“How the very breaking waves of rockbound Cape Cod, situated on the eastern coast of Massachusetts, and so named for the fish that swim around it, were thrilled when our Pilgrim Fathers first landed on the shores of our vast continent, then unrevealed—America, named for a poor Italian author, Amerigo Vespucci. Many persons think the name would be better if it were Columbia, after the song, ‘Columbia, the gem of the ocean.’ Methinks the ocean eagle, a bird once inhabitating the shores of New England, but now extinct, himself burst into a paean of praise! How the giant branches of the woods against a stormy sky waved banners of praise. No trumpet that sings of fame announced their coming! No roll of stirring drums saluted them! But their gospel hymns of cheer burst upon the naked solitude! “They did not seek thus afar the jewels from the bowels of the earth, nor did they seek kings’ wealth or war’s spoils, but rather the pure shrine of a truly childlike faith. And almost the very first building they erected was a church! “Aye, Sophomore classmates, I think you ought to call this soil of your dear State holy ground, for they trod here, and they have left you an unstained freedom to worship the God of your Fathers, known of old!” The poor orator managed to reach her seat without encountering the eyes of Virginia; but she could not be unconscious of the postures of her classmates. Some with crimson cheeks and shaking shoulders were studiously regarding their textbooks; others, with a complete disregard either of hygiene or of good manners, were chewing their handkerchiefs; the Blackmore twins were weeping on each others’ shoulders. Miss Wallace was fumbling in the drawer of her desk, and striving hard to control her quivering lips. “This class is dismissed,” she managed to say, without looking up, and the class, unspeakably glad to be dismissed, literally ran from the room, leaving poor Lucile, upon whom the joke was very slowly dawning, to come out alone, cut her Latin recitation, and seek her room. Here she locked the door against her room-mate, and packed her suit-case for New York where she was to spend Thanksgiving, glad that a telegram from relatives there had asked for her early departure on the afternoon train. She did not appear at luncheon. “Poor thing! I guess she won’t bite so easy next time,” said Priscilla, as they left the table, where Miss Wallace, still smiling, was arranging a tray for the orator. “Let’s be decent enough to play tennis on the back court till she goes to the station. I know she doesn’t want to see us, and I don’t blame her a bit. It’ll be forgotten when she gets back. You don’t feel bad about it, do you, Virginia?” “No, not now, but it was truly awful, Priscilla, when she looked so scared in class. I felt like a criminal. But I feel better now I’ve written the note.” “What note?”