Commencement was a wonderful time.  Mary was introduced to dozens of young fellows, attended spreads and sings and proms, danced a great deal, was asked to dance ever so much more, chatted and laughed and enjoyed herself as a healthy, happy, and pretty girl should enjoy a college commencement.  And on the following Tuesday she and Miss Pease, looking down from the steamer’s deck, waved their handkerchiefs to Mrs. Wyeth and Zoeth and Captain Shadrach and Crawford who, standing on the wharf, waved theirs in return as the big ship moved slowly out of the dock and turned her nose toward Minot’s Light and the open sea.  For the first time since Hamilton and Company put up a sign both partners had come to Boston together.

“Annabel’s keepin’ store,” explained Shadrach, “and Isaiah’s helpin’.  It’ll be the blind leadin’ the blind, I cal’late, but we don’t care, do we, Zoeth?  We made up our mind we’d see you off, Mary-’Gusta, if we had to swim to Provincetown and send up sky-rockets from Race P’int to let you know we was there.  Don’t forget what I told you:  If you should get as fur as Leghorn be sure and hunt up that ship-chandler name of Peroti.  Ask him if he remembers Shad Gould that he knew in ’65.  If he ain’t dead I bet you he’ll remember.”

So Mary-’Gusta sailed away and for ten marvelous weeks daydreams came true and attic make-believes turned to realities.  War had not yet come to sow its seed of steel and fire and reap its harvest of blood and death upon the fair valleys and hills of France, and the travelers journeyed leisurely from village to cathedral town and from the Seine to the Loire.  They spent three weeks in Switzerland and two in Italy, returning for the final week to London where, under Miss Pease’s expert guidance, Mary visited the shops, the big ones on Regent and Oxford Streets and the smaller, equally fascinating—­and more expensive—­ones on Bond Street and Piccadilly, buying presents and remembrances for the folks at home.  And, at last, came the day when, leaning upon the rail, she saw the misty headlands of Ireland sink beneath the horizon and realized that her wonderful holiday was over and that she was homeward bound.

The voyage was rather rough and stormy, as westerly voyages are likely to be, but the ship was comfortable and speedy and they made good time.  Mary spent but one day in Boston and, on the morning of the next, started for South Harniss.  She had one week before school opened and that week was to be spent with her uncles; no one else, she vowed, should have a minute of it.

Great were the rejoicings in the white house by the shore that day, and marvelous was the dinner Isaiah served in honor of the occasion.  Mary was obliged to relate the story of her trip from start to finish, while three rapt listeners nodded and exclaimed in sympathy or broke in to ask questions.  She had written faithfully, but, as Isaiah said, “writin’ ain’t tellin’.”  So Mary told and her uncles and Mr. Chase listened and questioned.  It was twelve o’clock that night before anyone thought of going to bed, and next morning at the breakfast table the questioning began all over again.