night, there were more wonders.
Aunt Alvirah's knowledge of modern conveniences was from reading only. She
had never before been nearer to a telephone than to look up at the wires
that were strung from post to post before the Red Mill. Modern plumbing,
an elevator, heating by steam, and many other improvements, were like a
sealed book to her.

She disliked to be waited upon and whispered to Mrs. Murchiston:

"That air black man a-standin' behind my chair at dinner sort o' makes me
narvous. I'm expectin' of him to grab my plate away before I'm done
eatin'."

The day set for the graduation exercises at Briarwood Hall was as lovely a
June day as was ever seen. The Cameron automobile rolled into the grounds
and was parked with several dozen machines, just as the girls were
marching into chapel. The fresh young voices chanting "One Wide River to
Cross" floated across to the ears of the party from the Red Mill, and Aunt
Alvirah began to hum the song in her cracked, sweet treble.

The automobile party followed the smaller girls along the wide walk of the
campus. There was the new West Dormitory, quite completed on the outside,
and sufficiently so inside for the seniors to occupy rooms. Not the old
quartettes and duos of times past; but very beautiful rooms nevertheless,
in which they could later entertain their friends who had come to the
graduation exercises.

The organist began to play softly on the great organ in the chapel, and
played until every girl was seated--the graduating class upon the
platform. Then the school orchestra played and Helen--very pretty in white
with cherry ribbons--stood forth with her violin and played a solo.

Mrs. Tellingham welcomed the visitors in a short speech. Then there was a
little silence before the strains of an old, old song quivered through the
big chapel. Helen was playing again, with the soft tones of the organ as a
background. And, in a moment Ruth stood up, stepped forward, and began to
sing.

The Cheslow party had all heard her before. She was almost always singing
about the old Red Mill when she was at home. But into this ballad she
seemed to put more feeling than ever before. The tears ran down Aunt
Alvirah's withered cheeks. Ruth did not know the dear old woman was
present, for it was to be a surprise to her; but she might have been
singing just for Aunt Alvirah alone.

"This pays me for coming, Miz' Murchiston, if nothin' else would,"
whispered Aunt Alvirah. "I can see