At six o'clock the next morning Dicky was stirring.
"Helen, get out my white thuit, pleathe, pleathe, pleathe," he pleaded impatiently.
"Your white suit? What for?" asked Helen drowsily. "This isn't Sunday."
"It's Recognition Day. Don't you remember? Grandfather and Mother are going to graduate. I'm in the Boyth Guard of Honor. Pleathe hurry."
The Ethels were not much later than Dicky in their preparations, for they were to help the young ladies who arranged the baskets and made the wreaths for the Flower Girls. The Mortons were too tall to join the ranks themselves, and they were envious of Dorothy, whose lesser height admitted her to the band, although this would be her last year.
It was a busy scene when the girls reached the top of the hill beside the Post Office. Huge hampers of flowers lay beneath a table of planks stretched on trestles. Around it were grouped a dozen of the girls of the Vacation Club weaving wreaths for the heads of the little girls who soon began to arrive, and filling small baskets for them to carry. Some of the children were so small that their nurses had to come with them. They were put first in the long line of twos, while Dorothy and Della Watkins, who were the tallest of all, were the very last. Every girl had a white dress and they made a charming picture which drew a crowd of grown-ups to watch them.
Near by was the Boys' Guard of Honor, Dicky among them. Their uniform was a white suit and black stockings, and Helen and one or two other daughters of members of the 1914 Class were pinning on with a rose their shoulder sashes of Eton blue, the class color. Each boy carried a white pennant lettered in blue, DICKENS. They were a fine, manly looking lot of youngsters and they, too, drew compliments from the onlookers. Roger was marshaling them.
These groups were far from being the only people on the square. Banner boys were bringing the standards from Alumni Hall and setting them up as a rallying point for the C. L. S. C. classes. James Hancock carried the flag of a class whose representatives all happened to be women and not strong enough to lift the standard with its heavy pole. Tom Watkins carried the banner of Grandmother Morton's class, the 1908's, because his mother belonged to it. Mrs. Emerson did not march with the 1908's because she was to pass through the Golden Gate after the graduating class.
Back and forth went the Institution band, escorting one division and another of the mustering throng. All the undergraduates wore oak leaves to distinguish them from the graduates. The hoot of an owl rose from a group of 1913's, who, because they were the Athene Class, had taken the sacred bird of the goddess of wisdom for their emblem. Other classes were choosing cheer leaders and practicing their yells with greater or less success.
"The year numbers on these banners don't give you much idea of the ages of the people under it!" laughed Tom Watkins to Helen as she passed him.