“I have received a card for the closing exercises of your school to-day,” he said, pleasantly. “I think I should like to attend, if I can make it convenient. How have you been progressing?” “Professor Roberts has been kind enough to say that I have done very well. You know I did not enter until nearly the middle of the second term,” Star modestly replied, while her cheeks glowed and her eyes shone with pleasure that he should manifest this interest in her welfare. “Do you have any particular part in the exercises to-day?” he questioned. “Yes, sir. I have a programme here in my pocket; perhaps you would like to see it?” and she drew it forth, laying it upon the table before him. He glanced over it, and, third upon the list, he saw: “Music, instrumental, by Miss Stella Gladstone.” Further down he read: “Essay, by Miss Stella Gladstone. Subject: ‘Walls Must Get the Weather-stain Before They Grow the Ivy.’” He looked up at her with some surprise. “Did you choose the subject of your essay?” he asked. “Yes, sir.” “Why did you take such a topic?” “I do not know, sir,” Star answered, thoughtfully. “I read the line somewhere one day; it haunted me continually, until I wrote out some thoughts upon it, as I often do upon different subjects. Professor Roberts found them between the leaves of my Horace one day, and liked them so well that he asked me to elaborate and extend them, and read it as an essay to-day. He always has two or three essays from members of the junior class read upon commencement day.” Mr. Richards had been looking her over critically while she was speaking. She was clad in a gown of some light gray material, made very plainly, but fitting her graceful figure to perfection. Simple bands of linen were just visible at her throat and wrists, while a knot of pale blue ribbon fastened her collar. She looked lovely. She would have been so in anything; but he saw that her toilet was hardly befitting the ward of his wife. “Girls for commencement always have a new dress, don’t they?” he asked. “Have you made any arrangements of the kind?” “No, sir; I shall go just as I am. This is the best that I have,” she returned, glancing down at her dress and flushing slightly. “How much time have you before the exercises begin?” he inquired. “An hour or more,” she said, looking up at the clock on the mantel. “I am ready very early,” she added, smiling, “for I wished to look over my essay before reading it.” Mr. Richards looked grave. He remembered how Josephine had been all “fuss and feathers” at every commencement, and here this lovely girl was going to appear before a crowded hall in a dress which his daughter would not have worn in her own private room.