GIRL BACHELOR AND BIOLOGIST

Merrily flew the years and almost before I realised it came graduation. In
the leafy dark of the village street, in the calm of a perfect June night,
John Burke told me that he loved me, and I plighted my troth to him.

We laid plans as we bade each other good-by, to meet again--perhaps--in
New York in the fall; and even that little separation seemed so long. We
did not guess that the weeks would grow to months, and--oh, dear, what
will he think of me when he gets here? And what--now--shall I say to him?

Father for the first time visited college to see me graduate. Between his
pride in my standing at the head of my class and his discomfort in a
starched collar, he was a prey to conflicting emotions all Commencement
week, and heaved a great sigh of relief when at last the train that bore
us home pulled out of the station. But as we approached our own he again
grew uneasy, and kept peering out at the car window as if on the watch for
something.

At length we descended in front of the long yellow box we called the
"deepo." And there was Joe Lavigne to meet us, not with the democrat
wagon, but with a very new and shiny top buggy.

When we reached the farmhouse, I saw proofs of a loving conspiracy. The
addition of a broad veranda and a big bay window, with the softening
effect of the young trees that had grown up all around the place, made it
look much more homelike than the bare box that had sheltered my childhood.
A new hammock swung between two of the trees.