Mary had secured the coveted place in the preparatory school at Westover, and had arranged to do special work at the college next year. She had been very sober when the other girls had been talking about Commencement and their friends who were coming. It seemed hard to Mary that her father and mother could not be there. But she knew that such an expense was simply out of the question, and she tried to be content.
Then a most wonderful thing happened, just a fortnight before Commencement. Some one (Mary suspected Constance, though she never knew surely) had sent Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland two railroad tickets to Westover and return; there were Pullman seats enclosed, too, for the day on which they should depart, and so, after all, Mary’s father and mother were present. And if their hands were toilworn and their clothes very old-fashioned, Mary did not care. After all, in the great throng no one’s garments were noticed very particularly. It was only the graduating class that was especially scrutinized, and it was hard to tell whether the girls looked more enchanting in their white, filmy dresses or in their caps and gowns.
Class Day, with all its gayety, passed off brilliantly. Constance made a fine historian; Hazel Browne read the class poem, and it was very generally conceded, even among the old graduates, to be one of the best things that had ever been read in the old Westover Hall. It was pungent and witty, without being at all bitter or malicious.
Dolly presided on all the numerous occasions necessitated by Commencement week, with a pretty dignity and grace that more than one person found very fascinating.
The weather was perfect, sunshiny and bright, but not overpoweringly hot, and the exercises went off with a smoothness that made Dolly wild with satisfaction and delight.
“You are getting altogether too proud, sister mine,” asserted Fred. “If Westover should actually happen to win something in tomorrow’s contest, there will be no living with you.”
“I am proud of the girls and of the college, and of everything connected with it.”
“To tell the truth, I am rather proud of you! I don’t wish to make you conceited and all puffed up with vanity, but really, Dolly, you make a first-class president. We are just brimming over with pride. Can’t you see how satisfied Father and Mother are looking? You owe me something for getting Rob to coach you last year. I verily believe that you were just about ready to give up then.”
“I was, for a fact, and I shall be grateful to you all my life, Fred, for what you planned. Just think of missing this,” and Dolly drew a deep breath.
“It would have been too bad, that’s sure,” affirmed Dick Martin, who chanced to be present. “I never saw a more ideal Commencement. Perfect weather, lovely girls and original programs. How did you ever manage it all so smoothly, Miss Dolly? I see that your special friends captured the choicest prizes and scholarships. Was it all a prearranged plan? Things went your way–you could hardly ask anything more than you and your friends got.”