advanced, mounted
the rostrum, and solemnly seated herself in the high-backed chair of
polished walnut. Then Azzie touched the keys and gave expression to the
most melancholy dirge one could conceive. So sympathetic was her music
that a hush fell over the chattering audience.

"What has possessed the girl?" whispered Mame Welch, almost in tears but
determined to keep a brave front. "I feel as though I was about to attend
my own funeral. This is so unlike Azzie. Her music is generally
brilliant."

Still the wail of sorrow sobbed itself out from beneath Azzie's fingers.
In a moment more, the audience would have been in tears. She sat for a
moment silent. When she touched the keys again, it was to give expression
to a march, measured, heavy, solemn. At this, emerging from the rear of
the chapel came the Seniors, in caps and gowns, two by two, with heads
bowed, and "faces as long as the moral law," whispered Mame to Elizabeth.

The first six carried between them a long narrow box, over which the
Middler class colors, green and white, had been draped, and on which
rested a stiff wreath of white artificial flowers tied with streamers of
vivid green. Advancing to the front, the six bearers deposited their
burden before the rostrum, then took their places with the other robed
figures upon the front seats. All the while Azzie played her solemn dead
march.

At the conclusion, Miss Cresswell arose to announce they would begin the
services by singing the popular ballad "Go tell Aunt Nancy." At this, the
mournful singers, with Azzie accompanying them, sang in wailing,
heart-broken voices:

"Go, tell Doc Morgan,
Go, tell Doc Morgan,
Go, tell Doc Morgan,
Her Middler Class is dead.

"They're unreliable,
They're unreliable,
They're unreliable,
Is what she's often said.

"Their heads illustrate,
Their heads illustrate,
Their heads illustrate,
What a perfect vacuum is.

"Ofttimes she said this,
Ofttimes she said this,
Ofttimes she said this,
Teaching the Seniors 'phis.'

"Go, tell the doctor,
Go, tell the doctor,