One day a teacher from Berea went up to visit the school, and when she saw the bright, eager faces of the children, and the effort the teacher was making to have them learn to sing, she said, “Why, how much you need an organ here. It would lift these children into a whole new world of ideas.” “Yes, I know it,” answered Miss Barton, “but where is it to come from?” Well, Miss D. went home and thought it over, and then wrote to Miss Barton that if the people there would raise thirty dollars, she would see that they had an organ. Miss Barton did not feel much encouraged, for the people in that region are not rich, and one dollar looks very large to them. However, she read Miss D.’s letter to them at Sabbath school, and explained what an advantage it would be to have the instrument to use. To her great surprise they pledged the amount at once, though many of them cannot afford sugar in their coffee, or butter on the corn bread, which, with bacon, is the staple of their living. I have not time to tell how Miss D. raised the rest of the money, how she found a dealer who had a very fine organ to sell at second hand, and who threw off fifteen dollars when he found for what she wanted it—nor how one friend in Tallmadge and another in Akron helped on, and at last the organ was ordered and sent. It was expected on a certain Saturday, and on Sunday morning you might have seen the people gathering in unusually large numbers. All who did not walk came on horseback. There a mother with her baby on her arm, and a little girl behind her on the family horse. Here the father, with a three-year-old boy behind him on the colt, and yonder three older children on another horse, all sitting with that easy security they express when they say “I was born on a horse,” and thinking no more about it than you do when you ride in a street car.