will you come in?" and the whole two hundred of
us piled over the piazza, getting a grasp of his hand as we came into
the hall, and a word from Mrs. Stanford, who stood beside him. They took
us into the library; we formed a hollow square, two rows deep on the
sides, and the Founders came into the square and talked to us. I
remember that Mrs. Stanford said, 'We were very glad, young gentlemen,
to hear of your success in baseball,' and what a chill it gave us, just
convalescing from the football fever; but we forgave the mistake when
she asked, a minute later, 'Which is Mr. Clemans?' That blushing hero
with the other ten we forced into the center to be congratulated, and we
sang the new song, 'Rush the Ball Along,' until the bric-a-brac
trembled.

"When we were quiet again, the Senator talked to us informally, as
though we were in reality his children as he had said we were to be. It
was an earnest talk, about his ideals of what the University was yet to
be, and his hope for their fulfillment; of economy and judicious living;
and of endeavor to be of use to the world. It was a privilege to stand
there listening. He appealed to each one of us individually. We could
not know then how few more such opportunities we were to have. When he
had finished, the dining-room doors slid back--it was a put-up job, that
serenade--and it was Mrs. Stanford's turn. After the supper, we gathered
for a little personal talk with both of them, then we had some more
mandolin music, and Baker sang 'Suwanee River' to Capron's
accompaniment.

"That evening brought the Founders pretty close to the crowd. It was a
good thing to have happen, it began things right. Then, you know, he
died suddenly, in vacation. I was in Yosemite. When term opened, it was
hard to get used to seeing her driving around the campus alone. I don't
think any of the people who came after those early days can ever be so
loyal to the Founders, to the person of one and the memory of the other,
as we are. I'm sure none of us who went over serenading that night will
ever forget it. It's one of the Pioneer memories."

Both graduates were looking into the fire. Freshman Haviland snored
softly in the window seat. The eyes of the rest of the chapter were
fastened on the chafing-dish. Shirlock's story had seemed pretty long
and the rarebit sent out a tantalizing odor.

Duncan called out, "Supper's ready, children," and the heated plates
came clattering up from the hearth, bringing