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.