GRACE FINDS HER WORK
Commencement day dawned smilingly, as though anxious to contribute to
the happiness of the four chums by putting on its most sunshiny face. A
cool breeze swept across the campus, and, according to J. Elfreda
Briggs, one didn't really mind being graduated on such a day.
The hotels of Overton were well filled with friends and relatives of the
graduates. The Southards, Mrs. Gray, Mrs. Pierson and her daughter Mary,
together with Mrs. Allison, Mabel and the remainder of the Eight
Originals Plus Two had been staying at the "Tourraine" for the past two
days. Elfreda's father and mother had also arrived and were staying at
the "Wilton," an old-fashioned hotel near the campus. The four chums
found it somewhat of a problem to divide their time equally among their
classmates, friends and families. During those last days their
opportunities for confidential talks came only at the end of the
evening, when, having bade a round of affectionate good-nights, they
spent a few moments in either Grace's or Miriam's room before retiring.
"I feel at least a hundred years old to-day," announced J. Elfreda
Briggs, as she stood arranging her hair before the mirror preparatory to
putting on her cap and gown.
"Yes, you look quite like some grand old ruin," observed Miriam soberly,
as she unearthed her slippers from the depths of her closet and hunted
vainly about for a shoe horn.
Elfreda laid her comb on the dressing table, grinned her appreciation of
this pleasantry, then, giving her smoothly coiffed hair a last pat,
reached for her cap. "I am so glad I can wear black without looking like
a funeral procession," she observed.
"Hurry, girls," sounded Grace's clear tones outside their door. "It is
time we were on our way."
"Coming," called Miriam, springing from the edge of the bed, where she
had sat to put on her slippers, and hastily adjusting her cap. In the
next instant the four friends accompanied by Emma Dean were hurrying
across the campus to the gymnasium, where the senior class were to meet,
then proceed in a body to the chapel, where the commencement exercises
were to be held.
The little procession of seniors walked two by two to the chapel, and to
Grace, who walked with Anne, it seemed the most wonderful moment of her
life. She marked the calm, almost exalted expression which Anne wore.
Elfreda and Miriam, looking very stately in their black gowns, were just
ahead of her and Anne, while Arline and Ruth Denton were directly behind
them. As they walked sedately down the aisle of the chapel to the places
reserved for them, Grace's eyes searched the rows of seats for her
father and mother, whom she spied when almost opposite them. Just as she
passed their row she managed to send one tender little glance to them,
which caused their faces to glow with pride as their fond eyes followed
the straight, supple figure of their daughter who had so amply fulfilled
their expectations.
The exercises, while impressive to the friends of the graduates, were
doubly so to the graduates themselves, who were deeply conscious of the
fact that their diplomas were their passports into the real world of
work and endeavor that was now about to open before them.
At the conclusion of the exercises the usual gifts and endowments to the
college were announced. Among them was Thomas Redfield's annual gift to
the Semper Fidelis Club, which brought forth a quick tribute of applause
from the seniors, which was seconded by the entire assemblage. "And
lastly allow me to mention the latest and one of the most acceptable
gifts ever bestowed upon the college," stated President Morton.
Grace bowed her head. She had reached the very end of Senior Lane. A few
moments and her college life would be over. She had finished her course.
She had kept faith with herself, and now there remained the wide world
and her work, whatever that might be. Her reflections were brought to an
abrupt end by what President Morton was saying. She raised her head in
sudden amazement. "I refer to the newly completed house at the northern
end of the campus," she heard, "presented to Overton and endowed by Mrs.
Rose Gray as a mark of appreciation of her young friends, Grace Harlowe,
Miriam Nesbit and Anne Pierson. It is Mrs. Gray's wish that her gift to
Overton College shall be known henceforth and forever as 'Harlowe
House.'"
Absolute silence reigned for an instant after this announcement, then
the quiet chapel echoed with the applause of the enthusiastic
assemblage. President Morton waited until he could make himself heard,
then went on to explain more fully that Harlowe House was to be
dedicated to the use of those girls who were making a struggle to
acquire a college education. Then there was more applause, and Mrs. Gray
was asked to address the graduates.
"And to think," said Grace, as, a little later, she stood with Miriam,
Anne and Elfreda outside the chapel, surrounded by those she loved,
"that I know at last what my work is going to be."
"But we don't know," reminded her father, almost wistfully.
"There is only one thing for me to do," laughed Grace, her eyes shining,
"and that is----"
"Oh, I know," interposed Elfreda, "you're coming back to the campus to
look after Harlowe House."
"You could see that, couldn't you, Elfreda?" laughed Miriam.
"How did you guess it?" asked Grace. "Yes, I should like to come back if
Father and Mother can spare me."
"The rest of her friends don't count," commented Hippy Wingate.
"You know they do, Hippy," smiled Grace. "I must have the permission and
good will of all of them if my work is to be a success."
"You have your mother's and my full consent, Grace," said her father
loyally.
Grace made a little movement toward her parents, slipping in between
them and catching a hand of each. "There is only one thing I can say,
and I've said it hundreds of times before, You are the dearest father
and mother a girl ever had."
* * * * *
It was rather a silent quartette that gathered for the last time in
Grace's room that night. Emma Dean had left Overton on the evening
train. So had Patience Eliot, Kathleen West and Laura Atkins. The
sophomores of Wayne Hall had departed before commencement, and to-night
the house was very quiet.
"And to-morrow is another day," observed Elfreda.
"So it is, my child," agreed Miriam, "but we shall spend it on the
train."
"Do you remember one day, ages ago, when Elfreda Briggs deposited her
suit case on Grace Harlowe's feet and made herself comfortable. Wasn't I
a vandal?"
"Think what we all might have missed if we hadn't acquired a proprietary
interest in Elfreda that day."
"And now you can't lose me. There, that is the first slang I've used for
months, and on commencement day, too."
"Never mind, Elfreda. It is forcible at least. But we don't wish to lose
you. You must keep your promise and come to Oakdale this summer."
"I will," promised Elfreda; "and now suppose we have one last sad tea
party."
It was almost midnight before Miriam and Elfreda went softly down the
oppressively quiet hall to their room.
"Are you happy, Anne?" asked Grace, slipping her arm about her friend
and drawing her to the window where, dark against the moonlit sky, rose
the tower of Overton Hall.
"Almost too happy for words, and yet I dread leaving Overton."
"You must come back next year and visit me. I do hope I shall make a
good house mother. Do you know, Anne, in my mind I've already picked out
a motto to hang over my door. It is, 'Blessed are they that have found
their work.'"