Out in the summerhouse it was celestially beautiful and peaceful. And, magically, all this peace and beauty seemed to penetrate into her and become a part of herself. The glory of the pinkish-mauve sunset stole in and delicately tinged her so; the scent of the budding ramblers, and of the freshly-mowed lawn, became her own fragrant odour; the soft song of the breeze rocking the leaves became her own soul's lullaby. Oh, it was a heavenly world, and the future bloomed with enchantments! She could stay in Cherryvale this summer! Dear Cherryvale! Green prairies were so much nicer than snow-covered mountains, and gently sloping hills than sharp-pointing peaks; and much, much nicer than tempestuous waterfalls was the sweet placidity of Swan Creek. Dear Swan Creek... The idea of Raymond's trying to make her jealous! How simple-minded boys are! But what a dear, true friend he was, and how much more is friendship than mere pleasures like travel--or prominence or fine grades or anything... It was at this point in her cogitations that Missy, seeing her Anthology--an intimate poetic companion--where she'd left it on a bench, dreamily picked it up, turned a few pages, and then was moved to write. We have borrowed her product to head this story. Meanwhile, back in the house, her father might have been heard commenting on the noble behaviour of his daughter. “Didn't let out a single whimper--brave little thing! We must see to it that she has a good time at home--poor young one! I think we'd better get the car this summer, after all.” CHAPTER IX. DOBSON SAVES THE DAY It was two years after the Spanish war; and she was seventeen years old and about to graduate. On the Senior class roster of the Cherryvale High School she was catalogued as Melissa Merriam, well down--in scholarship's token--toward the tail-end of twenty-odd other names. To the teachers the list meant only the last young folks added to a backreaching line of girls and boys who for years and years had been coming to “Commencement” with “credits” few or many, large expectant eyes fixed on the future, and highly uncertain habits of behaviour; but, to the twenty-odd, such dead prosiness about themselves would have been inconceivable even in teachers. And Missy? Well, there were prettier girls in the class, and smarter girls-and boys, too; yet she was the one from all that twenty-odd who had been chosen to deliver the Valedictory. Did there ever exist a maid who did not thrill to proof that she was popular with her mates? And when that tribute carries with it all the possibilities of a Valedictory--double, treble the exultation.