Grace Harlowes Third Year at Overton College | Page 3

shall I sing of brooks and meadows, fields and
flowers?"
"Sing that funny one you sang for the fellows the night of the Pi Ipsilon
dinner," urged David.
"Very well," beamed Hippy. "Remember, to the singer belongs the
food. I always negotiate for refreshments before lifting up my voice in
song."
"I will see that you are taken care of, Hippy," smiled Mrs. Harlowe,
who had come out on the veranda in time to hear Hippy's declaration.
"Hello, Mother dear," called Grace, "I didn't know you were there."
The young people were on their feet in an instant. Grace led her mother
to a chair. "Stay with us awhile, Mother," she said. "Hippy is going to
sing, and Nora, too."

"Then I shall surely stay," replied Mrs. Harlowe. "And after the songs
you must come into the house and be my guests. The table is set for
seven."
"How nice in you, Mother!" exclaimed Grace, kissing her mother's
cheek. "You are always doing the things that make people happy. Nora
and Hippy, please sing your very best for Mother. You first, Hippy,
because I want Nora to sing Tosti's 'Serenata,' and a comic song
afterward will completely spoil the effect."
Hippy sang two songs in his own inimitable fashion. Then Nora's sweet,
high soprano voice began the "Serenata" to the subdued tinkling
accompaniment of Reddy's mandolin. Two years in the conservatory
had done much for Nora's voice, though its plaintive sweetness had
been her natural heritage. As they listened to the clear, rounded tones,
with just a suspicion of sadness in them, the little company realized to a
person that Nora's hopes of becoming known in the concert or grand
opera world were quite likely to be fulfilled.
"How I wish Anne were here to-night," lamented Grace, after having
vigorously applauded Nora's song. "She loves to hear you sing, Nora."
"I know it," sighed Nora. "Dear little Anne! I'm so sorry we can't see
her before we go back to the conservatory. While we have been sitting
here singing and enjoying ourselves, Anne has been appearing in her
farewell performance. I am glad we had a chance to visit her this
summer, even though we had to cross the state to do it."
"She will be here to-morrow night, but we shall be at the end of our
journey by that time," lamented Jessica. "I wish we might stay and see
her, but we can't."
"Never mind, you will meet her at Christmas time, when the Eight
Originals gather home," comforted Miriam.
"But we'd like to see her now," interposed David mournfully. "What is
Oakdale without Anne?"

At that moment Mrs. Harlowe, who, after Nora's song, had excused
herself and gone into the house, appeared in the door.
"Come, children," she smiled, "the feast is spread."
"May I escort you to the table?" asked David gravely, offering her his
arm. Heading the little procession, they led the way to the dining room,
followed by Reddy and Jessica, Hippy and Nora, Grace, Tom and
Miriam.
There for the next hour goodfellowship reigned supreme, and when at
last the various members of the little clan departed for home, each one
carried in his or her heart the conviction that Life could never offer
anything more desirable than these happy evenings which they had
spent together.
"I can't tell you how much I missed Anne to-night," said Grace to her
mother as, arm in arm, they stood on the veranda watching their guests
until they had turned the corner of the next street.
"We all missed her," replied her mother, "but I believe David felt her
absence even more keenly than we did. He is very fond of Anne. I
wonder if she realizes that he really loves her, and that he will some
day tell her so? She is such a quiet, self-contained little girl. Her
emotions are all kept for her work."
"I believe she does," said Grace. "She has never spoken of it to me.
David has been her faithful knight ever since her freshman year at high
school, so she ought to have a faint inkling of what the rest of us know.
I am sorry for David. Anne's art is a powerful rival, and she is growing
fonder of it with every season. If, after she finishes college, she were to
marry David, she would be obliged to give it up. Since the Southards
came into her life she has grown to love her profession so dearly that I
don't imagine she would sacrifice it even for David's sake."
"It sounds rather strange to hear my little girl talking so wisely of other
people's love affairs," smiled Mrs. Harlowe almost wistfully.

"I know what you are thinking, Motherkin," responded Grace, slipping
both arms about her mother and drawing her gently into