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Page 31 text:
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' Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file. Bring diad ems and fagots in their hands. To each they offer gifts after his will. Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. [HE wind laden with the fragrance of pink and white apple blossoms, and full of the life-giving odors of spring blew softly over me as I sat at the window looking out into the dim silence of the night. As I watched the slowly rising moon, I began to realize that to-morrow was Commencement, and before me rose a pi 5 ure of the Chapel, bright with the morning sunlight; the people, the long rows of smiling, eager girls ; and last of all the five graduates in their white dresses, with their arms full of flowers receiving their diplomas the tokens of long, arduous and faithful work. I wondered if they were not building lofty and brilliant castles in the air, if their dreams of the future were not all golden and rose color; an d then came the thought — what in reality does life hold for them? Dreamily I murmured, What will they accept from the Daughters of Time, fagots or diadems? Silently a cloud-like haze enveloped me, and I was in some high, unknown sphere looking down upon the ebb and flow of human life, all misty and dim. As I gazed in awe and wonder, one scene shone out clear and distind , as though the shadowy curtain had been suddenly drawn aside. Before me arose the campus of a noted university. Students are scattered through the inviting grounds. To one side a group has gathered around one in whom I recognize an old acquaintance. Yes, Edith it
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Page 32 text:
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surely is, who, tall and dignified, in cap and gown, is receiving the praise and congratulations of her friends. Her ambition has led her on to greater efforts ; these have been crowned with success, and to-day has been conferred upon her a degree of which she may justly be proud. As I look at her I see possibilities of yet higher things and believe that she will attain them. Swiftly the picture came and went and looking farther, I smiled as I caught sight of Susie Lee. Our dainty, fun-loving girl of by-gone days is transformed into a charming little matron who, with a pretty assump- tion of dignity, flits here and there among her guests giving to all bright smiles and welcoming words. As the pi(5 ure slowly faded, my last glimpse was of her happy face, and I was glad that it was so. But my thoughts were turned to another picfture. It is a gay scene. Through rooms brilliantly lighted, and between banks of fragrant flowers a throng of richly dressed people move to and fro. I seem to catch the odor of the myriads of flowers, while faint strains of music are borne to me from afar. Why this pi(5 ure? I ask; and then all at once, I see, the centre and attra(5 ion of a large group, Rosa. Yes, it is surely our Miss Rose, who is scattering her smiles so promiscuously alike upon great and little. As I look at her, after the lapse of years, I see her reigning supreme, without an enemy in the world ; yet, with all her triumph, the same sweet Rose of school-girl days. That scene is gone, and in its place a studio, with paints and brushes lying carelessly about, while the walls are covered with paintings large and small. Before a canvas and easel a girl is sitting. The sun stream- inglthrough the high, uncurtained windows falls upon the canvas, lighting up the beauty of the scene depid ed there, and as I turn and look at the artist, I know that Isabella has achieved success. The artist and the pi(5 ure are swept from view, as the final scene appears. Once more it is a brilliant gathering, but this time everything is hushed and still as out over the listening audience floats the soft sweet music evoked by a master ' s hand. As the strains cease and the player arises, I see through the flowers showered upon her, Mildred, who ever faithful in small things, has accomplished great ones.
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