“Young ladies and gentlemen, this day comes to me once in every year.  It is an old practice with me, as I see each class go forth in our last hour together, to feel that I am watching the departure of the best and truest class that I have yet taught.  But this year I am moved more than ever to that feeling.  There are those among you who have shown me traits of character that have filled me with even more much more than my usual amount of faith in the future of the American nation.  Young ladies and gentlemen, my fellow citizens, permit me to thank you for your loyal work to make this graduating class what it is, and what it is destined to become.  Go forth to uphold the traditions of Gridley and the glory of America, and may God bless you, one and all.”

His voice rather husky, and his eyes a little more wet, Old Dut sank back into the well-worn chair from which he had taught so many eighth-grade classes.

“Three cheers for our principal!” proposed Danny Grin.  The cheers were given lustily, with half a dozen tigers.

“Master Dalzell,” replied Old Dut, “coming from the boy who, as the records show, has been disciplined more frequently in the last year than any other pupil present, I consider that a tribute indeed.”

“I meant it,” said Dan simply.

Later the pupils of the five upper grades marched solemnly into Exhibition Hall, the appearance of the graduating class being greeted with applause by enthusiastic relatives and friends.  The orchestra played triumphal marches until all had marched in to their seats.

Then the orchestra paused, only to begin a moment later with the first measures of the opening chorus, sung by more than three hundred youthful voices.  It was the usual medley, contributed by pupils who could really sing and by others who really couldn’t.  An undertone of varying discord ran along under the truer melody.

Then, after his name had been called by the principal, Dick Prescott rose.  Very stiff and starched, and painfully conscious of the creaking of his shoes as he went forward in that awesome stillness, Dick ascended the platform, advanced to the front center, made an elaborate bow, and then, in an almost scared voice he began to tell the assembled hundreds of grown-ups why they were there as though they didn’t know already.  This performance, which admitted of very few gestures, was stated on the programme to be “The Salutatory.”  From his being chosen to render this address, it was easily to be inferred that Dick was regarded as the brightest boy of the class.

Then other exercises followed.  Two members of the Board of Education also had pieces to speak.  One told of the educational policy and methods followed in the Gridley schools, on which subject he knew vastly less than any of the eight smiling teachers present.  The other member of the Board of Education gave a lot of chilled advice to the members of the graduating class, he did this at much greater length and with far less effect than Old Dut had lately done in his last private talk with his class.