“How young she looks today,” Bess whispered to Megsy. “Sometimes she seems real old and wise, but in that flowered muslin she looks like a senior instead of a——”
“Sh! Miss Torrence is speaking.”
“Young ladies,” the English teacher was saying, and she smiled on them all, “I want to thank you for your splendid co-operation which has made it possible for us to produce a magazine of unusual excellence. Too, I am sure that you will wish to express your gratitude to Dean Craig, who has had his boys print fifty copies that you may each have one to keep as a memento of this school year which is now closing. In it, on page fifteen, you will find a list of all your names and home addresses. This will enable you to correspond with each other, even though you may not return to this school another year.” Miss Torrence paused to take from a table, near, a copy of the magazine. Several of the girls took that opportunity to lean over and whisper, “Betsy, now we know why your name is in.”
For reply, that maid wrinkled her pert little nose, then turned toward the front, for Miss Torrence was again speaking.
“We have with us our former editress, Eleanor Pettes, and, at your request, she will read the opening poem which she wrote in memory of her school days here.”
The English teacher seated herself and Eleanor went to the platform. Her rather long poem told of pleasant events and friendships formed in the three years she had spent at Vine Haven, and the girls were all glad that they were going to have a copy of the magazine for their very own.
Eleanor Burgess then read her short story, and one after another of the stories and poems followed, the young authors going to the platform as their turns came.
At last Mrs. Martin rose and said smilingly, “That is all, young ladies, you may now go to your rooms, for I am sure that you will want to rest before dressing for the evening party.”
Babs leaned forward to whisper: “There, Miss Betsy, I told you that your name wouldn’t be in, that is, not more than any of the others.” But Miss Torrence was motioning the girls to remain seated.
“Pardon me, Mrs. Martin,” she said, turning toward the principal, “may I detain the young ladies one more moment? I wish to read one item, which, though neither a poem nor story, is, I am sure, of unusual interest. Five names are to be added to the Honor Roll. These are Betsy Clossen, Sally MacLean, Dicky Taylor, Anne Petersen and Eleanor Burgess.”