The girls who were to read essays, resolved that for the
President's sake they would do well in spite of trembly knees and shaky
hands. And of course they did, because in their determination to please
Miss Walker and to reflect credit upon her and dear old Wellington they
quite lost their paralyzing self-consciousness. The little buzz of
pleased conversation that followed each number of the program as the
applause died down was gratifying without doubt, but the students cared
more deeply for the President's brief nod and smile of satisfaction.
After the exercises came the diplomas, those strips of sheepskin for
which our girls had striven so long and valiantly. It was almost a shock
to clasp at last that precious token that had seemed so difficult of
achievement in the far-away Freshman days. If to Molly it meant among
other things value received for "two perfectly good acres of orchard,"
to Nance it marked a milestone of happy progress; to Margaret, Edith and
Katharine it represented an interesting bit of current history; and to
Judy and Jessie it signified a safe haven after many narrow escapes
from shipwreck.

After the exciting day was over, came the class supper and then
everybody did stunts. Edith read the class poem and Katherine was
historian. Then the oldest girl and the prettiest girl and the class
baby made speeches, and at the end came three cheers for Molly Brown,
the most beloved in 19--; and Molly, trembling and blushing, rose and
thanked them all and assured them that it was the greatest honor she had
ever known; and they made her sit on the table while they danced in a
circle around it, singing:

"Here's to Molly Brown,
Drink her down, drink her down, drink her down."

Thus the four years at Wellington came to an end as all good things
must, and the day for the parting arrived. The "Primavera" and the
prayer rug were packed away in a box and shipped to Kentucky, because,
after all, Molly might not return to Wellington. Who could tell what
the fates had in store? Then came the good-byes. There were tears in
their eyes and little choky sounds in their voices as they kissed and
hugged and kissed again.

Otoyo at that last meeting gave a present to each of the old crowd. She
was smiling bravely, since it is not correct for a young Japanese lady
to weep, and she kept reiterating:

"I shall mees you, greatlee, muchlee. It will not be the same at
Wellington."

With Molly's gift, a little carv