. . For, by so doing, the waters of Life will grow smoother,
and the signals will never flicker.
She came to the last undulating cadence, the last vibrantly
sustained phrase; and then, as she paused and bowed, there was a
moment of hush--and then the applause began. Oh, what applause! And
then, slowly, graciously, modestly but with a certain queenly pride,
the shining figure in white turned and left the stage.
Here was a noble triumph, remembered for years even by the teachers.
Down in the audience father and mother and grandpa and grandma and
all the other relatives who, with suspiciously wet eyes, were
assembled in the "reserved section," overheard such murmurs as: "And
she's seventeen!--Where do young folks get those ideas?"--and, "What
an unusual gift of phraseology!" And, after the programme, a
reporter from the Cherryvale Beacon came up to father and asked
permission to quote certain passages from the Valedictory in his
"write-up." That was the proudest moment of Mr. Merriam's entire
life.
Missy had time for only hurried congratulations from her family.
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