The Normal Record. June 1905

              10 THE NORMAL RECORD
innovation when automobiles are used instead.) But, to return to the day. The
sky wept pitifully, in sympathy with my own mood, and I knew there was a sadness of farewell when I embarked. (I humbly apologize for taking liberties with
one of Miss Henley's favorite poems.) At any rate, I could not help feeling at
least a modicum of self-pity because the Faculty had allowed me to graduate so
soon. It was such a short while that our illustrious class of January, '05, had
the distinction of being Seniors, and patronizing the lower terms, and now—
back numbers, to speak poetically. It was the brazen way in which the class
who, metaphorically, walked into our shoes, flaunted their Seniority in our faces
and said, with the hauteur of parvenus, when some of us lingered fondly around
the "Alma Mater". Well what are you doing here? We supposed you had left
Chico long ago,"—it was this, I repeat, which rankled in our minds and intensified the pathos of farewell.
But all this is eradicated, forgotten, in the gratification of being an alumna.
(It's my blessed privilege now to change persons and tenses at will for I passed
long ago in Sixth English!) O, the pleasure of exhibiting that diploma with its
significant gold seal to admiring friends and numerous acquaintances! O, the
delight of knowing one has a career before one-—a life work (deus vollens)
which may be congenial and soul-satisfying; a work replete with glorious possibilities and high ideals. (I haven't forgotten those talks in Seminar and Ped-
egogy, c'est assey.) To my mind, there is something so human in teaching, bringing one so closely in touch with all sorts of individuals and types that one's
nature is bound to be broadened and strengthened by the work. Well, well,
enough of that.    Let those speak who are tried in the harness."
Now, will anyone take exception to the statement that the January '05
class has fulfilled the expectations of sympathetic and admiring friends? (Just
show me the individual who dares!) There's Josephine M. Bryan who was always recognized as a leader at the Normal—received, figuratively, with open
arms by the trustees of Bruceville, where she rose to the occasion in every respect, and proved her ability in more capacities then I could name, from teacher
and church organist, to a setter of dislocated knee-caps and leader at social
functions. There's Dora Wholfrom, small of stature but determined of purpose,
startling the world by dropping down upon Maxwell and teaching the Golden
Gate School (if that's the name), yea, even inspiring respect and obedience by
the mere force of her personality. There's Anna Ekwall, tucked away comfortably among the hills in Bogus, where she presided in gentleness over three Indians, three Portugese, and three little Englishmen. (I quote verbatim.) And there
are, well, I might continue down the roll with an eulogy for each of "the class
that  wore the blue".
It is much to be regretted, I think, that class reunions are so well nigh
impossible but the circular letter is a fair substitute for keeping in touch with
one's classmates. We are all novi-ces when we leave the Normal; we must
all go through the tyro-stage, and learn, by relating personal experiences. In
this way the circular letter serves a double purpose. Only—I wish our class
letter wouldn't take so long in coming for I'm  tired of waiting for it.
Oh this rain! Drip, drip, drip from the roof. Plunk, plunk, plunk, in the
puddles.    It's no use, I may as well go on  dreaming for—
"Come out of it, Sis. Where's the German dictionary? That's the third
time I've asked you.    Voila mon fiere!  who comes to interrupt my reverie.