And so they came to commencement, with the Shenk and the Farwell families, Pastor Drury, and Marcia Dayne in the throng of visitors.  Mr. Drury rarely missed commencements at Cartwright, and naturally he could not stay away this year.  The Farwells thought Marcia might like to see her old schoolmates graduate, and the boys had written her that they wanted somebody they could trot around during commencement week who might be trusted to join in the “I knew him when” chorus without being tempted to introduce devastating reminiscences.  And Marcia, being in love with life and youth, had been delighted to accept the combined invitation.  She was not at all in love with either of the boys, nor they with her.  They thought they knew where her heart had been given, and they counted Joe Carbrook a lucky man.

“Tell us, Marcia,” said J.W., Jr., one afternoon, as the three of them were down by the lake, “how it happens you went to the training school instead of the normal school last year.”

“That’s just like a man,” said Marcia.  “Here am I, your awed and admiring slave, brought on to adorn the crowning event of your scholastic career, and you don’t even remember that I finished the normal school course in three years, and graduated a year ago!”

Marty rolled over on the sand in wordless glee.

“Aw, now, Marcia, why——­” J.W., Jr., boggled, fairly caught, but soon recovering himself.  “You must have been ashamed of it, then.  I do remember something about your getting through, now you mention the fact, but why didn’t I receive an invitation?  Answer me that, young lady!”

“Oh, we educators don’t think commencement amounts to so much as all that.  With us, you know, life is real, life is earnest, and so forth.  But I’ll tell you the truth, J.W.  I knew you couldn’t come, either of you, and I was saving up a little on commencement expenses; so I left you—­and a good many others—­off the list.  I needed the money, that’s the simple fact; And the reason you didn’t see me at home last summer was because I was busy spending the money I had saved on your invitations and other expensive things.”

Marty usually waited for J.W., but the idea which now occurred to him demanded utterance.  “Say, Marcia, I think it’s fine of you to be studying dispensary work and first aid.”

“How did you know?” Marcia demanded.

“Never mind; I saw Joe Carbrook in Chicago when we went through on our way to the Buckland-Cartwright debate, and I guessed a good deal more than he told me, which wasn’t much.”

“Marty,” said Marcia, her face aglow and her brave eyes looking into his, “there’s nothing secret about it.  When Joe gets through medical school we shall go out together to whatever field they choose for him.  The least I can do is to get ready to help.”

“Is that why you’ve been going to training school?” asked J.W.  They had so long been used to such complete frankness with each other that the question was “taken as meant.”