Part 12

At the first stroke of the last bell, the four descended the stairs and followed the crowd going in the direction of the Tabernacle. The college band in bright, new uniforms, was playing a lively air near the chapel door. From every direction the people streamed toward it. A long line of the faculty and college graduates was being rapidly formed; each of the latter wearing a band of purple and gold around the left arm. For the most part they were simply dressed, but in their bearing one could detect a vast difference from the raw material that had flocked in to Commencement.

The little group from back in the hills was only one of many who looked with proud, expectant eyes toward the future. It would be a great day when one of their number stood in that long line waiting for the honours which were to crown faithful endeavour. Talitha was glad to discover her father looking with pleased interest at the young faces so full of promise. Her one desire had been to make him see the difference between those who had had advantages, and the boys and girls, who, without education, were living dull, cramped lives in the mountains.

Suddenly the lively air changed, and a hundred young voices took up the refrain: “We march, we march, to victory—”

Mrs. Coyle’s eyes filled as the ranks went sweeping by. She could hardly see to follow them, but Talitha’s strong arm supported her, and, heading the folks from Goose Creek, they filed into the Tabernacle and sat down with the great crowd who had already assembled.

A great hush followed the prayer. Gincy watched her father and mother keenly as the Hallelujah Chorus pealed forth; then she gave Talitha one quick, triumphant glance. Their faces were full of wonder and pleasure, and Sam Coyle’s stolid countenance wore a look of startled interest, the like of which she had never seen before.

One by one the graduates took their places for the brief time allotted them. They spoke in loud, clear voices, but Sam Coyle seemed hardly to understand, until a dark-haired girl began about “The Land of Appalachia.” She gave the history of the mountain people, how, shut back in the hills, they were behind the rest of the world. What wonderful resources were right at hand if they would only wake up and use them. How education meant changing the home life and giving more to the girls and boys which would end in a better life for the parents.

The hungry look on Mrs. Coyle’s face fairly devoured the speaker. Already she was reaping her reward, and visions of Goose Creek, alive to its sore need of an education, blotted out the great audience around her. She sat almost motionless throughout the exercises. Children cried, people came and went, the band played “Dixie”; it was greeted noisily. It played again. This time it was “America,” and a flutter of white handkerchiefs came from where the teachers sat; then they arose, and somehow in a minute the crowd from Goose Creek found themselves standing, too. Mrs. Coyle’s eyes were moist, and Dan Gooch swallowed a troublesome lump in his throat. Billy and Sudie looked awed and timid, yet they quivered with delight, and Gincy, her arms resting lightly upon their shoulders, felt the quiver and held them closer.

The crowd poured out and melted into groups which gathered around well-filled baskets, or ate sandwiches, and bananas, and drank lemonade at the big stand near the library. “If we could only invite you over to the Hall,” said Gincy regretfully. “We tried to get you in, but Miss Denman says she can hardly find room for the company at the two new tables. Commencement is a great day.”

“I reckon we can do what most of the strangers air doin’—eat our own vittles; they’ll be plumb spoiled if we don’t,” said Dan Gooch with mock severity. “Come on, chil’ren,” to Billy and Sudie.

“Hit beats anythin’ I ever saw!” exclaimed Sam Coyle, ignoring his neighbour’s last remark. “I didn’t hone ter come—at fust—that crap in the south cove needs a powerful lot o’ tendin’, but I ’lowed ’twould be a pritty day, an’ Tally’d feel mightily disapinted if I didn’t.”

“Of course I would, father,” said Talitha, her eyes fixed on her mother’s face. “You’ll not be sorry you came, either, there’s so much to see after dinner.” And she started off arm in arm with Gincy, too happy over her mother’s evident pleasure and her father’s sudden interest to think of that old excuse—the neglected “crap” in the south cove.

“Hold on,” called Talitha as Kid Shackley came within hailing distance. “Having a good time?”

“You bet!” was the emphatic response. “I’ve cut loose and am doin’ hit by myself. Seen the folks? They have the stuff to eat.”

Talitha pointed back to the throng under the oak trees. “They’ve just gone. You’ll catch them before they get fairly started eating if you hurry.”

“Oh, Tally,” said Gincy as Kid dodged from view behind the crowd of vehicles, his boyish head held high, “isn’t Commencement just grand! I’m so happy over everything—Abner’s new suit, and the folks coming, and—honey, your daddy thinks Bentville is all right; he’ll never say another word against it, I know.”

Talitha nodded. Her face was radiant and she squeezed Gincy’s hand. “And there’s Kid, he acts so different; just wild over everything here. I’m sure he’ll be in school next year, too. That’s the five-minute bell now; we’ll have to eat fast and get back. I’m just crazy to see father’s face when he gets into the Industrial Building.”

“And mother’s when she sees the Homespun Fair; she’ll go wild over the rugs, I’m sure.”

Back under the trees groups of people were refreshing themselves. The sun flecked the broad backs of the oxen feeding from the rear end of the jolt wagons. The mules were sleepily warding off the flies. A few horses stamped restlessly. And on each side of the driveway was a mass of life and colour enveloped in the fragrant air of June. Under its dominating spell, the Goose Creek folks sat until the mass of humanity began to move; only the babies slept, guarded by their mothers.

As though suddenly roused to action, the young people began to walk back and forth through the wooded space, some aimlessly, others with a definite objective point in view. From the chapel tower, the group from Goose Creek could hear a voice inviting everybody to come up and see the surrounding country.

“That’s Martin,” said Kid. “He’s got what he names a megaphone. I’d call hit a horn-a whopper. You kin hear hit a mile, I’ll bet; I’m goin’ up after a spell ter he’p him out—thar come the gals.”

“They’re just pouring into the Homespun Fair,” said Gincy, coming up breathless. “We’ve almost run so you wouldn’t get crowded out entirely. Sudie and Billy’d better come with me and get some lemonade at the stand; Talitha’s waiting over there for the rest of you.”

“I’d like ter see some kiverlids thet can beat mammy’s,” said Dan Gooch as they walked briskly along in the direction indicated by Gincy.

“I don’t reckon as how you will,” responded his wife. “She was hard ter beat.”

They turned into the arched entrance of a big, brick building and elbowed through the crowd toward a large room indicated by the guides. Once inside, Mrs. Coyle drew a quick breath of pleased astonishment. Long tables down the centre of the room were covered with linen squares of familiar patterns. There were also rugs and draperies, and innumerable articles of unique home workmanship. The walls were hung with “kiverlids” and quilts of brilliant patterns. The Rising Sun, Indian Feather, Fruit Basket, and many others showed to the best advantage in the well-lighted place.

Sam Coyle found his way to a table covered with splint baskets. “Look here,” he said, beckoning to Talitha and pointing to the price-mark on a medium sized one. “Seventy-five cents is a heap of money fer thet; I reckon they won’t sell nary a one.”

But Sam Coyle reckoned in vain, for Talitha showed him the little tag marked “Sold” tied to the opposite side of the handle; her eyes sparkling at his look of amazement. “I used ter make toler’ble fair ones myself, years back,” he said, examining it carefully.

Mrs. Gooch dropped into a splint-bottomed rocker in front of a gorgeous red and green quilt. She was studying the price-mark and the pattern. Ten dollars seemed an immense amount of money to pay for it. She beckoned to Mrs. Coyle, who was fingering the linen. “What d’ye think o’ thet?” she asked.

Her neighbour stepped back slowly, viewing the quilt from all points of vantage. “Yourn is a heap purtier, but this hez more fine stitches,” she remarked at last judicially.

“Mebbe hit hez, but hit tuk more fine pieces fer ourn, an’ I’d be proud ter git half as much.” Mrs. Gooch was thinking of Sudie and Billy, who would soon be ready for Bentville. Here was an unexpected source of revenue.

One by one Mrs. Coyle examined the squares of linen with a triumphant feeling. All day her heart had been sinking at the thought of her ignorance. She had been bewildered and overwhelmed by this new world of opportunity and knowledge. Now she experienced a quick return of self-respect as she heard well-dressed visitors exclaim in admiration, and saw the ready sale of the linen. She not only knew the patterns, but had worked out some original designs of her own. Here was surely a way to earn more money.

It was fully twenty minutes later when Gincy came panting in without Sudie and Billy. “They’ve found Pete and Isaac,” she announced, “and they’re going to the top of the tower. They’ll meet us somewhere near the Industrial Building. Come on.”

It was only a short distance, but every step was blocked by groups of visitors, lemonade stands, amateur photographers, venders of patent medicines. A wrinkled, toothless old woman sat close to the path smoking her pipe. She wore a black calico dress and sunbonnet, and black wool mitts. Gincy drew a long breath and thought, for the first time in her life, what it meant to grow old like that.

“Here we are! There’s an awful crowd, but we’ll manage to see things somehow.” People were pushing their way into the long building and filling the rooms on either side of the hall. “Let’s show them the cooking first,” said Talitha as Gincy started for the sewing department.

Mrs. Coyle edged her way to the glass cases in the centre of the room. They were filled with all kinds of eatables—salads, delicious looking rolls, pies, puddings, and chicken done to a turn. It took some time to convince her that everything was cooked in those queer-looking boxes. “Fireless cookers!” she exclaimed incredulously. “It do beat everythin’, Tally, how they do things here.”

“I can make one for you, mother, if Martin can’t find time; it may not look just like the ones here, but it will work splendidly, I know.”

“Shore?” asked her mother doubtfully. “I’d be proud ter hev one.”

The men folks seemed equally interested. They gazed at the canned fruit in the open cupboards, at the model table set for four, and were quite unwilling to leave when the boys came to take them to the Sloyd room.

The hall upstairs was crowded, there were so many things to see in the different rooms. Mrs. Gooch kept an eye out for Billy and Sudie, who had not put in an appearance.

“They’ll be in the Sloyd room, I know,” Talitha assured her. “The Shackley boys fairly live there; Abner and Martin wouldn’t be much better if they weren’t taking extra studies.”

The crowd in the room was beginning to thin a little. A few were still buying bookracks, paper knives, and other small things which were for sale.

Sam Coyle could hardly believe that the students had made everything on exhibition. He halted in front of a big, leather-covered chair. “Look here, you-all,” he said, sinking down with characteristic indolence. “Hit sets powerful easy, too. Thet’s what I’d hone ter do if I war young; we wouldn’t live like we do now, but thet’s plumb past mendin’.”

“No, it isn’t, father, if you’ll let Martin help you,” Talitha answered decidedly. “I always knew you were handy with tools, and we’re going to have some—there’s Sudie now, Mrs. Gooch; they’re all over behind that stack of things in the corner. Come on.”

“Look, mammy!” announced Billy as he pointed to a small oak table, polished to an astonishing perfection. “Abner did hit, and here’s somethin’ else,” dragging her farther along toward a wide, hanging shelf. “Hit’s fer books, and I’m ter have one eend.” He fairly danced with happiness, and Mrs. Gooch turned to her husband and son a face full of pride. Not one sacrifice which she had made for her children seemed worth remembering now.

It was Mrs. Coyle’s turn for self-gratification when Martin showed her his book-case and seat which were to be carried home in the jolt wagon. “I’ve some books to put into it, too. Professor Johns is going to let me take charge of the travelling library in a week or two, then we’ll have some good times at Goose Creek. Nights, after supper is over, we’ll take turns reading. Tally and I have it all planned out.”

The Shackley boys were not to be outdone by Martin and Abner. They showed their planting pins, clock case, and umbrella rack with much pride. Kid examined everything carefully for the fourth or fifth time. “I’m comin’ ter Bentville next year,” he announced decidedly. “I’m goin’ ter work in the wood-working department; they want more boys.”

Dan Gooch patted the broad back. “See you do, son. Your pappy kin git plenty of husky fellers fer blacksmithin’ ’thout usin’ brains, and you’ve got ’em.” Kid blushed and eyed Sam Coyle furtively, waiting for the accustomed gibes, but they did not come. The latter individual was apparently engrossed in a mental estimation of the height of the huge standpipe in plain sight of the back windows.

“If thar ain’t the Twilligers!” he said, looking around suddenly. “I’d an idee they’d drapped off’n the fur aidge of the yarth ’fore this, and had a notion ter begin sarchin’ fer ’em.”

Piny, radiant in a new pink lawn, with her father and mother in tow, bore directly down upon them.

“Here you are!” she exclaimed. “I reckoned the boys had tolled you over this way for the wind-up. Look here, pappy, what do you think of this, and this?” pointing to the various pieces of furniture.

Zeb Twilliger stared open-mouthed to the unconcealed delight of the young folks. It took some time to convince him and his wife that the boys had really done the work. “Wal, wal, I swan!” he ejaculated at last, peering down at each article critically.

“Ye’d better give ’em a lift gittin’ hit home,” suggested Mrs. Twilliger generously, and Zeb agreed.

A white cloud of dust hovered over the long procession which filed homeward, back to the hills. Talitha waved good-bye as, one by one, the college buildings were lost to sight, and Kid—with Abner behind him in the saddle—voiced the general sentiment of the crowd when he turned to shout cheerily:

“Hurrah fer Bentville and the Goose Creek folks who’ll be thar next year!”

* * * * *

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA