FAREWELL, ALMA MATER.
With the question of themes, examinations, and other college matters to
fill her mind, Persis had little time for frivolities for the next ten
days. Wilson Vane, Porter Phillips, and Mr. Danforth had returned the
day after the supper, and the girls were preparing to break up their
college associations when once the more important matters connected with
their studies were done with.
“I hate to disarrange my pretty room,” said Persis, as she began to
unpin the sketches adorning her walls. “Thank you, Patty! you’re always
on hand to help. I’ll do the same for you when you’re ready to begin the
work of tearing up.” And she handed her neighbor a picture to place in a
safe spot. “Dear me, how much stuff one does accumulate in a year!” she
went on to say, as she stepped down from her chair and looked around her
at the dismantled apartment. “I cannot possibly get all this into my
trunks, and I’ll have to box a great deal of it.”
“My books are packed,” Patty said, “but I shall have to get your help
about my pictures. I’m such a ‘little runt,’ as my old mammy used to
call me, that I can’t reach anywhere scarcely. Persis, I’ve been
thinking about the supper.”
“Have you? What about it?”
“Don’t you think it was queer for Walter to give Connie that pin before
all of us?”
“Why, I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of it. It’s just like Walter; he’s
so impulsive. Why, did it strike you as being queer?”
“No-o, not till I heard some of the other girls talking about it. They
thought it was not very good taste, since the supper was given in the
Dixons’ own house.”
“Well, if it had been a prearranged thing, I suppose it wouldn’t have
been, but it was simply a generous impulse. I could see the motive, and
it made me think twice as much of Walter. He couldn’t bear to have Con
left out, and I think it was very nice of him to do just what he did.”
“That’s a much better and kinder way to look at it, and I’ll tell the
girls so. Here comes Nettie; let us hear her side.”
“The Cheerful Three are on hand,” cried Persis from her high stand on
the dressing-table. “I’ll say how do you do, Nettie, when I’ve unpinned
this drapery. There it comes. Now these fans and these peacock feathers.
Who says they’re unlucky? They never brought me any ill-fortune. There!
My, how blank it looks! Throw some of that trash on the floor, Nettie,
and find a place to sit down. I have scarcely seen you for a week.”
“No; nobody has seen anybody, we’ve all been so busy. However, I have
been a little gay in some of my doings.”
“What doings?”
“I went down the bay on a revenue cutter with some friends, and had a
jolly time at a funny little fishing-shore up one of the creeks. I wish
you had gone, Perse. Why didn’t you both go? Connie said you were
asked.”
“So we were, but we had a lot of other things to do and had to decline.
Tell us about it, Nettie.”
“There’s not much to tell, except that it was such a queer place, and
they served supper, deliciously cooked, on long pine tables out under
the trees, where we could throw our fish bones and chicken bones out on
the grass, where they were immediately snapped up by a parcel of
strange-looking dogs which sat around and waited for them. It was rather
a novel sort of experience, and one which you, especially, would have
enjoyed.”
“Who all went?”
“The Dixons, including Connie, of course, Rob Maxfield, and some others
I didn’t know. Connie kept wishing for you.”
Persis and Patty glanced at each other, and then Patty put her question
about the pin.
“Why, I don’t think it was anything at all out of the way,” Nettie told
them. “Girls are such hateful things sometimes. I don’t believe one of
the boys thought twice about it. I wish girls were not so petty.” Netty
looked quite provoked.
“Girls are small,” Persis admitted. “They see some little insignificant
thing, and they pick at it and pick at it till they have made a big hole
in some one’s character, and then they say, ‘Oh, see that careless
person. Why doesn’t she mend it?’”
Patty laughed. “That is just it. Why, those girls have talked and talked
and buzzed and buzzed about poor Connie till you’d think she had done
something dreadful.”
“So, she has gotten into a pickle after all.”
“Yes, in a way; but she doesn’t know it, and she must not.”
“Of course she mustn’t. Who would be so mean as to tell her?”
“Some girls would like nothing better. I believe I know some who can’t
be anything else but mean.”
“Well, let’s whistle them down the wind. We don’t care about them, do
we?” And Persis smiled on her friends.
“Not a whit. We had a glorious time, didn’t we?”
“We did, indeed,” Patty agreed. “No hatred or uncharitableness to make
bitter sauce for our supper.”
“Some of the girls are inclined to scorn our cooking club,” Nettie told
them. “They think it is beneath college-bred girls to give their
attention ‘to such debasing things as appealing to the senses,’ they
say.”
“That’s all nonsense,” declared Persis, emphatically. “I believe in
doing well whatever one has to do, and I’ll venture to say half, at
least, of the girls in this college will undertake to be house-keepers
without a qualm of conscience as to whether they are capable of making a
real home. They’ll think that they are superior beings so far as brains
go. That’s all right enough. Women do need to fit themselves to be true
companions to their husbands, but a knowledge of all the books in the
world isn’t going to satisfy a man if he is in need of a good dinner.”
“Hear! hear!” cried Nettie.
“You know the old saying that the way to a man’s heart is——”
“Never mind, don’t finish; it is too gross a suggestion to be uttered
within these hallowed walls.”
“I’ll spare you, then; but I will say that the art of cookery is not to
be despised, and if it were meant that we should live on sawdust, why in
the world were so many dainty and delicious articles of food created? I
don’t believe in this lofty scorn of good housewifery. I think the woman
who makes the inmates of her home comfortable, and thinks up dainty
meals for them is much more to be commended than one who spends her time
over her own purely selfish employments.”
“One needn’t go to extremes in either direction,” interposed Nettie.
“That’s just it; we do go to extremes, we women. I’ve always maintained,
and still do, that the more a woman has cultivated her mind the better
judgment she ought to have in all directions,” put in Patty.
“That’s the truth, too,” replied Nettie. “And if ever I am a home-maker,
I hope I’ll make a real home, neglecting neither the moral, mental, nor
physical side of it.”
“There, now, we’ve settled it,” laughed Patty. “Let’s change the
subject. What a fine-looking fellow Porter Phillips is getting to be. I
hadn’t seen him for a long time. He’s better looking than his brother,
isn’t he?”
“He’s not half so good-looking,” returned Persis.
“Why, Perse, do you really think so?” asked Nettie.
“I don’t mean handsome. I mean he is a better fellow, and his face shows
it. I don’t mean that Porter is bad, for he isn’t. He is just a little
vain, and selfish, and thoughtless, and Basil is just the opposite.”
Persis’s eyes were very bright.
“You are always such a stanch defender, Perse,” returned Nettie. “And
how about Mr. Dan? I heard you sounding his trumpet the other day.”
“Mr. Dan is a good fellow, too, but——”
“But what?”
“Oh, nothing. We’re very good friends, but——”
“‘But,’ again.”
“Oh, well, don’t let’s compare them. They are very different. What do
you think of Wilson Vane, Patty?”
And now it was Patty’s turn to look confused, as she answered, “I think
he seems a very pleasant person.”
“What a tall, spidery fellow he is,” said Nettie. “But I like him. He’s
not so silly as his sister.”
“No; he is quite sensible in most directions. To be sure, he has his
little foibles and fopperies that make him seem foolish, but I think
he’s outgrowing them. He is something of an Anglomaniac, and while the
craze lasts is likely to be laughed at; but no doubt he’ll get more
wisdom with age. Patty dear,” turning suddenly to her plump little
friend, “you’d be just the nice, sensible body for him. You’d be the
making of him.”
“Oh, Persis!” And Patty blushed a vivid crimson.
“You needn’t ‘Oh, Persis!’ me. He was mightily taken with you, any one
could see, and the bread was the finishing stroke.”
“I’d like to know what Mr. Dan meant by asking you if you’d make bread
for him some day,” put in Nettie.
“Did you hear that?” Persis asked, with a little embarrassment. “Oh,
that was just a bit of fun. For a sensible man Mr. Dan can be very
trifling at times.”
Nettie kept her own counsel, but she was not surprised on class-day to
see Persis examining with a pleased face the cards in two baskets of
flowers, one of gorgeous red Jacqueminots and mignonette; the other pure
white Niphetos roses.
“York and Lancaster,” cried Nettie. “Who sent them, Perse?”
“Mr. Dan and Basil. Wasn’t it sweet of Basil to remember, when he was
away over in Paris?”
“And his are——?”
“The white ones. Oh, Nettie, there they are,—mamma and papa, and the
girls, and—oh, Nettie—grandma, and—no, it can’t be; yes, it is—Basil.
Oh, when did he come?” And the newly made graduate hurried down to meet
her friends, who with smiling faces were waiting for her.
“I was so afraid you wouldn’t get here,” cried Persis. “How lovely to
think you could all come.”
“We barely managed it,” Professor Holmes told her. “My freedom came last
night when our exercises were over, so we concluded to wait and all come
together.”
The tall young man standing by Lisa’s side held out his hand. “Haven’t
you a word for a returned voyager?” he asked, smiling.
Persis looked up with glowing face. “Oh, Basil!” she exclaimed; “I never
dreamed of seeing you. A word for you? I have about a hundred thousand
as soon as I get a chance to pour them forth.”
“Shall we retire and afford you the opportunity?” asked Lisa.
Persis blushed and stammered, and then recovered herself. “You mean
girl,” she cried. “Of course, I want every one of you, and I have as
many words for each one, only Basil has been away the longest. Did I
conduct myself with credit? What did you think of my theme, papa? Oh,
Lisa, I have a million things to ask you, but I must go now and speak to
the professors. I see two or three hovering around on the outskirts, as
it were. Oh, there come Mr. Dan and Porter. Just think what a centre of
interest I am to-day. Never mind, Lisa, your turn comes next.” And with
a gay nod she turned to greet the young men who were making their way
towards her.
Porter hurried forward and grasped both of her hands. “Hallo, Perse!” he
said. “Awfully glad you came out so well. How you must have worked to
manage it in three years. You don’t look any the worse for it. Does she,
Mr. Dan? I thought these last two weeks might knock you up.”
Mr. Dan was looking at Persis critically. “No,” he said. “I don’t
believe it has hurt her. She’s a little thinner, perhaps. My
congratulations are ready for you, Miss Persis.”
Persis expressed her thanks, and then, remembering suddenly that here
was the giver of the red roses, she added, “And the lovely roses, Mr.
Dan. Thank you so much for them.” She had not forgotten Basil’s
offering, but that recognition was to be contained in the hundred
thousand words.
“I suppose to-day represents the summit of your ambition,” Mr. Danforth
remarked.
“No,” replied the young graduate, “the goal always recedes as we
approach it, and I am sighing for new worlds to conquer. Now I am
longing to go abroad.”
A shade of disappointment passed over the young man’s face, but before
he could say anything, Persis, who was on the lookout for friends,
exclaimed, “Oh, there are the Dixons. Come, let us go and find them;
they’ll never discover us in this crowd.” And they proceeded to where
this last group was standing. More congratulations, and the exuberant
enthusiasm of her young friends was very sweet to Persis.
“We’re like a snowball,” she said, laughingly, to Connie. “Every time we
make a turn we gather an accretion of some kind.”
“Persis would say ‘accretion,’” cried Walter. “She must appear erudite
upon such an occasion.”
“Never mind,” returned Connie. “Persis is all right.”
“What’s the matter with Persis? She’s all——” began Walter.
“Never mind,” Persis interrupted him. “This is not an election. I see
Aunt Esther and Uncle Wickes over there. The world and his grandmother
seem to be here to-day. At least, my world. I wonder who the
distinguished-looking old somebody is with Aunt Esther.”
The stranger proved to be nothing less than, as Persis said, “a
sure-enough admiral,” whose first visit to the college this was.
Persis felt quite grand as she piloted him around, and half wished that
all her classmates knew what an honorable guest they had.
“You have a great many friends here,” the old man said, as Persis nodded
right and left.
“Yes,” she replied; “but most of those in the crowd here are only
acquaintances. My own, own people are standing over there by the door.”
“Suppose we sit down here, and you tell me about them,” the admiral
suggested.
Persis, nothing loath, agreed.
“The two very pretty girls, are they your sisters?” asked the admiral.
“Yes: the darker one is Lisa. She is to be married in a couple of weeks
to—— Oh, perhaps you know her betrothed: he is in the navy,—Lieutenant
Griffith—Richard Griffith.”
The old man knitted his brows thoughtfully, and then seemed to remember.
“Yes, yes,” he nodded. “I know him. A nice fellow. So, that’s his
sweetheart. She’s very handsome.”
“Yes, isn’t she? And the other one,” Persis went on, “the fair one, is
Mellicent. She looks lovely to-day, doesn’t she?”
The admiral smiled at the unaffected expression of admiration. “She
does, indeed,” he answered. Then he looked at Persis critically.
She laughed. “You are wondering why I am so different from them. Their
coloring is quite unlike, but their features are like, and mine are
totally different I am the middle one, but I’m quite used to being the
ugly duckling,” she added, archly, “and I don’t mind it in the least.”
The admiral smiled again, thinking how very attractive was the speaking
face under her college cap. “Your costume is very becoming,” he assured
her, “but you do not resemble your sisters.”
“Now, let me tell you who the others are. The tall man with the little
bald spot on top of his head is my father, and the old lady by his side,
the one with white hair, is my grandmother, and my mother stands next to
her. The tallest of those young men is Basil Phillips, the one with the
smooth face; he always reminds me of an old colonial picture. The one
with the budding moustache is his brother, Porter. They are my father’s
wards. The one talking to grandmother is Mr. Danforth, a journalist. He
used to be our tutor. We have known him since we were children. The
other young man is Walter Dixon, and the girl with him is Constance
Steuart, and that is Mrs. Dixon talking to mamma. Aunt Esther Wickes and
the captain you know.”
“And I do not doubt but that you are very happy to-day.” The admiral
looked down on the eager young face, as if he envied this fresh,
enthusiastic spirit.
“Yes; my only regret is that my cousin, Annis Brown, is not here. We
have been chums for so long, and expected, in our early school-days, to
be graduated the same year, but I found I could get through my course a
year earlier, and Annis, somehow, did not seem to be very strong, so she
left college, and has been abroad with her mother for some months.”
“And what are you going to do with all this learning?” asked the
admiral.
“I? Oh, I have several schemes. I used to think I should like to try
journalism, but I don’t know. I want to go abroad for a while, and then
I shall make something my special work.”
“You will not be a new woman, I hope.”
“In the ordinary sense, no; but I will be an independent woman, and try
to live the life for which I am best suited.”
“I am old-fashioned, I suppose,” returned the admiral. “You will pardon
me if I say that I think home is a woman’s true kingdom.”
“We are old-fashioned, too,” replied Persis. “I have not been brought up
to ignore any of the purely domestic acquirements. I can cook almost
anything, and I enjoy doing it. I went through a real siege of learning
to sew, and if I find I am to make a home, I hope I shall do it the more
intelligently because of my studies. I don’t despise small duties, nor
do I undervalue the real, true, beautiful home, such as my mother has
made for her husband and children. But I will not accept such a life
unless I can honestly believe it to be for my truest happiness and my
best development.”
The old man looked a little disapprovingly at the eager girl. “My dear
child,” he said, “don’t be too independent We men need the home-makers.”
“I do believe a happy marriage is the best life, and the one that brings
the best development,” returned Persis. “But, missing the requisites for
a happy marriage, isn’t it much better to live a useful, single life,
contributing to universal good, than to pass your days in repining over
an unwise choice, and regretting a mistake made in a frivolous,
unthinking way?”
“Yes, yes. I believe you are right. There would be fewer unhappy men and
women, if more girls thought as soberly as you do.”
Persis laughed. “Sober! I’m not usually called sober.” And, indeed, her
laughing face bespoke anything but seriousness just at that moment.
“Will you present me to your parents?” asked the admiral.
Persis willingly complied, and they joined the little company of her
friends.
She soon found herself standing with Basil somewhat apart from the
others. “It is so nice to see you again, Basil,” she said. “And, oh, the
roses were so sweet. I am going to put one away and keep it forever in
memory of my class-day. Now tell me about Annis.”
“Annis is fine,” returned he, heartily. “We had great times over there,
Persis. I wish you had been with us.”
“I wish so, too; but I couldn’t be there and here, too. And now I have
it in anticipation. Do you know I always tell myself that, when I have
not been to some special place, or have not seen a thing that others are
talking about, I say, There is one more enthusiasm I have not outlived.”
“You dear, cheerful soul,” replied Basil. “You’re like bottled-up
sunshine.”
Persis ignored the remark except by the happiness in her eyes. “Tell me
some more. Is Annis coming back in time for the wedding? It is two weeks
off. Basil, it was so dear of you to come home for this.”
“Well, I was coming for the wedding anyhow, and I thought I might as
well stretch the time that little.”
“Are you going back?”
“Perhaps so. I have not decided. Mother would like to stay over, and
Porter is so safe with you all. I wish, if I do go, that you could take
your trip then, Perse. You could join mother, and have a fine time
travelling about.”
Persis’s eyes took on a wistful look. “I should like to, but when I go
it will be for study, I think. Not this year, though, Basil. You know
Lisa is so soon to be married that I should not want to go and leave my
dear people, when I’ve been away three years at college. Think of it,
Basil, four years since you designed the Greek dress for me, when I was
graduated from Miss Adams’s school.”
For answer, Basil took a little note-book from his pocket, and showed
Persis a small photograph. It was herself in the pretty classic dress.
“Oh,” cried she. “Have you that still? I remember when Walter came over
with his kodak. And you’ve kept that all this time.”
Basil made no answer, but looked from the picture to the girl before
him. “You’re like wine, Persis,” he said. “You improve with age.”
Persis made a profound courtesy. “I’m not used to compliments from you,”
she declared. “This comes of your living among Frenchmen. You’ll have to
scold me a little before I can really believe you are home again.”
And then there was a stir in the company, leave-takings, and plans made
for future meetings. The crowd began to grow less, and soon the doors of
the college hall closed after Persis.
She looked back with a little sigh as she walked down the path. Then she
waved her hand to the gray walls. “Good-bye, Alma Mater,” she said.
Mellicent looked over her shoulder at her. “Why, Persis actually has
tears in her eyes,” she remarked.
[Illustration: '[Fleuron]’]