n the middle and combed behind his ears. He looked ten years older than
he was and gave an impression of reserved strength, indomitable will and
rigidity of purpose in furthering what he deemed a good cause.

Phoebe felt a slight intimidation in his presence as she noted how
serious he had grown, how mature he seemed. He appeared to desire the
same friendship with her and tried to be comradely as of old, but there
remained a feeling of restraint between them.

"Hello, Phares," she greeted him as cordially as possible on her
Commencement night.

"Good-evening," he returned. "Are you ready for the great event?"

"Yes, if I don't have heart failure before I get in to town. If only I
had been fourth or fifth in the class marks instead of second, then I
might have escaped to-night with just a solo. As it is, I must deliver
the Salutatory oration."

"Phoebe, you want to get off too easily! But I cannot stay more than a
minute, for I know you'll want to get ready. I just stopped to give you
a little gift for your graduation, a copy of Longfellow's poems."

"Oh, thanks, Phares. I like his poems."

"I thought you did. But I must go now," he said stiffly. "I'll see you
to-night at Commencement. I hope you'll get through the oration all
right."

"Thanks. I hope so."

When he was gone she made a wry face. "Whew," she whistled. "I'm sure
Phares is a fine young man but he's too solemncoly. He gives me the
woolies! If he's like that all the time I'm glad I don't have to live in
the same house. Wonder if he really knows how to be jolly. But, shame on
you, Phoebe Metz, talking so about your old friend! Perhaps for that
I'll forget my oration to-night." With a gay laugh she ran away to dress
for the most important occasion of her life.

The white dress was vastly becoming. Its soft folds fell gracefully
about her slender young figure. Her hair was brushed back, gathered into
a bow at the top of her head, and braided into one thick braid which
ended in a curl. There were no loving fingers of mother or sister to
arrange the folds of her gown, no fond eyes to appraise her with looks
of approval, but if she felt the omission she gave no evidence of it.
She seemed especially gay as she dressed alone in her room. When she had
finished she surveyed herself in the glass.

"Um, Phoebe Metz, you don't look half bad! Now go and do as well as you
look. If Aunt Maria heard me she'd be shocked, but what's the use
pretending to be so stupi