Sophomore English recited from nine to ten, Miss Wallace desiring minds as fresh as possible. The morning following Lucile’s desperate attempt and final accomplishment, a growing pile of manuscript on Miss Wallace’s desk proved that youthful orators had been busy. Lucile and Virginia, coming a few moments late to class, deposited their papers on the top of the pile and took their seats. The recitation began, and for half an hour Miss Wallace questioned, listened, and explained. Then she closed her book, and motioned the girls to do the same. “I’m going to introduce a custom which I have never introduced before,” she said with the smile that had made her beloved during her three years at St. Helen’s. “We have twenty-five minutes remaining. I am going to ask that two or three of our orations be read before the class. Virginia, you are on the top of the pile, perhaps a penalty for being late. We will hear your oration.” Virginia crossed the room, conflicting emotions sweeping over her. As to reading her own composition, she was quite willing, since Miss Wallace desired it; but she knew that Lucile’s was next in order, and, as she turned to face the others, she saw Lucile’s agonized face. Could she do anything to prevent her coming next? She hesitated. There was nothing except to hope that Miss Wallace would note Lucile’s fear, and excuse her. Miss Wallace noticed the hesitation. “Come, Virginia. We are waiting.” Virginia began to read, and as she read, she forgot Lucile in the hope that those listening might realize that the Pioneers of her own dear country were likewise Pilgrim Fathers. Her voice, sweet and clear, rang out earnestly: “At this Thanksgiving season when we, as a nation, give honor to those brave men and women who founded the New England States, should we not also grant honor and homage to those other founders of our country—the children of the Pilgrim Fathers—the sturdy Pioneers of our Great West? In our praise of the Pilgrim Fathers, we often forget, I think, that there were other Pilgrims besides those at Plymouth Rock—other wanderers, who, perhaps, did not seek freedom to worship God, but who did seek better homes for their children, and who tried by their discoveries to show that we had a bigger, richer country than we knew about. They did not cross the angry seas of water, but they crossed a sea of land, our great prairies, where there were even more perils than those of the Atlantic—perils of Indians, wild animals, cyclones, and blizzards. They crossed the mountains, cutting their own trails before them, protecting the tired women and helpless children from danger; and those who went to the Far West crossed the great deserts, suffering great hunger and worse thirst, and sometimes leaving their bones upon the sands.”