'"I shall hear you when you pass,
With your feet above me, in the long and pleasant grass."
'Oh, Jerrie, if it should be—you know what I mean; if there should come a time when people say to each other, "Maude Tracy is dead!" you'll come often, won't you, and think of me always as the friend, who, weak and stupid as she was, loved you dearly—dearly.
'Now, good-bye again. Harold has just come in, and says, "Remember me to Jerrie, and tell her I shall hope to see her graduated, but do not know, I am so busy."
'Truly and lovingly,
'MAUDE TRACY.'
'P.S.—Tom has come in, and says, "Give my love to Jerrie."
'P.S. No. 2.—Dick St. Claire and Fred Raymond are here, and both send their regards.
'P.S. No. 3.—If you will believe me, Billy Peterkin is here, nibbling his little cane, and says, "Present my compliments to Miss Crawford."
'Just think of it. Five, or, rather, four young men—for Tom don't count—for me to entertain. But I can do it, and rather like it, too, though they all tire me, except Harold.'
Jerrie read this letter, which was received a few days before commencement, two or three times, and each time she read it, the little ache in her heart kept growing larger, until at last it was actual pain, and covering her face with her hands, she cried like a child.