CHAPTER XI
The Thrill of College Life
It was the first day of the commencement exercises in a grand old Southern college. A college that was founded more than a hundred years ago, by the indefatigable and persistent Doak. While on his westward march in that remote ago he stopped, laid down his books, took up the sword, and stood before his countrymen at Sycamore Shoals and challenged those who were willing to make the hazardous risk, and charge up King’s Mountain, to step out in line! Inspired by the great educator’s patriotic call, brave and noble hearted men filled the line in the twinkle of an eye. Thus it was that the immortal Doak did his part to win that glorious victory. But not even the glory of that great victory could divert him from his path of plain duty before him. Hence he again gathered up his books and continued his journey, through the mountain gaps and down into the gorges he went, finally settling in the Valley of the Tennessee—immediately founding a college and giving the remainder of his life for the cause of education.
In a little room, with its snowy white walls and furnishings, on this self-same college campus, we find today the heroine of this humble narrative making final preparations for her humble part in the ninety-first commencement exercises.
At first, the trial of college life had been a very hard one for Gena Filson. To make the attempt of adapting herself to college life was in a comparative way like changing worlds with her. There were rules and regulations until her head was in a whirl. There was a daily programme—a time to rise; a time to recite; a time for supper; a time to retire—a time for everything it seemed! System! System was something new with her. Then she had been repelled by the rebuffs of older and more advanced college students. The young ladies of better wardrobes had at first passed her with haughty spirits. In fact, nearly everyone had been guilty in speaking in a jesting manner of the scanty wardrobe that was hers.
But as the days went by Gena Filson proved herself equal to the arduous tasks that were before her. Inch by inch, she won her way among them. First she won a friend—then a second—the while holding on to the first with ever so much care. In short, the application of Gena Filson’s mind to her work; the physical culture that she daily received; system and the constant association of cultured and refined teachers, was doing for her the same as it had done for many another young lady of sterling qualities; was bringing her to womanhood with the true graces and polish of a gentlewoman.
By sheer pluck she had been able to hold out during the first few months. Then she began to have an insight of things—she saw the real meaning of it all. As the year had progressed, there were musicales, society meetings and class receptions. She rose up, did her best, and met every occasion and enjoyed it all to the fullest extent of her capacity.
But today the college year was over, and the commencement exercises was before her. Her first commencement! Tonight her heart was happy and full, for all were now her friends, and they honored her. She gave a last touch to the pins in her braided hair before she left the room. The tresses of gold that all Blood Camp knew and loved so well were no longer hanging down her back. But they were done and arranged in the latest style, “beautifully,” as her best chum had exclaimed with emphasis only a half hour before when she was finishing it. She took another look in the mirror before going out. The soft blue dress that she wore, made from some soft materials, matched the big blue eyes, and her neck and throat were charming. She had made that pretty dress herself during extra hours, and she was truly proud of it. Drawing on a glove she walked towards the door. The gloves! Oh, yes! Why, she had received them at Christmas—as a present—from some friend somewheres; yes, a friend indeed—Paul Waffington. For a moment she stood at the door, thinking. She wondered would he know her now. Would he think her changed—would he be pleased with her personal appearance. The first and only letter that she had ever received from him had been sent along with those gloves. But then she had been so overjoyed at the sight of the beautiful gloves that the note had been hastily read and put away. It was over there now in the excuse of a trunk that was hers. She slowly turned about—went over and raised the lid and found it. Opening the note she read:
“Hazel Green, Ky., December 23, 19—.
“Miss Gena Filson,
“Tusculum College, Tenn.
“My Dear Friend:—I am sending you by today’s mail a little Christmas remembrance. Please accept it as a little token of respect and esteem. I learn that you are doing well in Tusculum. My earnest desire is that you will continue to be happy in your work.