A sudden rush. Some one occupied the stand. A notice.
"A telegram!" said a ringing voice. "For Mrs. C.G. Hammond.
Marked—'Death!'"
A sympathetic murmur ran through the great company, as they moved and wedged and fell back, and did almost impossible things, to make a road out of that dense throng of humanity for the one to whom the president had suddenly become an insignificance.
Just then came the "Wyoming Trio." Blessings on them, whoever they are. Nothing ever could have fitted in more splendidly than they did just there and then. And the singing rested and helped them all.
Now a sensation came in the shape of a poem that had been written for the occasion, and was to be learned to sing in greeting to the president. How they rang those jubilant words through those old trees! Tender, touching words, with the Chautauqua key-note quivering all through them.
"Greet him! Let the air around him
Benedictions bear;
Let the hearts of all the people
Circle him with prayer.'
"I wonder if he realizes what a blessed thing it is to be circled with prayer?" said she of the Teacher's Bible, turning a thoughtful face upon the four girls who had attracted her attention.
"I wonder who Mary A. Lathbury is?" said Eurie, reading from the poem. "She is a poet, whoever she is. There isn't a line in this that is simply rhyme. I doubt if the president ever had such a rhythmical tribute as that."
"She is the lady with blue eyes and curls who designs the pictures in that charming child's paper which flutters around here. I have forgotten the name of it, but the pictures are little poems themselves."
This was Flossy's bit of information.