“And my father, and Aunt Winnie,” whispered Dorothy, in return.
With sparkling eyes the girls took their seats upon the platform. There was singing, and announcements, and speaking, and the girls filled in their own part of the program—Dorothy with the valedictory, Cologne with quite a serious paper, Nita, as class poet, and Tavia as class historian.
It was almost like a dream to Dorothy Dale—the speaking, the music, the applause which followed the reading of her own paper, and all that was said and done. Mrs. Pangborn finally came forward and two of the smallest girls in the school held the basket of blue-ribboned diplomas.
“My prize class,” said the principal, rather brokenly, “is leaving me and leaving Glenwood forever. You fathers and mothers must see your children go out into the world one at a time. But you seldom know the wrench of parting with so many bright faces at once.
“And this happens to me year after year. Just as I get to know them all, to understand their different dispositions, to learn all their lovable traits, they leave me. And, perhaps, just as they begin to see that I am their friend and loving helper instead of their taskmistress, they graduate. Ah, if they carry from Glenwood something that shall make their future lives sweeter, nobler——”
Dorothy could not hear what else she said for she could not see Mrs. Pangborn through her falling tears and without sight hearing seemed to leave her, too. Pictures of the past, of her many achievements here at Glenwood, and fun and frolic as well, passed before her eyes. And then——
“Miss Dorothy Dale!”
Mrs. Pangborn’s voice was steady again. Tavia gave her friend a slight push.
Dorothy Dale went forward to receive her diploma.