Early in September the noon train brought her through the oaks and the
burdened olive orchards, past the lonely redwood Tree to the University.
The brakeman's call: "Next station is Palo A-al-to!" stirred her with
fluttering excitement. The crowded carriages and people at the station
bewildered her. Eager 'busmen struggled for the hand-baggage of
strangers, men with "Student Transfer" on their caps clamored for
trunk-checks. Fellows in duck seized some of the men who came down the
car steps, carrying away their suit-cases and throwing lusty student
arms about their shoulders. The men thus welcomed introduced younger
fellows and the whole group piled into a 'bus and shouted "Rho House,
Billy," to the driver.

The man who got out just ahead of Pocahontas was greeted by cries of
"Come on you Ca-ap!" and "Hello, Smithy, old boy!" He was evidently
someone of whom they were very fond. One fat fellow with a comical face
hugged him theatrically. Pocahontas watched them drive away, laughing
and slapping one another's knees. The man they called Smithy was the
nicest looking.

She had given her new valise to a gray-haired 'busman who looked a
little like the minister at home. On the way up the long avenue of palms
toward the sandstone buildings low in the distance, this 'busman chatted
kindly with her, telling her wonderful, almost incredible things about
the University, so that she began to feel a little less strange. As she
paid her fare in front of the Roble he said:

"Now, whenever you want a 'bus, Miss, just ask for Uncle John. That's
what they call me."

"Yes," answered the Freshman, gratefully, "I will,--Uncle John."

She passed up the dormitory steps, running awkwardly the gauntlet of
experienced eyes scanning the new arrivals. The Theta Gammas wrote her
down as material for a quaint little, quiet little dig,--not of sorority
interest. One of them ventured that there was an Oxford teacher's Bible
and an embroidered mending-case in the shiny valise. Another prophesied
that the newcomer would wear her High School graduation-dress to the
Freshman reception. These ladies had been at college for three years and
their diagnosis was correct.

So Hannah Grant Daly hopped with no unnecessary flapping of wings upon
her perch in the Roble dove-cote. The matron put her into 52 with
Lillian Arnold, a Sophomore leader of local society. This was "to make
things easier for her." Their wedded life lasted three days. It was long
af