I had a good cognac,” she kept saying. Poor Sister couldn’t send us for one and she didn’t feel equipped to seek out a brandy by herself. But Jessie seemed able to walk and we all shepherded her down the steps and out into the knife blade cold. There wasn’t really anything else to see at the World’s Fair grounds and so we boarded our magic, frozen, bad-humor bus and headed for home. We finally got back to the convent, after dark, and six of the seven of us had influenza for ten days. The seventh was Sister Mary William, who simply couldn’t believe that we all caught it on our nice trip.
    Despite the fact that Sister Mary William had other outings planned, Mother Superior put a temporary ban on excursions. It wasn’t until Easter that she allowed Sister Mary William to take us to Holy Hill, where we had the chance to climb up the seven thou sand steps on our knees.
     

Chapter Eight: The Merry Month of . . .
     
    May was a month with a lot to recommend it. Not only was it very near the end of the term, but there were assorted devotions that offered endless diversions from the daily routine. It always started out with a bang because of the homeroom May crowning which took place on the very first day.
    Sister Rose Marie, my junior homeroom teacher, was beside herself with anticipation. She wiggled her thin little precise nose and nervously adjusted her glasses. Her voice seemed as if it was being piped, rather then spoken, as it came to us in wailing, reedlike chirps. Since little Sister Rose Marie was barely five feet tall and weighed about ninety pounds, we had tagged her “Roughhouse Rosie.”
    “We should only sing two or three songs and then we will crown the statue of the Virgin.”
    “Yes, Sister,” we chirped back.
    No matter how naughty we were, or now we mimicked her, she never really seemed aware of it. Therefore, we left her alone most of the time to live in her aesthetic peace.
    “Now who will be the May Queen?”
    It took the entire hour to vote. My name was never mentioned, as it was taken for granted that only honor students would even be suggested, and it was preferable that the honor student also have a wide religious streak in her. Mary and I were eliminated on both strikes. It was bound to be between Lillian Quigley and Ramona Sapper, and Lillian spent more time on her knees, so she naturally would win hands down. She blushed and looked rather pleased, for she had all confidence that her vocation would stand out in the polling. Everyone in the junior class said Lillian was “roped.” This meant that she spent considerable time in the presence of one of the nuns talking about her future. It was fully accepted that she would join the convent right after graduation—everyone but her father fully concurred.
    “She makes me want to throw up,” Mary whispered. “Look at that sickly saint’s smile.”
    “Young ladies, do you have any objections to the poll?” Roughhouse asked patiently.
    We both shook our heads.
    “Then please refrain from speaking to each other.”
    Ramona was picked as Queen of Honor, and Florence, a rather awkward, gawky girl, would carry the crown. This was so that Florence would think she was as well coordinated as any of us, which wasn’t saying much.
    Now that the queens were chosen, the workers could come forth. I was immediately elected flower chairman and Mary my co-chairman. We invariably inherited the dirty jobs and the costly ones. It was typical that we would be behind the scenes always and never on the stage.
    Every room at St. Marks had a statue of the Blessed Virgin on a pedestal in the corner. The teacher sat on a platform that was about a foot high and faced the class. For a May crowning, Sister’s desk had to be moved off the platform and put in the corner. The pedestal was placed in the center—and banked around it,