Chapter XXXVII
Full-fledged B.A.‘s
“I wish I were dead, or that it were tomorrow night,” groaned Phil.
“If you live long enough both wishes will come true,” said Anne calmly.
“It’s easy for you to be serene. You’re at home in Philosophy. I’m not—and
when I think of that horrible paper tomorrow I quail. If I should fail in it what
would Jo say?”
“You won’t fail. How did you get on in Greek today?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps it was a good paper and perhaps it was bad enough to
make Homer turn over in his grave. I’ve studied and mulled over notebooks until
I’m incapable of forming an opinion of anything. How thankful little Phil will be
when all this examinating is over.”
“Examinating? I never heard such a word.”
“Well, haven’t I as good a right to make a word as any one else?” demanded
Phil.
“Words aren’t made—they grow,” said Anne.
“Never mind—I begin faintly to discern clear water ahead where no
examination breakers loom. Girls, do you—can you realize that our Redmond
Life is almost over?”
“I can’t,” said Anne, sorrowfully. “It seems just yesterday that Pris and I were
alone in that crowd of Freshmen at Redmond. And now we are Seniors in our
final examinations.”
“‘Potent, wise, and reverend Seniors,’” quoted Phil. “Do you suppose we
really are any wiser than when we came to Redmond?”
“You don’t act as if you were by times,” said Aunt Jamesina severely.
“Oh, Aunt Jimsie, haven’t we been pretty good girls, take us by and large,
these three winters you’ve mothered us?” pleaded Phil.
“You’ve been four of the dearest, sweetest, goodest girls that ever went
together through college,” averred Aunt Jamesina, who never spoiled a
compliment by misplaced economy.