Her voice as she read trembled with eagerness and pride. Into her mind crept the pictures of “old timers” at home, and the tales of bravery and endurance which they had told her. She read on, telling of more hardships, of greater bravery, extolling the lonely lives in the forests or mountains or on the great prairies. The girls listened eagerly. Many of them had never considered the Pioneers before. After all, they were worthy of praise. Virginia was holding her audience—all save the cowering Lucile, who was miserably knotting her handkerchief. The young orator closed with an appeal to her listeners: “Oh, let us who are so greatly blessed with homes and friends and safety from the dangers that beset our forefathers, give thanks to God at this Thanksgiving season! And let us determine to show in our small lives the bravery and the perseverance and the honesty and the fear of doing wrong, which was shown by our Pilgrim forefathers of Massachusetts, and by the Pilgrim pioneers of our mountain and prairie States. Then shall we be more fit to be called real, true Americans!” Virginia took her seat amid a burst of genuine applause, the most precious of which was her beloved teacher’s own commendation and look of approval. “Now, Lucile, you are next,” continued the merciless Miss Wallace; and the trembling, cowering Lucile managed to cross the room, and take her own paper from the desk. For a moment Miss Wallace may have been tempted to withdraw her request. Virginia, whose pleasure in the reception of her own oration had quite disappeared in her pity for Lucile, kept hoping that she might reconsider; but she did not. Lucile must take her chances with the others, she was thinking. Here was an opportunity for overcoming her diffidence in class. Lucile faced her audience, her eyes half angry, half frightened, her hands shaking. Her low trembling voice was hardly oratorical. “Louder, please, Lucile,” commanded Miss Wallace. Virginia studiously looked out of the window. Lucile recommenced, and this time, so absolutely astonished and overcome was Miss Wallace, that the orator proceeded without interruption to the end. “Fourteen score and thirteen years ago,” read the trembling voice, “our Pilgrim forefathers landed on Plymouth Rock. The exact date was the 20th of December in the year of our Lord 1620. It was Monday when they got there and the women thought they would wash. All American women have washed ever since. Nothing daunted them, breaking waves dashing high, or a stern and rockbound coast, which is from a poem called ‘The Landing of the Pilgrims.’ They gave us bravery and inspiration and reverence and all kinds of memories.” The orator at this juncture cleared her throat desperately, and seemed to gather strength. She proceeded more calmly, and in somewhat louder tone.