on. Then there was more applause, and Mrs. Gray
was asked to address the graduates.

"And to think," said Grace, as, a little later, she stood with Miriam,
Anne and Elfreda outside the chapel, surrounded by those she loved,
"that I know at last what my work is going to be."

"But we don't know," reminded her father, almost wistfully.

"There is only one thing for me to do," laughed Grace, her eyes shining,
"and that is----"

"Oh, I know," interposed Elfreda, "you're coming back to the campus to
look after Harlowe House."

"You could see that, couldn't you, Elfreda?" laughed Miriam.

"How did you guess it?" asked Grace. "Yes, I should like to come back if
Father and Mother can spare me."

"The rest of her friends don't count," commented Hippy Wingate.

"You know they do, Hippy," smiled Grace. "I must have the permission and
good will of all of them if my work is to be a success."

"You have your mother's and my full consent, Grace," said her father
loyally.

Grace made a little movement toward her parents, slipping in between
them and catching a hand of each. "There is only one thing I can say,
and I've said it hundreds of times before, You are the dearest father
and mother a girl ever had."

* * * * *

It was rather a silent quartette that gathered for the last time in
Grace's room that night. Emma Dean had left Overton on the evening
train. So had Patience Eliot, Kathleen West and Laura Atkins. The
sophomores of Wayne Hall had departed before commencement, and to-night
the house was very quiet.

"And to-morrow is another day," observed Elfreda.

"So it is, my child," agreed Miriam, "but we shall spend it on the
train."

"Do you remember one day, ages ago, when Elfreda Briggs deposited her
suit case on Grace Harlowe's feet and made herself comfortable. Wasn't I
a vandal?"

"Think what we all might have missed if we hadn't acquired a proprietary
interest in Elfreda that day."

"And now you can't lose me. There, that is the first slang I've used for
months, and on commencement day, too."

"Never mind, Elfreda. It is forcible at least. But we don't wish to lose
you. You must keep your promise and come to Oakdale this summer."

"I will," promised Elfreda; "and now suppose we have one last sad tea
party."

It was almost midnight before Miriam and Elfreda went softly down the
oppressively quiet hall to their room.

"Are you happy, Anne?" asked Grace, slipping her arm