ch, it's all the same," he insisted, and went off smiling.

To Phoebe that night seemed like a dream--the slow march down the aisle
of the crowded auditorium to the elevated platform where the nine
graduates sat in a semicircle; the sea of faces swathed in the bright
glow of many lights; the perfume of the pink roses in her arm; the music
of the High School chorus, and then the time when she rose and stood
before the people to deliver her oration, "Beyond the Alps lies Italy."

She began rather shakily; the sea of faces seemed so very formidable, so
many eyes looked at her--how could she ever finish! She spoke
mechanically at first, but gradually the magic of the Italy of her
dreams stole upon her, a singular softness crept into her voice, a
mellowness like music, as she depicted the blue skies of the sunny
land-of-dreams-come-true.

When she returned to her place in the semicircle a glow of satisfaction
possessed her. She felt she had not failed, that she had, in truth, done
very well. But later, when Mary Warner rose to deliver the Valedictory,
Phoebe felt her own efforts shrink into littleness. The dark-eyed
beautiful Mary was a sad thorn in the flesh for the fair girl who knew
she was always overshadowed by the brilliant, queenly brunette.
Involuntarily the country girl looked at David Eby--he was listening
intently to Mary; his eyes never seemed to leave her face. Little, sharp
pangs of jealousy thrust themselves into the depths of Phoebe's heart.
Was it true, then, that David cared for Mary Warner? Town gossips said
he frequented her house. Phoebe had met them together on the Square
recently--not that she cared, of course! She sat erect and held her pink
roses more tightly against her heart. It mattered little to her if David
liked other girls; it was only that she felt a sense of proprietorship
over the boy whose mother was her Mother Bab--thus she tried to console
herself and quiet the demons of jealousy until the program was
completed, congratulations received, and she stood with her aunt and
father, ready for the trip back to the gray farmhouse.

Teachers and friends had congratulated her, but it was David Eby's
hearty, "You did all right, Phoebe," that gave her the keenest joy.

"Did you walk in?" she asked him as she gathered her roses, diploma and
scarf, preparatory to departure.

"Yes."

"Then you can drive out with us," her father offered.

"Yes, of course," she seconded the suggestion. "We have r