Migwan was once more “in the dumps.”  The heavy strain under which she had been working all winter, coupled with the constant worry and disappointment, produced the inevitable result, and she broke down.  She was chosen a Commencement speaker, and the added work of writing a graduating essay was the last straw.  She might be able to attend the graduating exercises of her class, said the doctor, but she was not to go to school any more, and of course there was to be no speech prepared.  He would not hear of her working in an office during the summer, so her last hope of going to college in the fall went glimmering.  But really this last disappointment did not affect her as strongly as the others had done.  She was getting used to having everything she touched crumble to dust, and besides, she felt too tired to care which way things went any more.

Thus the month of May brought widely different experiences to the various girls, and went on its way, giving them into the keeping of the Rose Moon.  On one of the rarest of rare days that ever a poet dreamed of as belonging to June, the Winnebagos found themselves skimming over the country roads on a Saturday afternoon’s frolic.  There were three automobile loads altogether, for all the mothers were along, besides Aunt Phoebe and Dr. Hoffman.  It was a double occasion for celebration, for besides being the Rose Moon Ceremonial Meeting, it was the day when Sahwah was to lay aside her crutches permanently.  The cast had been removed several weeks before and the splintered joint was found to be as good as ever.  And Migwan, although she did not know it yet, had more cause to celebrate than all the rest put together.  Taken all in all, it would have been hard to find a merrier crowd than that which sped over the smooth yellow road on this perfect summer day, and many a bird, balancing himself on a blossoming twig, ceased his ecstatic outpouring of melody to listen to the blithe chorus of these earth birds, as they sang, “Hey Ho for Merry June,” and “Let the Hills and Dales Resound,” each machineful trying its best to outdo the others.

And when they came to a sunny hill thickly starred with snowy, golden-hearted daisies they stopped the automobiles and picked great armfuls of the blossoms, and Aunt Phoebe and Dr. Hoffman wandered off by themselves to the other side of the hill in search of larger and finer ones.

Migwan’s mother, sitting on the hillside with the warm sweet breeze blowing in her face, felt the joy of health and strength returning with a rush.  “Oh,” she sighed blissfully to Mrs. Evans, who sat beside her, “I haven’t had such a good time since we all went coasting that night.  I declare I’m impatient for winter to return, so we can do it again.”