work, and I did not dare to look at my dear, dear friends. But I could hear Kittie James sobbing all the time. Sister Irmingarde waited a moment, and then she spoke again.
"These four students, among our best in the past, as you all know, have all failed—two in four and two in five studies out of six. However"—and she paused for a very, very long time, I thought,—"in view of circumstances which have been brought to our attention, we have decided to give these students another opportunity to pass in these branches, if the class approves."
Then she went on to explain how we had helped Kittie James, and she said, with her dear little smile, "You will admit that they did it thoroughly"; and she added that "probably unconsciously" we had failed to prepare for our own examination. She pointed out that each of us had passed "triumphantly" in the study in which we had coached Kittie, and Maudie and I passed in two branches because we had coached her in two. She said if the class as a whole felt that it would be just to give us a supplementary examination, say in six weeks, this would be done. Then the girls cheered more than ever, and the resolution was put and carried by a rising vote. I felt a big lump in my throat, worse than during the examination, and I guess the others did, too.
Kittie felt dreadfully, poor dear. She was still crying when she stood up with the rest. Sister Irmingarde told us afterward that Kittie had told her all about us the night before, when Sister congratulated her on her splendid record and wondered why we had failed.
Well, we all felt better right away. The girls were lovely to us, and so were the Sisters, though they seemed to be tremendously amused about something for days and days. We knew we could pass in six weeks if we studied, and I will mention right here that we did study, too, and we passed in the eighties, all of us.
That night we had a spread and a beautiful time to celebrate Kittie's triumph, but poor Kittie was not in it. She was in the Infirmary. The doctor said it was "nervous exhaustion, due to the unaccustomed and long-continued mental strain."
Snap-shot
A SWAN and cygnets, nothing more.
Background of silver, reedy shore,
Dim shapes of rounded trees, the high
Effulgence of a summer sky.
Only a snap-shot. Just a flash,
And it was fixed,—the mimic wash,
The parent bird on-oaring slow,
Her fussy little fleet in tow,
The all-pervading sultry haze,
The white lights on the waterways,—
A scene that never was before,
A scene that will be—nevermore!
Alas! for us. We look and wait,
And labor but to imitate;
In vain for new effects we seek . . .
Earth's briefest moment is unique!
