Missy had not. But, by this time, the hat business was moving so rapidly that she had even less time to worry over anything still remote, like the thesis--plenty of time to think of that; now, she was dreaming of how the rose would look blooming radiantly from this soft bed of violet straw;... and, now, how becoming to Aunt Nettie would be this misty green, with cool-looking leaves and wired silver gauze very pure and bright like angels' wings--dear Aunt Nettie didn't have much “taste,” and Missy indulged in a certain righteous glow in thus providing her with a really becoming, artistic hat. Then, after Aunt Nettie's, she planned one for Marguerite. Marguerite was the hired girl, mulatto, and had the racial passion for strong colour. So Missy conceived for her a creation that would be at once satisfying to wearer and beholder. How wonderful with one's own hands to be able to dispense pleasure! Missy, working, felt a peculiarly blended joy; it is a gratification, indeed, when a pleasing occupation is seasoned with the fine flavour of noble altruism. She hadn't yet thought of a theme for the Valedictory, and mother was beginning to make disturbing comments about “this hat mania,” when, by the most fortuitous chance, while she was working on Marguerite's very hat--in fact, because she was working on it--she hit upon a brilliantly possible idea for the Valedictory. She was rummaging in a box of discarded odds and ends for “trimmings.” The box was in mother's store-closet, and Missy happened to observe a pile of books up on the shelf. Books always interested her, and even with a hat on her mind she paused a moment to look over the titles. The top volume was “Ships That Pass in the Night”--she had read that a year or so ago--a delightful book, though she'd forgotten just what about. She took it down and opened it, casually, at the title page. And there, in fine print beneath the title, she read: Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shewn, and a distant voice in the darkness; So, on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice--then darkness again, and a silence. Standing there in the closet door, Missy read the stanza a second time--a third. And, back again at her work, fingers dawdled while eyes took on a dreamy, preoccupied expression. For phrases were still flitting through her head: “we pass and speak one another”.. . “then darkness again, and a silence”... Very far away it took you--very far, right out on the vast, surging, mysterious sea of Life! The sea of Life!... People, like ships, always meeting one another--only a look and a voice--and then passing on into the silence... Oh, that was an idea! Not just a shallow, sentimental pretense, but a real idea, “deep,” stirring and fine. What a glorious Valedictory that would make!