But at last the Seniors were passing in single file toward the platform to receive their degrees, and each girl as her name was called received the crimson-tied parchment from the hands of the President. Before the Seniors several Alumnæ received their M.A. But the receiving of the degrees in the presence of that great audience was not unalloyed bliss. Even Lois and Pamela with summa cum, and Clarissa and Julia and others with their magnas, and Polly and Ruth with cum laude, felt a thrill of sadness as they passed down the steps in front of the dignified statue of Josiah Quincy.
Their undergraduate days were over!
That evening as Alumnæ they were cordially welcomed to an Alumnæ dinner by the older graduates, and if they felt uncomfortably warm wearing their long black gowns over their white dresses, there were compensations; for there was a satisfaction when Clarissa responded to one of the toasts to hear her speech called the wittiest ever made by a graduate, for Clarissa belonged to the whole class. Then, too, some of Polly’s songs were so enthusiastically received that it was a delight to remember that two others of the class, Julia the composer of the music and Ruth who had written the words, shared the credit with the gay singer.
At dusk the gay crowd wandered out on the lawn, where the Glee Club sang, and old friends gathered in little groups to talk over the happenings of the past year.
“In a year we shall be old graduates,” said Ruth with a sigh; “already I begin to feel the change. It seems as if everything has been, as if—”
“Nonsense,” interposed Julia, “everything is to be. Our undergraduate days are past, and yet I doubt that any of us would really care to live them over again. We can be thankful for what we have learned here, but after all, the sooner we can take our places in the world, the better. College life at the best is selfish—”
“There—there, Julia, don’t preach! Look at Fay House. It is almost picturesque.”
As they stood at the gate, the two girls turned and gazed at the old building, whose outlines in the dusk showed dimly through the screen of elms. Lights shone from some of its upper windows, and it looked like a stately palace.
This was undoubtedly the thought in Julia’s mind as she cried, turning away, “Good-bye, Palace of Learning,” while Ruth added, “Good-bye, great Class of 189—.”
Truly, it had been a great class, but its undergraduate days were over.