Blest child of the true and the wise.”
As the song finished, Mrs. Barlow approached Julia, to remind her that the hour was late, and that the two carriages were already waiting,—one to take the Barlow party back to Boston, and one to convey Julia and Ruth to Mrs. Colton’s.
As Julia and Ruth drove homeward, the former gave a sigh of relief.
“Aren’t you glad it’s over?” asked Ruth.
“Partly glad and partly sorry,” responded her friend. “It has been tiring, of course, but then so pleasant.”
“Yes, and to-morrow when we are rested, we shall be sorry that Class Day is past.”
“I am sorry now,” returned Julia, “for it marks the beginning of the end.”
XXVIII
COMMENCEMENT—AND THE END
As Julia sat in church on Baccalaureate Sunday she felt sadder than on any occasion since the class had begun to take its farewell of Cambridge and of college life, for now they were together for the last time before Commencement as the Senior class in cap and gown.
The last day was near at hand, and after that final assembling in Sanders Theatre, it was unlikely that these threescore girls would ever be all together again in the same place. Impressive though the sermon was, more than once Julia had to recall her thoughts from wandering in a review of the past four years. Had she herself made the best use of her time? Was there not some girl among the Seniors to whom she might have been more helpful than she had been—in ways intangible if not material? Had she herself drawn all the inspiration she might have drawn from her classmates? She had learned much from her intimates, but had she been sufficiently appreciative of some of the others or responsive to them? Thoughts like these so mingled themselves with her impressions of the sermon that she left the church in a state of abstraction.