this day, which was to be so fraught with consequences to
Marion, was on Eurie's hands to dispose of as best she could. To be at
Chautauqua, and to be bent on having nothing whatever to do with any of
the Chautauqua life, was in itself a novel position. The more so as she
felt herself quite deserted. The necessity for reporting served Marion
as an excuse for attending even those meetings which she did not report;
and the others having gone to Mayville to live, this foolish sheep, who
was within the fold, and who would not be _of_ it, went wandering
whither she would in search of amusement.

After Marion left her she made her way to the museum, and a pleasant
hour she spent; one could certainly not desire a more attractive spot.
She went hither and thither, handling and admiring the books, the
pictures, the maps, the profusion of curiosities, and, at the end of the
hour, when the press of visitors became too great to make a longer stay
agreeable, she departed well pleased with herself that she had had the
wisdom to choose such a pleasant resort instead of a seat in some
crowded tent as a listener.

Coming out, she walked down the hill, and on and on, watching the crowds
of people who were gathering, and wishing she had a programme that she
might see what the special attraction was that seemed to be drawing so
many.

At last she reached the wharf. The Assembly steamer was lying at her
dock, her jaunty flags flying, and the commotion upon her decks
betokening that she was making ready for a voyage. The crowd seemed
greater there than at any other point. It would appear that the special
attraction was here, after all. She understood it, and pushed nearer, as
the ringing notes of song suddenly rose on the air, and she recognized
the voices of the Tennesseeans.

This was a great treat; she delighted in hearing them. She allowed
herself to be elbowed and jostled by the throng, reaching every moment
by judicious pushing a place where she could not only hear but see, and
where escape was impossible. The jubilant chorus ceased and one of those
weird minor wails, such as their music abounds in, floated tenderly
around her.

It was a farewell song, so full of genuine pathos, and so tenderly sung,
that it was in vain to try to listen without a swelling of the throat
and a sense of sadness. Something in the way that the people pressed
nearer to listen suggested to Eurie that it must be designed as a
farewell tribute to somebody