The next three days were like the perfect realization of a dream. “The whole family” roamed together about the campus; listened to the farewell sermon, which the white-haired bishop gave on Sunday morning in the chapel, and the last vesper service, at which every one cried; heard the Senior essays on Monday afternoon; and attended Miss King’s reception on Monday evening. It seemed like a great family reunion with all the fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters; and it took no time at all for everybody to become acquainted with everybody else. Virginia proudly introduced her father to all the girls; and it was not long before the four Vigilantes and their adviser were listening to tales of the real Vigilante days. “And I hope you’ll every one come to Wyoming for August,” he said genially, “You’ll be well-chaperoned, for Virginia’s Aunt Nan is coming, and there’s room and a welcome for all.” That night Priscilla, before they went to sleep, confided her hopes to Virginia. “I saw mother and dad talking with your father and Aunt Nan to-night, when we were helping serve,” she whispered, “and I know they were talking about it! Oh, Virginia, do you really suppose I’ll be there?” “I’m thinking on it every minute I have,” came back the whispered answer. “Aunt Nan’s going will make a big difference; and some way I just know you’re coming, Priscilla!” Tuesday dawned beautifully, setting at rest many anxious hearts, which had bade their owners rise from bed at intervals during the night to study the heavens. At ten o’clock a strictly private dress rehearsal was held on the meadow. Virginia, who was one of Queen Elizabeth’s pages, ran about in doublet and hose, and directed those who rode Napoleon. Everything went along with perfect smoothness. Martin Luther, who was Mary, nailed his theses with resounding strokes upon the church door, and then in a fiery and original Latin oration denounced the sale of “Indulgences ”; and Mary, Queen of Scots, was led to execution, without the headsmen giggling, as they had invariably done on every other occasion. Miss Allan, the History teacher, declared herself delighted. “It’s perfect!” she said enthusiastically. “Now you may go where you like, except those in the last Joan of Arc scene. I want you to try that dismounting again, Anne, and don’t let your voice tremble when you address the Dauphin.”