“The first chair!” “Lead the procession!” Mrs. Comstock was dumbfounded.  The notes of the pipe organ began to fill the building in a slow rolling march.  Would Elnora lead the procession in a gingham dress?  Or would she be absent and her chair vacant on this great occasion?  For now, Mrs. Comstock could see that it was a great occasion.  Every one would remember how Elnora had played a few nights before, and they would miss her and pity her.  Pity?  Because she had no one to care for her.  Because she was worse off than if she had no mother.  For the first time in her life, Mrs. Comstock began to study herself as she would appear to others.  Every time a junior girl came fluttering down the aisle, leading some one to a seat, and Mrs. Comstock saw a beautiful white dress pass, a wave of positive illness swept over her.  What had she done?  What would become of Elnora?

As Elnora rode to the city, she answered Wesley’s questions in monosyllables so that he thought she was nervous or rehearsing her speech and did not care to talk.  Several times the girl tried to tell him and realized that if she said the first word it would bring uncontrollable tears.  The Bird Woman opened the screen and stared unbelievingly.

“Why, I thought you would be ready; you are so late!” she said.  “If you have waited to dress here, we must hurry.”

“I have nothing to put on,” said Elnora.

In bewilderment the Bird Woman drew her inside.

“Did—­did—­” she faltered.  “Did you think you would wear that?”

“No.  I thought I would telephone Ellen that there had been an accident and I could not come.  I don’t know yet how to explain.  I’m too sick to think.  Oh, do you suppose I can get something made by Tuesday, so that I can graduate?”

“Yes; and you’ll get something on you to-night, so that you can lead your class, as you have done for four years.  Go to my room and take off that gingham, quickly.  Anna, drop everything, and come help me.”

The Bird Woman ran to the telephone and called Ellen Brownlee.

“Elnora has had an accident.  She will be a little late,” she said.  “You have got to make them wait.  Have them play extra music before the march.”

Then she turned to the maid.  “Tell Benson to have the carriage at the gate, just as soon as he can get it there.  Then come to my room.  Bring the thread box from the sewing-room, that roll of wide white ribbon on the cutting table, and gather all the white pins from every dresser in the house.  But first come with me a minute.”

“I want that trunk with the Swamp Angel’s stuff in it, from the cedar closet,” she panted as they reached the top of the stairs.

They hurried down the hall together and dragged the big trunk to the Bird Woman’s room.  She opened it and began tossing out white stuff.

“How lucky that she left these things!” she cried.  “Here are white shoes, gloves, stockings, fans, everything!”