RECOGNITION WEEK
ALTHOUGH the young people had but a small part in the proceedings of
Recognition week, they took a vivid interest in all the festivities in
which Mr. Emerson and Mrs. Morton took part, and they never failed to
notice the rose-bedecked men and women whose numbers increased every
day.
"Everybody who has ever read the Chautauqua Course seems to be wearing
some sort of C. L. S. C. badge," said Ethel Blue at the table on
Saturday evening.
"Only those who have graduated," explained Mrs. Emerson, "wear garnet
badges like mine. The 1914's are wearing their class flower, the English
rose, and the new class just forming has an olive green bow."
"Wouldn't it be fun if all the 1914 class members from all over the
world could be here to graduate!"
"What a flock there would be!"
"How many _will_ be here?"
"About a hundred and fifty or two hundred. That's a small fraction of
the class but they come from so many different places that they are
fairly representative of the whole class."
"The rooms were crowded at the reception yesterday afternoon and this
afternoon and every trolley is bringing more."
In honor of the 1914 class Helen wore a rose-covered dress at the C. L.
S. C. reception at the hotel in the evening. She carried dozens of trays
of lemonade and was a tired girl when the chimes, belated for the
occasion, at last rang out their warning. With the rest of the family
she was ready in plenty of time, however, for an early start to see the
C. L. S. C. procession march into the Amphitheatre for the Baccalaureate
sermon. The Hancocks and Dorothy and her mother took their places in the
auditorium to see the classes march in, but Roger and Helen and the
Ethels drifted along beside the troop of Readers, discovering Mrs.
Emerson in the class of 1908 and Mrs. Morton and her father and Dr.
Hancock with the Dickensians.
In the afternoon the young people followed again, this time to the Hall
of Philosophy where they stood on the edge and heard the Chancellor
address words of inspiration and comfort to the graduates. Once more
they stood at a distance when night brought the hour for the Vigil of
the Class of '14. Athenian Lights flared about the Hall and flung tree
shadows and the bending shapes of men and women against the black earth.
Under the classic roof of the temple gathered the classmates met here at
Chautauqua after four years of work done separately. Here they united in
thoughts of the good the Past had brought and the Happiness that the
future had in store.
"Why do they call it a Vigil?" asked Ethel Blue.
Ethel Brown had gone home with her grandmother but her cousin could not
resist the call of a name that sounded mysterious to her, and she had
come with Helen and Roger.
"Didn't you ever read about the young squires watching over their armor
on the night before they received the honor of knighthood?" inquired
Helen, who was the "family authority on history and antiquities,"
according to Roger. "They were left alone in the chapel of the palace
where the ceremony was to take place, and there they prayed that they
might live worthy lives and do no wrong and always help the poor and the
distressed and always honor women."
"We think we are serious nowadays but I don't believe there are many
fellows who think as seriously as that about their life work," observed
Roger.
The young people had no part in the joys of the 1914 Class breakfast and
"frivol" beyond laughing uproariously at the account of it which they
received later from the elders who were there. In the evening of
Tuesday, however, the Club came out in force. At that time the whole
interest of the grounds was centred around Alumni Hall. The building
itself was ablaze with light, every class receiving in its own room
except the Dickens Class, which had so many representatives that it made
use of the large room at the top of the house.
Outside, the grounds between Alumni Hall and the Hall of Philosophy were
bright with colored lanterns. In the Hall the band played the jolliest
of music in one corner and the remainder of the space was occupied by
small tables crowded with people.
It was here that the United Service Club proved its usefulness. As long
as there was any one to wait on its members ran to and fro carrying
trays and making change, and when there were no more guests they
themselves fell to and consumed all that was left.
"I never object to eating ice cream for a Veranda Fund or any other
reason," confessed James solemnly and Roger nodded a grave assent.
Before they went on duty at the Hall, the Club proceeded in a body to
pay their respects to the graduating class. There were so many 1914's
that they extended all around the large room and before them an unending
line of people passed, shaking hands and offering congratulations.
Mrs. Morton stood between her father and Dr. Hancock before a bust of
Bishop Vincent that gazed benevolently at the procession as it wound
past the corner. The children claimed her as a "sweet girl graduate" and
Roger greeted his grandfather as if he were only an older student in his
own school.
"You youngsters needn't be feeling so humorous," ejaculated Dr. Hancock.
"The C. L. S. C. will catch you at some time in your life if it has to
wait until you are seventy, so you might as well read the Course as soon
as you are out of school, and get it out of the way."
Behind the Mortons and Hancocks came Dorothy, her thin little face
beaming with delight at the meeting that was coming.
"This is my mother, Mrs. Morton. Mother, this is Ethel Brown's mother
and Ethel Blue's aunt."
The hands of the two women met in a long clasp, and they gazed into each
other's eyes with instant liking.
"You have been kindness itself to my little girl," murmured Mrs. Smith.
"We can never forget her efficiency and helpfulness when Father was
ill," returned Mrs. Morton; "and, if you'll allow me to say so, my
mother, Mrs. Emerson, is a great admirer of yours."
"Have I met your mother?"
"You've been teaching her to make wonderful embroideries."
"Is _that_ Mrs. Emerson your mother? I've grown very fond of her in her
visits to the Arcade veranda."
"We must know each other better, if you will," smiled Mrs. Morton as the
mother and daughter passed on to greet others.
"Dorothy looks so much like the Ethels that it startles me sometimes,"
remarked Mr. Emerson, looking after them before some one else claimed
his hand.
"Girls of that age all wear their hair in the same fashion so they look
like those paper dolls that we used to make in strings out of one piece
of paper and put over the electric lights in the nursery."
"Perhaps it is the hair, but their features certainly are alike."
"Poor little Dorothy has a wistful expression that our children don't
have, I am glad to say. I'm afraid she and her mother have had a hard
time."
"I'm sure we must have shaken hands with at least a hundred thousand
Chautauquans," groaned Dr. Hancock; "don't you think we might go over to
the Hall of Philosophy and get the United Service Club to minister to
our inner men?"
"I believe we've done our duty now; the crowd seems to be lessening;
let's escape," and the two gentlemen escorted Mrs. Morton under the
lanterns to the fire-lit temple where the members of the United Service
Club hailed them, installed them at tables, and did their best to
refresh them.
"Will you put my arm in a splint, Doctor?" asked Mr. Emerson, rubbing
his shoulder ruefully.
"If you'll do mine. We'll go about like wounded twins!"
At six o'clock the next morning Dicky was stirring.
"Helen, get out my white thuit, pleathe, pleathe, pleathe," he pleaded
impatiently.
"Your white suit? What for?" asked Helen drowsily. "This isn't Sunday."
"It's Recognition Day. Don't you remember? Grandfather and Mother are
going to graduate. I'm in the Boyth Guard of Honor. Pleathe hurry."
The Ethels were not much later than Dicky in their preparations, for
they were to help the young ladies who arranged the baskets and made the
wreaths for the Flower Girls. The Mortons were too tall to join the
ranks themselves, and they were envious of Dorothy, whose lesser height
admitted her to the band, although this would be her last year.
It was a busy scene when the girls reached the top of the hill beside
the Post Office. Huge hampers of flowers lay beneath a table of planks
stretched on trestles. Around it were grouped a dozen of the girls of
the Vacation Club weaving wreaths for the heads of the little girls who
soon began to arrive, and filling small baskets for them to carry. Some
of the children were so small that their nurses had to come with them.
They were put first in the long line of twos, while Dorothy and Della
Watkins, who were the tallest of all, were the very last. Every girl had
a white dress and they made a charming picture which drew a crowd of
grown-ups to watch them.
Near by was the Boys' Guard of Honor, Dicky among them. Their uniform
was a white suit and black stockings, and Helen and one or two other
daughters of members of the 1914 Class were pinning on with a rose their
shoulder sashes of Eton blue, the class color. Each boy carried a white
pennant lettered in blue, DICKENS. They were a fine, manly looking lot
of youngsters and they, too, drew compliments from the onlookers. Roger
was marshaling them.
These groups were far from being the only people on the square. Banner
boys were bringing the standards from Alumni Hall and setting them up as
a rallying point for the C. L. S. C. classes. James Hancock carried the
flag of a class whose representatives all happened to be women and not
strong enough to lift the standard with its heavy pole. Tom Watkins
carried the banner of Grandmother Morton's class, the 1908's, because
his mother belonged to it. Mrs. Emerson did not march with the 1908's
because she was to pass through the Golden Gate after the graduating
class.
Back and forth went the Institution band, escorting one division and
another of the mustering throng. All the undergraduates wore oak leaves
to distinguish them from the graduates. The hoot of an owl rose from a
group of 1913's, who, because they were the Athene Class, had taken the
sacred bird of the goddess of wisdom for their emblem. Other classes
were choosing cheer leaders and practicing their yells with greater or
less success.
"The year numbers on these banners don't give you much idea of the ages
of the people under it!" laughed Tom Watkins to Helen as she passed him.
"There's a 20-year old graduate in 1914 and a 78-year old," smiled
Helen. "Where are the 1914's?" she asked, looking about her.
"They don't march with the rest; they gather at the Golden Gate at the
lower end of St. Paul's Grove," explained Tom. "The best thing for you
to do if you want to see all the different parts of the procession is to
watch the start-off here and then rush down the hill to the Chancellor's
cottage and see him fall into the line with the Marshal of the Day as
his escort. Then go to the Grove and see the class pass through the Gate
and up the steps of the Hall of Philosophy, and then hang around the
outskirts until they come out and march to the Amphitheatre for the
address."
Helen followed Tom's advice, waving her hand to Dorothy and Della among
the Flower Girls, kodaking Dicky in the Guard of Honor, and standing
with the Hancocks while her mother and grandmother and Dr. Hancock,
followed in a later group by Mrs. Emerson, passed through the Gate. The
class walked between the Flower Girls strewing blossoms under their
feet, beneath the arches symbolizing History, Literature, Science and
Faith, between the lines of the choir singing a "Hail" of welcome, and
up the steps at whose top waited the Chancellor.
Once in the Hall the service of Recognition followed; the tale of the
historic C. L. S. C. banner was related; five mosaic tablets laid in the
flooring were dedicated, and then the lines re-formed and started to the
Amphitheatre. The Boys' Guard of Honor preceded the 1914's and repeated
their yell.
"Chautauqua! Chautauqua!
Chau-tau-qua!
Nineteen-fourteen!
Rah! Rah! Rah!"
came the shout in the unaccustomed voices of the Dickens Class.
"Show 'em how to do it!" Mrs. Morton heard Roger urging his flock in an
undertone.
"Chautauqua! Chautauqua!
Chau-tau-qua!
Nineteen-fourteen!
Rah! Rah! Rah!"
rang out the yell heartily from three score unabashed juvenile throats.
"Great!" commended Roger in a half whisper.
"Fine! Thank you!" responded the Dickensians gratefully.
Along the lake front the long line twisted, banners shining,
handkerchiefs waving. The moving picture man ground his crank
painstakingly; kodakers snapped along the pathway; relatives called out,
"There's Mary," or, in shriller tones, "Hullo, Marmer."
The marshal of the division preceded the gleaming white Dickens banner,
bearing the class name and year; just behind it followed the class
officers and then the smiling ranks wound once more between greeting
graduates and the boys and Flower Girls into the Amphitheatre.
With the procession seated in the auditorium the young people's work was
ended. The girls and boys went off to be refreshed with ice cream cones
and the older boys rested under shady trees until such time as they
would have to take back the banners to the class rooms in Alumni Hall.
"It's a great show," commented Tom Watkins, passing his handkerchief
over his perspiring forehead.
"A feller doesn't get tired of it if he has seen it all his life,"
agreed James, falling on to his back with his knees crossed high in air.
"We'll have to read the Course ourselves so as to take part in every
section of the performance," said Roger who had disposed of his charges
and was not sorry to sit down after his unaccustomed duties.
Again the young people fringed the Hall of Philosophy in the afternoon
when the Chancellor gave out the diplomas and pronounced the members of
the class of 1914 full fledged members of the Alumni Society of the Hall
in the Grove.
"What hath Mother done to make her graduate?" asked Dicky in a
far-reaching whisper as Mrs. Morton received her diploma and was
applauded for the Bishop's announcement that she had earned ten seals.
"She has read certain books and magazines faithfully for four years,"
explained Helen, "She didn't read a little bit and then say she was sick
of that book, the way I do sometimes; she stuck right to them and read
them very carefully, so the Chancellor has given her a diploma, telling
what she has done."
"When I grow up," declared Dicky, "I'm going to be a Chanthellor and
give people diplomaths and make 'em laugh and clap."
"Mother," said Ethel Brown in the afternoon when Mrs. Morton and Mr.
Emerson and their admiring family had returned to the cottage, "would
you object if we had a party this evening while you and Grandfather and
Grandmother are at the C. L. S. C. banquet?"
"What sort of party, dear?"
"Oh, I'd like to ask the Hancocks and the Watkinses to supper to
celebrate--to celebrate--I don't know just what!" Ethel ended tamely.
"I think in your own mind you'd like a celebration of having finished an
unselfish week. Isn't that it? You can make it a celebration for the
Watkinses if you initiate them into the United Service Club this
evening. Will that do?"