After morning recitations, the Principal of the Centre Town Seminary had a caller in her office. It was Glory, with a pretty little air of pleading about her. She came in, in answer to the Principal's “Come,” and stood, a suppliant, in the doorway.
“Are you busy? Ought I to go away?” she asked. “You see, I've got quite a lot to say.”
“Then say it, my dear,” the Principal smiled pleasantly. “Sit down in that chair and begin.”
“Well, then—oh, Miss Sweetwater, can't my friend graduate with me? I mean, if you let me graduate—or if you don't let me—I mean can't she graduate, anyway? She is a splendid scholar, and—and she needs to graduate somewhere! You'll let her, won't you?”
The Principal smiled. “Who is your friend, Glory?” she asked.
“She's Diantha Leavitt, and she works in the rubber factory, and studies just awfully at home, and I help her some going and coming on the train.”
“Oh, she is not one of the Seminary girls, then? She has never been here? Dear child, how do you think she can graduate if she has never been here to school?”
Glory's eager face fell. “I didn't know but you'd let her,” she said, slowly. “She's just as smart as can be. I'm just sure she can pass the examinations. It would mean so much to Diantha to pass. I'm sorry I troubled you, Miss Sweetwater—I didn't know.”
But the kind-hearted Principal detained Glory and drew out the whole wistful little story of the Other Girl. At the end, she said, “I am glad to know of her. Such a girl must be encouraged. I will keep mindful of her and see if I cannot help her in some way.”
“Thank you. I hope you can help her. She wants to do so much if she can ever get to earning. It seems as though almost anyone could learn if they had a mother to help, and a Tiny Tim. There's an Aunt Hope. I can do it for her. I'm glad I've got to work. And thanks to Di, I do not stand so bad a show of graduating—with a great deal of honor, too. Dear old Di!”