“Oh, I didn't mean to imply—”

Jane had to start clearing the table to hide her smile.

“Gotta go, Mom. Everybody," Mike said.

“Mike! You're not wearing Bermuda shorts to graduate, are you?" Jane exclaimed.

“It doesn't make any difference. We're all wearing those silly long black dresses anyway, and the party after graduation is casual.”

When Mike had gone, twirling his cap and carrying the hated gown as if it were a lab experiment gone wrong, Thelma said to Katie, "When I graduated from high school, we wore long white gowns and carried roses. It was girls' school—”

While Thelma told her story, which Jane feared would make Katie think going to an exclusive private school might be fun, Jane and Uncle Jim finished clearing the table.

“Sorry your folks aren't here, honey?" he said as he rinsed the dishes and handed them to her to put in the dishwasher.

“Not at all. We've got you," she said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

“You've raised a good boy, Janey."

“I've had a lot of help. And if you say one more nice thing, I'll burst into tears and have to be led, sobbing uncontrollably, to the graduation. I'm having a real sappy week.”

9

The graduation was marvelous. It had all the sentimentality such occasions deserved. The valedictorian gave a talk that relied much too heavily on a thesaurus and was virtually incomprehensible, but had the virtue of relative brevity. The school orchestra, even without the seniors playing, did a more than credible "Pomp and Circumstance." A local minister gave a short inspirational talk that managed to suggest prayer without actually indulging in it. The teacher who read the graduates' names had done her job well, and as far as Jane could tell, didn't mispronounce a single one. She even breezed through the exchange students easily.