Chapter 9 of Molly Brown's Junior Days by Nell Speed. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. THE GRAVE DIGGERS. Three times during the night, Molly and Nance crept into Judy's room and looked at her anxiously. She seemed to be sleeping heavily, but she tossed about the bed with feverish restlessness and her forehead was burning hot. Early in the morning the faithful friends were up again, tipping about like two raids of the dawn in their trailing dressing gowns. I'll bathe her face and hands before she takes any tea, said Molly. She's awake. I saw her open her eyes when I peeped in just now. Judy was awake and sitting bolt up right when they presently entered with the basin and towels.  Molly remembered to have seen it before when Judy was in the grip of the wander thirst. Here you are, sweet spirits of nighter. She cried in a horse-excited voice. Noce thou the land of sweet spirits of nighter? She began singing. Noce thou the sweet spirits? They are tall, slender, gray ladies done in long curving lines like that. She illustrated her ideas of these strange beings by sketching a picture on an imaginary canvas. They lean against slim trees. They have soft musical voices and speak gently because they are sweet. You see? And the land of nighter, what of it? It is a land of gray mists always in twilight and the sweet spirits who live in it are shadows. It is a sad land, but it is still and quiet and there are cool fountains everywhere. Sweet spirit, would give me to drink of thy cup? Molly and Nance laughed. They knew that Judy was delirious, but it was impossible not to laugh over her strange poetic illusion regarding sweet spirits of nighter. Setting down the basin and towel they retreated to the next room. We'd better make her a cup of beef tea as quickly as we can, said Nance. That will quench her thirst and nourish her at the same time. Good heavens, Molly, what shall we do if she begins to talk about the slipper and the lake? I don't know, replied Molly, lighting the alcohol lamp, while Nance found the jar of beef extract. I wish you hadn't given her so much physics, Nance. Molly had a deep-rooted objection to medicine, while Nance, on the other hand, was a firm believer in old-fashioned remedies. Her stomach was in no condition for all that stuff. It was utterly upset. Her gastric juices had been lashed into a storm and hadn't had time to subside. Nance smiled at Molly's ignorance. You were getting the emotions and the stomach mixed, Molly dear. Now, Molly had her own ideas on this subject, but it was vain to argue with her friend, the actual proprietor of a real medicine-chest marked household remedies which contained more than a dozen files of physics. Judy was, in fact, paying the penalty for her mental storm when, on the night of the play, she had run through the whole scale of emotions, beginning with stage fried in an awful fear and passing into modification, disappointment, rage, remorse, and finally sorrow, or it might be called self-pity, which inspired her to launch a canoe and paddle into the middle of the lake at midnight. It will never be known how near she came to jumping into the lake. It is difficult to reckon with an unrestrained, hypersensitive nature like hers, always up in the heights or down in the depths, sometimes capable of splendid acts of generosity and unselfishness, but capable also of inflicting cruel punishments for imagined offenses. Nance was from more medicine. Suppose I give her a big dose of castor oil, Molly, she suggested while she stirred the tea. She'd better take it before she drinks this.  Don't you see that it is entirely a mental thing with Judy? What she needs is absolute quiet, and the quinine has probably excited her and made her delirious. She doesn't need things to stimulate her. She's almost effervescent in her normal condition anyhow. Castor oil isn't a stimulant child. Perhaps not, but she'd better not be upset anymore, and in the end, Molly had her way. Returning in a few moments to bathe Judy's face, she found the sick girl half out of bed. Get back into bed, Judy, she said firmly. You're to have a nice quiet day in here and no one to bother you. Get the slipper. I'm looking for the other slipper, began Judy weeping. Oh dear, I must find the slipper. Nance, Molly, the slipper. Have you seen the slipper, the old oaken slipper, the ironbound slipper that hangs in the well? If it's in the well now, drop it to the bottom. I hope it's a deep well, the deepest well in Well County. It was unkind to laugh, but Molly could not keep her countenance. I might have known, she thought, that Judy could be more delirious than anybody in the world. Judy submitted to having her face bathed and drank the beef tea without a murmur. She appeared greatly refreshed and quieted, and said a few rational words about having had bad dreams. It was Sunday morning frosty and bright. The bell of the Catholic Church in the village called devotees to early mass. It rang out joyfully and persuasively, reiterating its message to unbelievers. It was a cheerful sound, and in spite of Judy's troubles they felt comforted. The steam heat began its pleasant maintenance in the pipes. The kettle on the alcohol stove hummed busily. Molly began to make preparations for breakfast. Although she was not self-indulgent, discomfort was never an acceptable state to her. Get your bath, Nance, she ordered, and then you can come back and make the toast while I take mine. Nance departed for the bathrooms with soap and towels, while Molly busied herself spreading a lunchcloth on one of the study tables and placing a blue china bowl full of oranges in the center. Then she carefully extracted four eggs from a paper bag in a box on the outer window ledge. Cut four thin, even slices of bread to be inserted in Judy's patent electric toaster, and at intervals poured boiling water through the dripper into the coffee pot. If I were at home this morning, she said, I would be eating hot waffles and kidney hash. Suddenly she looked up. Judy was standing in the doorway. Molly, she said, I want my slipper. Molly took her hand and gently led her back to bed. Judy, would you like a cup of delicious, strong, hot coffee? She asked, endeavoring to divert Judy's quinine-charged senses. Very much, but the slipper.  Molly hurried into the next room, found one of Nance's slippers, and greatly handed it to Judy, who grasped it carefully with both hands as if it were something very precious and brittle. When I gave her your slipper, Nance, I felt something like the old witch who had kidnapped the queen's infant and put a changeling in its place. Molly observed later in telling about this incident to Nance, but there is nothing to do but humor her, I suppose, until the influence of the quinine wears off. Where has she got it now, asked Nance, ignoring Molly's allusions to quinine. What, the changeling slipper? Under her pillow. Nance laughed. I'm thinking, Molly, she remarked, that today would be an excellent time to get rid of that other slipper. I don't feel as if I could sleep comfortably another night in these rooms with the guilty thing around. Until we dig a hole and bury it deep, we shall never have any peace of mind. Molly was carefully peeling the shell from the end of an egg. Do you think we could leave her alone this afternoon? She asked. How long does quinine continue its ravages? Oh, not long, answered Nance, in a most matter-of-fact voice. She's such a sensitive subject, that is the trouble. Quinine doesn't usually make people take on so. I never met anyone so excitable and high-strung as Judy. She gets her nerves tuned up to such a high pitch sometimes, that I wonder they don't snap in too. Nance, don't you think we ought to confess the whole thing to Miss Walker? Do you think Judy would ever forgive us if we did? Molly sighed. I'm afraid not, she said. Confessing would involve so much. We would have to go back so far to the original cause, those wretched Shakespeareans. It would be pretty hard on poor old Judy.  Where shall we hide it? We must dig a grave and bury it, said Nance, and we must do it this afternoon and get the thing off our minds. Then, all evidence will be destroyed and there will be no possible way of finding out about Judy. You have forgotten about the visitor to our room in the night. Yes, admitted Nance. There is that visitor. Who was she? What did she want? You haven't missed anything, have you? No, replied Molly.  She reached for the china-pig on the bookshelves and shook him carefully. His interior gave out a musical jingle. Clothed and fed and comforted, the two girls leaned back in their Morris chairs, with extra cups of coffee resting on the cheer arms to consider the question of Judy's slipper. At last they came to a mutual agreement. Atoyo, the safest, discreetest, and least inquisitive of their friends, was to be taken partly into their competence and left to look after Judy while they went on their mysterious errand. Atoyo, who had the racial peculiarity of the Japanese of never being surprised at anything, accepted this position of trust without a comment. Few students took Sunday morning walks at Wellington, and therefore morning was the safest time for the expedition. Judy, reinforced with a soft-boiled egg and a cup of coffee, appeared perfectly rational and quiet. She surrendered the slipper without a murmur, and turning over on her side dropped off to sleep. A not-at-home sign was hung on the door, and Atoyo was cautioned not to let anyone into Judy's room. She was to say to all callers that Judy had a headache and was asleep. Dressed for a tramp, with Judy's slipper in one of the deep pockets of Nancy's ulster, and a knife, fork, and tablespoon for digging purposes in the other, the two girls presently left Atoyo on the floor immersed in study. They had scarcely closed the door when Judy called from the next room.  As they hastened down the corridor, hoping devoutly not to meet intimate friends, Molly and Nancy were stomped by the irrepressible Minerva Higgins. Isn't this a stroke of luck, she exclaimed? You are going for a walk, and so am I. I was just on the lookout for somebody. Girls here are so industrious Sunday mornings, I can never get anyone to go walking until afternoon. Molly was silent. At that moment she yearned for the courage of Nancy, who, with the word, could scatter Minerva's cheeky assurance like chaff before the wind. It's a lack of character, I suppose, she thought inconsolently. But I couldn't crush a fly much less than that presumptuous little freshman. She stood back, therefore, and let Nancy have a clear feel for the struggle. You are very kind to offer us your company, Miss Higgins, but we must beg to be excused today, said Nancy calmly.  No, no, Minerva, put in Molly gently. You must not think that way about it. Higgins and I have some important business to discuss, that's all. You mustn't imagine it's unkind when older girls turn you down sometimes. You know it isn't customary here for a freshman to invite herself to join an older girl. I believe it isn't customary in any college. Don't be angry, please. Hidden under layers of vanity, selfishness, and stupid assurance was Minerva's better self which Molly hoped to reach, and someday she would break through the crust, but not this morning. Don't tell me anything about upper-class girls, conceited snob. I know all about them, exclaimed Minerva angrily as she marched down the corridor in a high state of rage. Don't bother about her. She's a hopeless case, just as Margaret said, remarked Nancy. Once off the campus they followed the path along the lake and turned their faces toward roundhead as being the spotmost app to be deserted at that hour in the morning. It was not long before they were climbing the steep hill. Here shall we lay it to rest, poor, weary little soul, asked Nancy, laughing. Let's dig the grave on the Exmore side, answered Molly. Behind one of those big rocks is a good spot. We'll be hidden from sight, and the ground is softer there. Talking and giggling, because after all they were entirely innocent of any wrongdoing, they set to work to dig a small grave for Judy Slipper. When the earth casts up its dead on the day of Judgment Nance, do you suppose the slipper will seek its mate? I hope it won't seek it any sooner, answered Nancy dryly. At last the grave was ready. They laid the slipper in the hole, carefully covered it with earth, and concealed all evidences of recent disturbance with bits of grass and splinters of rock. Then Molly, leaning against the side of the boulder and clasping her hands remarked, let this be its epitaph. Under the wide and starry sky, dig the grave and let me die. Glad did I live and gladly die, and I laid me down with a will. This be the verse she graved for me. Here he lies where he longed to be. Home is the sailor, home from the sea, and the hunter home from the hill.  Molly glanced up quickly. Just above them in the shadow of another big rock stood Professor Green in his old gray suit. So still was he that he might have been a part of the geological formation of the hill planted there centuries ago. Molly felt the hot blood mount to her face. How long had he been there? How much had he seen? What did he think? Forcing its way through all these wild speculations came another thought. There was a brown coffee stain on one of his trouser legs. She tried to speak, but the words refused to come, and before she could get herself in hand the Professor coldly lifted his hat and walked away. In his glance she read disappointment as plainly as if it had been written across his brow in letters of fire. Oh, Nance! She cried and burst into tears. He won't tell, even if he has seen Nance reassure her. Don't mind, Molly, dear. Come along. I'm not afraid. It's not that. It's not that, sobbed Molly. But then, of course, Nance wouldn't understand what it really was, because she hardly understood it herself.  He had heard the story of the slipper. Everybody had heard it. It was the talk of college. For a moment Molly felt a wave of resentment against Judy. Then her anger shifted to Professor Green. At least he might have given us a chance to explain, she exclaimed as she followed dance along the lake path back to the campus. As soon as they entered the room a little while later, they saw by Atoya's face that something had happened. What is it? They demanded uneasily. Oh, ejaculated Atoya, raising both hands with an eloquent gesture. It was that terrible misheagance. You had but scarcely departing gone when there came to the door a rep-rep-rep. So I thought it was you returning, and when I opened she pushed her way in so. Atoya gave an imitation of Minerva forcing her way into the sitting room. She say, I wish to see Miss Keen on a particular business. I say, Miss Keen has a sickness to her head. She say, move away little yellow peril, don't interfere with me. I wish to inquire after her health. Then she made great endeavours to remove me from the door. And what did you do, Atoya? They asked anxiously. Atoya's face took on an expression half-bumerous and half-deprecating. It will not make you angry with little Japanese girl? No, of course not, child. I employ Jujitsu. The girls both laughed, and Atoya relieved joined in the merriment. She received no bruises, but she received a shock because it arrived so suddenly, you see, so she quietly walk away and say no more.  Nance opened the door and peeped into Judy's room. She was sleeping quietly, the slipper clasped in both hands. Chapter 10 of Molly Brown's Junior Days by Nell Speed. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. A Visitive State Judy still slept the sleep of the exhausted. Her tired forces craved a long rest after the storm that had lashed and beaten them. The girls crept about the room softly and spoke in low voices, and when they went down to the early dinner, locked the door and took the key with them. After fearing callers, again they hung out a busy sign and settled themselves comfortably for a peaceful afternoon. Nance, armed with a dictionary notebook, was translating Le Miserable, a penitential task she had set for herself for two hours every Sunday. Molly was also engaged in a penitential task. She was endeavoring to compose a story on simple and natural lines. It was very difficult. Her mind at this moment seemed to be an avenue for bands of roving and irrelevant thoughts and refused to concentrate on the work at hand. She made several beginnings as, one blustering, windy day in March, a lonely little figure. With a contemptuous stroke of her pencil she drew a line through the words and wrote underneath. It was a calm, beautiful morning in May. Twirling her pencil she paused to consider the statement. No, no, that won't do, she thought. It's entirely too commonplace. She glanced absently over at the book Nance was reading. Victor Hugo would probably have put it this way. It was the 15th of May, 17. A young girl was hurrying along the route. She paused at the house, number 11. Oh dear, pondered Molly. One has to tell something very important to write in that way. It's like sending a telegram. Just as much as possible expressed in the fewest possible words. Can the professor mean that? Would he mind if I asked him and then at the same time, perhaps? Again, the wandering thoughts broke off. It's really hard he should have misunderstood about this morning. Is there no way I can explain without involving Judy? Oh dear, oh dear, how complicated life is and what a complicated nature is Judy's. There were two quick wraps on the door. Molly and Nance exchanged fright and glances. It was not the Masonic tap of their friends, and no one else would have knocked on a door which advertised a busy sign. There was, in fact, a note of authority in the double wrap. Some instinct prevented Nance from calling out, come in. A matter later for self-congratulation. She rose and opened the door, and President Walker entered. If Miss Walker had ever paid a visit to a student before, the girls had not heard of it. It was, so far as they knew, an entirely unprecedented happening and quite sufficient to make innocent people look guilty and set hearts to pumping blood at double-quick time. I saw your busy sign, said Miss Walker, glancing from one startled face to the other, but I shall not keep you long. What a pretty room, she added, looking about her approvingly. Thank heavens it's straight, thought Nance groaning mentally.  Asked Molly, pushing forward one of the easy chairs. The President sat down. There was a plate of cloudbursts on the table. Would it be disrespectful to offer the President some of this delectable candy? Nance considered it would be, decidedly so. Molly, a slave to the laws of hospitality, took what might be called a leap in the dark and silently held the plate in front of the President. If this turned out to be a visit of state, it was rather a risky thing to do. But Miss Walker helped herself to one piece and then demanded another. Delicious, she said. Did you make it, Miss Brown? Yes, Miss Walker. It had been purely a stroke of luck with Molly who had no way to know that Miss Walker had a sweet tooth. I must have that recipe. What makes it so light? The whites of eggs beaten very stiff and the rest of it is just melted brown sugar. It's very easy, added Molly, forming a resolution to make the President a plate of cloudbursts without loss of time. Who is the third girl who shares this apartment with you? Asked Miss Walker, unexpectedly coming back to business. Julia Keane. And where is she today? Nance hesitated.  Ahem. Cold, I suppose. It's more excitement than anything else, put in Molly, the junior play. Oh yes, she was Viola, of course, said the President. You see, she had a bad attack of stage fright, continued Molly, and Judy is so excitable and sensitive. She exaggerated what happened and it made her ill. What did happen? She forgot her lines, as I recall, but that often occurs. Even professionals have been known to forget their parts. Ellen Terry is quite notorious for her bad memory, but she is a great actress, nevertheless. The girls were silent. They wondered what in the world Miss Walker was driving at. And then what happened next? They looked at her blankly. What happened next? Repeated Molly. Yes, I want you to begin and tell me the whole thing from beginning to end. Molly rested her chin on her hand and looked out of the window. This is what had been familiarly spoken of in college as being on the grill. What do you want us to tell Miss Walker? Ask Nance with a surprising amount of courage in her tones. I want to know, said the President sternly, where you were between twelve and one o'clock on Friday night. You were on the lake, announced Nance, with keen appreciation of the fact that when President Walker made a direct question, she expected a direct answer and there was no getting around it. Alone? Yes. You mean to tell me that you three girls went rowing on the lake alone at that hour. What escapade is this? Her voice was so stern that it made Molly quake in her boots. But Nance was as rowic as an early Christian martyr. It was not a mad escapade. We did it because we had to, she answered. Why? Nance paused. This was the crucial point. It looked as if Miss Walker must be told about Judy Spolly or themselves be disgraced. They came for me, announced a hoarse voice from the door. It was such an unexpected interruption that all three women started nervously. But if Molly and Nance had been more observant, they would have noticed the President stifle a smile which twitched the corners of her mouth. Judy in a long red dressing gown, her hair in great disorder and her eyes glittering feverishly, came trailing into the room. In one hand she grasped Nance's slipper, and with the other she made a dramatic gesture pointing to herself. They came for me, she repeated. I had been angry and said cruel unjust things to Molly. Everybody went off and left me after the play. I was locked out and I was so unhappy I wanted to be alone. Water always comforts me. You see, I was born at sea and I took a canoe from the boat house and paddled into the middle of the lake. Then those two sweet spirits of nighter came for me and the canoe upset and I dropped my slipper somewhere. 5B is the number. I don't know who found it. Here's its mate. Judy waved the slipper over her head and laughed wildly. The child's delirious, exclaimed Miss Walker, smiling in spite of herself. They persuaded Judy to get back into bed and the President sent Nance flying for the doctor. Presently, when Judy had dropped off to sleep again, Molly finished the story of that exciting evening. But my dear, said the President, slipping her arm around Molly's waist and drying her down on the arm of the chair. What prompted you to go to the lake and nowhere else? I can never explain really what it was, replied Molly. I dreamed that someone said, hurry. I wasn't even thinking of Judy when I started to dress. You see, we thought she had gone to bed. I hadn't thought of the lake, either. It was just as if I was walking in my sleep, Nance said. Then we found Judy wasn't in her room and I knew she needed me. I remember we ran all the way to the lake. Strange, strange, said Miss Walker. She drew Molly's face down to her own and kissed her. There were tears on the President's cheek and Molly looked the other way. Sometimes, Molly, she said after a moment, you remind me of my dear sister who died twenty years ago. It was a good while before Nance returned with Dr. McLean and in the interval of waiting, Molly and Miss Walker talked of many things. Molly told her how they had buried the slipper on round head and of how they had seen the Professor and been frightened. They talked of Judy's temperament and of what kind of mental training Judy should have to learn to control her wild spirits. From that, the talk drifted to Molly's affairs and then she asked the President to do her the honor of drinking a cup of tea in her humble apartment. The two women spent an intimate and delightful hour together with Judy's sound of sleep in the next room and no one to disturb them because of that blessed busy sign. At last, Dr. McLean came blustering in and seeing the President and Molly in close converse over their cups of tea chuckled delightedly and observed, They're all alike the women folk. The talk lasts as long as the tea lasts and there's always another cup in the pot. Have a look at your patient doctor, said Miss Walker, and we'll save that extra cup in the pot for you. The doctor was not disturbed over Judy's delirium. Is Jus cry nine in excitements? This made her go a bit doffy, he said. Keep her quiet for a day or so. She'll be all right. Imagine their surprise ten minutes later when Margaret Wakefield and the Whames' peeping into the room found Molly and Nance entertaining the President of Wellington and Dr. McLean at tea. The news spread quickly along the corridor and when the distinguished guests presently departed, almost every girl in the quadrangle had made it her business to be lingering near the stairway or wandering in the hall. Only one person heard nothing of it and that was Minerva Higgins, who, after Vespers, had taken a long walk. Nobody told her about it afterward because she was not popular with the quadrangle girls and had formed her associations with some freshmen in the village. When it was given out that evening that Miss Walker had come to see about Judy, who had been quite ill, the talk died down. Having dropped the heavy load of responsibility they had been carrying for two days, Molly and Nance felt foolishly gay. Molly made Miss Walker a box of cloudbursts before she went to bed, while Nance read aloud a thrilling and highly exciting detective story borrowed from Edith Williams, whose shelves held books for every mood. By the way, Nance observed Molly when the story was finished. How do you suppose Miss Walker found it all out? Why, Professor Green, of course, answered Nance in a matter of fact voice. There was never any doubt in my mind from the first moment she came into the room. What? cried Molly, thunderstruck. There was no other way. He saw us bearing the slipper and I suppose he thought it his duty to inform on us. He didn't feel it his duty to inform on Judith Blount when she cut the electric wires that night, broke in Molly. Perhaps he didn't think that was as wrong as rowing on the lake with boys from Exmore. Besides, she was his relative. Molly took off her slipper and held it up as if she were going to pitch it with all her force across the room. Then she dropped it gently on the floor. I'm disappointed, she said. End of Chapter 10. Recording by D. R. Baker Robinson. Chapter 11 of Molly Brown's Junior Days by Nell Speed. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. A swapping party and a mock trial. There was never any tedious convalescing for Judy. No tiresome transition from illness to health. As soon as she determined in her mind that she was well, she arose from her bed and walked, and neither friendly remonstrances or doctor's orders could induce her to return. On Monday morning she appeared in the sitting room wearing a black dress with widow's bands of white muslin around the collar and cuffs. Molly and Nance were a little uneasy at first, thinking that the delirium still lingered. But Judy seemed entirely rational. Why, Judy exclaimed Molly, are you a widow? I shall wear mourning for a while, answered Judy solemnly, ignoring Molly's facetious question. It is my only way of showing that I am a penitent. I can't wear sackcloth and ashes as they do in Oriental countries or flagellate my shoulders with a spiked whip like a medieval monk. Nor can I go on a pilgrimage to a sacred shrine. So I have decided to give up colors for a while and wear black. Molly kissed her and said no more. She knew that Judy went into everything she did, heart and soul, even unto the outward invisible symbol of clothes. And if wearing black was her way of showing public repentance, she felt only a great respect for her friend's sincerity of motive. But what a way to tell people when they ask if you have gone into mourning, Judy, because they certainly will, demand advance, taking a more practical and less romantic view of the situation. Tell them I'm doing penance, answered Judy. And thus it got out around college that Judy was making public amends for her angry words to Molly. And there was a good deal of secret amusement of which Judy was as serenely unconscious as a pious pilgrim journeying barefoot to a holy tomb. In the midst of these happenings, there came a note one day from Mrs. McClain inviting the three young girls to the annual Junior Weekend House Party at Exmoor. Their hosts were to be Amy McClain, George Green, and Lawrence Upton, and they were to stay at the chapter house from Friday night until Sunday noon. It meant a round of gayities from beginning to end, but to Molly it meant something almost out of reach. Clothes, she exclaimed tragically. I must have clothes. I can't go to Exmoor looking like little orphan Annie. It was in vain that Judy and Nance offered to share their things with her. Molly obstinately refused to listen to them. I won't need any colored clothes anyhow, said Judy. Yes you will, Judy. You just must come out of those widow's weeds for the house party, Molly urged. No, said Judy. I've made a vow and until that vow is fulfilled I shall never wear colors. I've sent two dresses down to the Wellington Dye Works to be dyed black.  Now, I have a proposition to make, Molly. I'm in need of funds more than clothes just now and I'll sell you my yellow gauze for the contents of Martin Luther. He must be pretty full by now. He's plumbful, answered Molly proudly. I hadn't realized how much I had put in until I tried to drop a quarter in this morning and lo and behold, he couldn't accommodate another cent.  How much should you think he'd hold altogether, asked Judy? I don't want to be getting the best of the bargain and perhaps Martin Luther is worth more than the dress. No, no, protested Molly. He could never be worth that much. I think he has about $15 in his tum tum. I put in all the money I earned from Cloudbursts and about $10 changed up small for tutoring. Judy insisted on adding a blue silk blouse and a pair of yellow silk stockings to the collection to be sold. I'll sell them to someone else if you won't buy them, she announced. And if you need a dress, you might as well take this one off my hands. Well, Molly fondly agreed. We'll break open Martin and count the money and if there's anything like a decent sum, I'll buy the dress. Let's make a party of it, she added brightly. I'll cut the hickory nut cake that came from home last night and Nance can make fudge. It was like Molly's passion for entertaining to turn the breaking open of the china bank into a festival. Nance had once remarked it was one thing to have a convivial soul and quite another to have the ready provisions and Molly never invited her friends to a bare board. Try on the dress and let's see how you look in it, Molly dear, ordered Judy. We'll open the bank tonight with due ceremony but I wanna see you in the yellow dress now. The two girls were about the same height and build. Molly was not so well developed across the chest as her friend and was more slender through the hips but the dress fitted her to perfection. Oh, you're a dream, cried Nance when Molly presently appeared in the yellow dress. Molly, you are adorable, exclaimed Judy. You always look better in my clothes than I do. They always fit me better than my own, said Molly looking at herself in the mirror over the mantle. I feel like a princess, she ejaculated blushing at her own charming image. Oh, Judy, I have no right to deprive you of this lovely gown. Your mother, I'm sure, would be very angry. Mama is never angry, said Judy. That is why I am so impossible. Besides, I told you I needed the money. I have spent all my allowance and I won't get another cent for two weeks. Molly took off the dress and laid it carefully in the box stuffing tissue paper under the folds to prevent premature wrinkles. Her eyes dwelt lingeringly on the pale yellow masses of chiffon and lace. It would certainly be the solution of her troubles and oh, the feeling of comfort one has in a really beautiful dress. She put the top on the box and pushed it away from her. I'll decide in the morning, Judy. I can't make up my mind quite yet. It seems like highway robbery to take the most beautiful dress you have and the most expensive too, I'm certain. I tell you, I never like the color, cried Judy. I'm determined to wear black. When I have on black, I feel superior to all persons wearing colors. It gives me dignity. There is a richness about robes of sable hue. Someday I'm gonna have a black velvet evening dress made quite plain with an immense train stretching all the way across the room. My only ornaments will be a great diamond star in my hair and a necklace of the same and I shall carry a large fan made of black ostrich feathers. The girls laughed at this picture of magnificence and as Molly hurried away to invite the guests to the spread, she heard Nancy Mark. You'll look like the bride of the undertaker in that costume, Judy. Not at all. I shall look like the queen of night, Anna Oldham. Judy went to the door and looked out. Molly was safely around the corner of the quadrangle. Nance, she continued. Don't you think Molly would let me give her the dress? Nance shook her head. I'm afraid not. You know how proud she is. It's gonna be hard to persuade her to buy it at that price. You know it's worth lots more, Judy sighed. If I could only do something, she said. If I only had a chance, perhaps the chance will slip up on you, Judy, when you least expect it. That's the way chances always do, said Nance. It occurred to Judy, thinking over the matter of the yellow dress later, that it might be fun to have a barter and exchange party. And if all the girls were swapping things, Molly could be more easily persuaded to take the yellow dress. All guests, therefore, were notified to bring anything they wanted to swap or sell to the rooms of the three friends that night. It turned out to be a very exciting affair. The demands were piled with exchangeable property. Jesse Lynch brought more things than anybody else. Ribbon bows, silk scarves, several dresses, and a velvet toque. Millicent Porter, who now spent more time in the quadrangle than at Betify House, to the surprise of the girls brought a rather dingy collection of things, which no one would either swap or buy. But she enjoyed herself immensely. Edith Williams made two trips to carry all the books she wished to exchange for other books, clothes, hats, or money. But a Toyo-sen had the most interesting collection and was the gayest person that night. She was willing to exchange anything she had just for the fun of it. It was so exciting that they forgot all about Martin Luther until the time arrived for refreshments and they gathered about the hickory nut cake, now a famous delicacy at Wellington. What surprises me is how pleased everybody is to get rid of something someone else is equally pleased to get, observed Margaret.  I feel as if I had received a gift to have exchanged it for this green one of Judy's.  Oh, but I am the fortunate one, said a Toyo. I have acquired an excellent library for three ordinary cotton kimonos. But such lovely kimonos exclaimed Edith. Catherine and I are in luck. Look at this pale blue dressing gown, please, for a French dictionary. I have the loveliest of all broken molly, amber beads. But they did not appear becomingly on me, protested a Toyo not wishing to seem worsted in her bargains. And what do I receive in exchange? A pair of beautiful knitted slippers for wintertime. So warm, so comfortable. They were too little for me, announced Molly. It was no deprivation to exchange them for a beautiful necklace. Really, Judy, this was a most original scheme of yours. But what about Martin Luther, asked someone. I thought this spread was really for the purpose of counting up the pennies he had been accumulating. Molly took the china pig from the shelf and placed him on the table. How shall I break him? she asked.  Poor Martin, ejaculated Edith. He's not a wild boar to be hunted down and exterminated. He's a kindly domestic animal who has performed the task set for him by a wise providence. I think he should choose his own death. Every condemned man has a right to a lawyer, said Margaret. I offer my services to Martin Luther and will consult him in private. We'll give him a trial by jury, broken Catherine. But what's he accused of? demanded Molly. He's accused of withholding funds held in trust for you, put in Margaret promptly. There was a great deal of fun at the expensive Martin Luther and his mock trial. Catherine presided as judge. There were two witnesses for the defense and two on the other side and Margaret's speech for the accused would have done credit to a real lawyer. The jury consisting of three girls, Atoyo, Mabel, Hinton and Rosamund Chase, Millis and Porter had excused herself with a plea of a headache and departed, sat on the case five minutes and decided that the pig should be made to surrender Molly's fund in the quickest possible time and by the quickest possible means. It was almost time to separate for the night when Molly at last placed Martin Luther on a tray in the center of the table and with a sharp wrap of the hammer broke him into little bits. If interest had not been so concentrated on the amount of money hidden in the pig, perhaps it might have occurred to the company that Molly and her two friends had been playing a joke on them when they looked at the heap of ruins on the tray. But if this suspicion did enter the mind of anyone, it was dissolved at once at side of Molly's white face and quivering lips. My money, she gasped. What happened was this. When the China pig was demolished, there rolled from his ruins no silver money but a varied collection of buttons and bogus stage money made of 10. Only about a dollar in real silver was to be found.  At last exclaimed Molly, breaking the silence. But what does it mean? demanded Rosamond. It means, said Nance, that someone has taken all Molly's savings out of the China pig and substituted this. She pointed to the pile of stage money. But they couldn't have done it, cried Judy. How could they have fished it up through such a small slot?  It was a despicable action. Who among all the bright intelligent students at Wellington could have been capable of such a dastardly thing? They agreed that it must have been a student. None of the college attendants could have planned it out so carefully. Who else has missed things? asked Margaret with a sudden thought. I have, replied Jesse, but I never mentioned it because I'm so careless and it did seem to be my own fault. I lost $5 last week out of my purse. I left it on the window sill in the gym and forgot about it. When I came back later, the purse was there, but the money was gone. How horrid, cried Molly, her soul revolting and disgusted, anything dishonest. To tell you the truth, I have not been able to find my gold beads for nearly two weeks, put in Judy. I haven't seen them since, she paused and flushed. Since the night of our play, I remember leaving them on my dressing table that morning. Molly and Nance exchanged glances, recalling the mysterious visitor to their room that night. Several of the other girls had missed small sums of money and jewelry, which they had not thought of mentioning at the time. But how on earth was this managed? demanded Jesse, pointing dramatically to the broken china pig. I suspect, replied Molly, that this is not the real Martin Luther. When I bought him, there were several others just like him on the shelf at the store. Whoever did this must have bought another Martin and the stage money at the same time. They have a lot of it at the store, silver and greenbacks too. I saw it myself when I bought Martin. They keep it for class plays, I suppose. There was a long discussion about what ought to be done. The housekeeper must be told, of course, next morning and a list of all missing articles made out, headed by Molly's loss of almost $15. It was rather a tragic ending to the jolly hickory nut cake party. Molly tried to laugh away her disappointment about her savings, but she could not disguise to herself what it actually meant. I'm afraid I can't buy your dress, Judy, she announced when the company had disbanded. I'll end up one of last year's dresses. It will be all right. It's a lesson to me not to place so much importance on clothes. Judy said nothing, but she made a mental resolution that Molly should have that dress. The next morning, the housekeeper was properly notified of what had happened and it was not long before the rumor spread that somewhere about college there dwelt a thief. So remote did such a person seem from the Wellington girls that the thief came to be regarded as a kind of evil spirit lurking in the shadows and gliding through the halls. End of chapter 11, recording by Debbie R. Baker Robinson. Chapter 12 of Molly Brown's Junior Days by Nell Speed. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Alarms and discoveries. Several things of importance to this history happened during the week before the house party at Exmoor. One morning just before chapel, Molly was visited by several members of the Shakespearean society who presented her with a scroll of membership and fastened a pin on her blouse. They then solemnly shook hands and marched out in good order. By this token, Molly became a full-fledged member of that exclusive body. Margaret Wakefield, Jesse Lynch, and Edith Williams were also taken into this society. Most of the other girls in the circle were elected to the various societies that day. Judy and Catherine became Oyopodridas, which, as all Wellington knows, is Spanish for mixed soup. Nance was elected into the octagons and all the girls belonged to one or the other of the two big Greek-letter societies. If Judy had any feelings regarding the Shakespeareans, she was careful to keep them well hidden under her gay and laughing exterior. The Shakespeareans at Beta Fiehaus gave a supper for the new members and later a Millicent porter in a stunning theatrical-looking costume of old blue velvet received them in her rooms. Margaret and Edith were their best to this affair. The Shakespeareans were a dressy lot. I wonder why, in the name of goodness, they ever asked me to belong, exclaimed Molly to herself as she got into her white muslin, which was really the best she could do. I wish I could surprise somebody with something, her thoughts continued. College friends are just like members of the same family. I can't even surprise the girls with a shirt waist. They are intimately acquainted with every rag I possess. Molly enjoyed the Beta Fie party, however, in spite of her dress, which Millicent porter had dignified by calling it a lingerie. How much nicer you look than the other girls in more elaborate things, she said admiringly. Molly felt gratified. I don't feel nicer, she said. I have a weakness for pine clothes. I love to hear the rustle of silk against silk. Your blue velvet dress is like a beautiful picture to me. I could look and look at it. There's a kind of depth to it like mist on blue water. Millicent bridled with pleased vanity. It is rather nice, she admitted modestly. It's a French dress made by the same dressmaker who designs clothes for a big actress. Don't you wanna see some of my work? I have put it on exhibition tonight. I thought it would interest the new members. The girls here are quite familiar with it, of course. Molly was delighted to see the craftsmanship of this unusual young woman who appeared to be a peculiar mixture of pretentiousness and genius. When presently she led Molly into the little den where her silver work was spread out on view, it was almost as if she had turned into a little old man and was taking a customer into the back of his shop. Some of the other girls had followed and they now stood in an admiring circle around the table whereon were displayed rings and necklaces, buckles and several silver platters.  Millicent accepted this compliment with a complacent smile. Papa and Mama think I am, she remarked. But I have artistic knowledge enough to know that this is only a beginning. When I am able to make a vast relief of Greek dancing figures on a silver box, I shall call myself really great. At present I am only near great. What are you gonna do with these things? Ask Margaret. Oh, nothing, they just accumulate and I pack them away. I don't have to sell any of them, of course. Don't you want to exhibit some of them at the George Washington Bazaar, asked Margaret? The Bazaar will sell them for you at 10% commission. The money goes to the student fund. You can have a booth if you like and dress up as Benvenuto Stilini or some famous worker in silver. I am chairman and can make any appointments I choose. Molly could hardly keep from smiling over the expression on Millicent's face. The worker in silver and the dealer in the antiques were struggling for supremacy in the soul of their descendant. Oh, she cried in great excitement.  It will be the most beautiful booth in the Bazaar and I will choose Miss Brown to assist me. You shall be dressed as a Florentine lady of the Renaissance. I have the very costume. Now Margaret as chairman of the Bazaar preferred all appointments to be made officially but seeing that Millicent was very much in earnest and that such a booth would greatly add to the picturesqueness of the affair, she made no objections. There is one thing I would advise you to do Miss Porter. She said when the plan was settled and that is to keep your silver things under lock and key because there is a thief about in Wellington. You might as well know it because sooner or later you'll lose something. We all of us have. My monogram ring went this morning. I left it on the marble slab in the washroom and when I came back for it not three minutes later it was gone. Oh dear exclaimed Molly.  Why will people do such things? Millicent shrugged her shoulders. Perhaps they can't help themselves she answered. I've lost a few little things myself she added. But come into my room Miss Brown and let's talk about your costume. I have a gold net cap that will be charming. For the next half hour Molly was lost in the delights of Millicent's collection of beautiful theatrical costumes, pieces of old brocades and velvets. She drew them carelessly from a carved oak chest and tossed them on the bed in a shimmering mass of rich colors. Molly lingered so late over these rich stuffs that she was obliged to run all the way back to the quadrangle and fell breathless and exhausted on a stone bench just inside the court as the watchmen closed the gates. Nance and Judy were late too. Nance had been to a secret conclave of the octagons and Judy had been having a jolly convivial time with the Oyo Podridas. The three girls met in their sitting room as the last stroke of 10 vibrated through the building. They were undressing in the dark stealthily in order to avoid the eager eye of the housekeeper who was not popular when they heard a great racket in the corridor. What's the matter? Called several voices through half-open doors. The housekeeper making her rounds for the night passed them on the run. I've been robbed, I've been robbed! wailed the voice of Minerva Higgins.  Who has dared enter my room? What have you been robbed of? asked the matron sharply. She was a lazy woman and detested disturbances. Two of my best gold medals I won at Middletown High School. They were pure gold and very valuable. Good riddance, lacked Judy. If anything in school could be spared, it is her gold medals.  Everybody in the quadrangle has lost something. They haven't lost gold medals, cried Minerva. They haven't had them to lose. I could have spared anything else. I valued them more than everything I possessed. They will be heirlooms someday for my children to show with pride. There were stifled laughs from several of the rooms and someone called out, suppose you don't have any. Then she'll leave them to her grandchildren, called another voice.  Oh, fatty's gone now. Let's light a lamp, suggested Judy, who either felt intense respect or none at all for all persons. There was no moderation in her feelings, one way or the other.  It makes me uncomfortable. I can't think of anyone I could even remotely suspect of such a thing. She must be a real club, observed Judy, or she never would want the fair Minerva's gold medals. They're of no use to anybody but Minerva. Do you suppose Ms. Walker will get another detective like Ms. Steele, asked Nancy. She was a fine one. The way she tipped around on noiseless felt slippers and listened outside people's doors was enough to scare any thief. Oh yes, said Judy. She was the real thing and she wanted everything quiet. If Minerva Higgins had set up a yell like that at Queens, she would have been properly set upon by Ms. Steele. If Molly's mind had been especially acute that evening, she would have noticed that her two friends were keeping up a sort of continuous duet as they lingered over their undressing. As it was, she barely heard their chatter because she was thinking of something far removed from thieves and detectives. We'll be called down about the light if you don't hurry girls, she cautioned. Why are you so slow? By the way, did you know there was a package over here on the table addressed to you, Molly, said Nancy. Why no, what can it be? Filled with curiosity, Molly made haste to cut the string around the square pasteboard box. Whatever was inside had been wrapped in quantities of white tissue paper. It feels like China, cried Molly, tearing off the wrappings. Why, it's after 10 young ladies, said a stern voice outside the door. Judy turned out the light. It's Martin Luther, girls, whispered Molly. Judy crept to her room and returned presently with a little electric dark lantern her father had given her. This she flashed on the china pig. One sinner hath repented, she whispered. It is Martin. Nancy reached for the hammer. Break him open, she ordered. Let's see if the money's safe. He might be filled with stage money too. Molly struck Martin Luther with the hammer, muffling the sound with the corner of the rug. The flashlight revealed quantities of silver. Oh, girls, she exclaimed, I've got it all back. I'm glad the thief repented, and I'm glad. Oh, so glad to get the money. And now the sale is on again, said Judy, jumping about the room in a wild, noiseless dance. I can't resist it, ejaculated Molly. I'll buy the dress if you really want to sell it, Judy. They looked carefully at the address on the box. It was printed with a soft pencil and merely said Miss M. Brown. I suppose the girl felt sorry, Molly remarked. But it's a pity she started up so soon again after her repentance and took Minerva's medals. End of chapter 12, recording by D.R. Baker Robinson. Chapter 13 of Molly Brown's Junior Days by Nail Speed. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The moving finger writes. The girls had agreed to pack all their clothes in one trunk and carry a suitcase of peace to the junior weekend party at Exmoor. Nance was official packer and stood knee deep in finery while she considered whether it was better to begin with party capes or slippers. Molly was studying and Judy was stretched on the divan, idly swinging one foot. Atoyo poked her head in the door. May I ask advice of kind friends? Molly looked up and smiled. She had once heard a preacher say that humility was as necessary to a well-rounded character as a sense of humor and she could see now what he meant. Atoyo was an excellent illustration.  Indeed you may, little one, spoke of Judy. Come right in and state your grievances. Oh, I have no grievances. I have only happinesses, said Atoyo, but I am packing and I wish to ask advices regarding clothes. Clothes for what? For Exmoor, replied Atoyo, blushing and casting down her eyes.  I have obtained the knowledge of it myself only this morning. Mrs. McClain has so kindly offered to look after little Japanese girl. And who is your escort? They demanded in one chorus. Professor Green, said Atoyo, trying not to show how intensely proud she felt of the honor. He is what you call alumnus, she said, and he invites me to go with him and Mr. Andrew McClain, Jr., is making out a card of dances for me. Is it not wonderful? And is it not a great good fortune that I have now learned to dance? She began circling about the room. Only I can do it much better alone. Poor little Japanese girl would be frightened to dance with American gentlemen. The girls laughed again.  Atoyo was now well provided with clothes, and there being still plenty of room in the trunk, they allowed her to pack two evening dresses and a diminutive black satin party wrap with their things. Molly was half sorry that Professor Green was going, except at classes she had never seen him since that Sunday morning on Roundhead. Once he had smiled at her like an old friend when they had met in the main hall, but she was careful not to return the smile and bowled coldly. Yes, I am disappointed, she had thought. I am glad Prexy found out about us that night, but he needn't have been the one to tell. I hope I shall be too much engaged in having a good time at Exmore to see him. I'm glad Lawrence Upton is going to look after me because he always does so much for one. It was nice of Professor Green to take Atoyo. He is kind, of course. However, that afternoon when the trolley started with its load of Wellington guests for Exmore, there were several other parties, Molly found herself seated between Mrs. McClain and Professor Green. How would it happen, she could not tell. She had intended to sit anywhere but next the professor, whom she regarded as a false friend, but there she was and the professor was saying, Ms. Brown, you and I have been almost strangers of late. Are you working so hard that you have no time for old friends this winter? Molly paused for an instant to consider what she should reply to this question. Then she said a thing so bitter and foreign to her nature that the professor gave a start of surprise and Molly felt that someone else must have said it. I have plenty of time for really loyal friends, Professor Green, she said in a frigid tone of voice. She turned her back and began to talk to Mrs. McClain and for the rest of the trip that professor devoted himself to Otoyo. Molly was in high spirits when she reached Exmore. She was determined not to let her cruel speech ruin her good time, but through all the gayities of that afternoon and evening at the tease, the dinner and the Glee Club concert, the tang of its bitterness reached her. Across the aisle at the concert, she could see Professor Green sitting by Otoyo, smiling gravely while the little Japanese girl entertained him, but never once did he look in Molly's direction. A lump rose in her throat and she dropped her gaze to the program. It is never right to make mean speeches, she decided, no matter how much provocation one has. Aren't you having a good time? Asked Lawrence up to netterside. You look a little tired. I'm having a lovely time, answered Molly and I thought I was looking my best. Oh, you couldn't look any better. I think you are. Well, the prettiest girl in the room. I meant there was a kind of sad look in your eyes. Don't try to cover it up with compliments, answered Molly. When a thing said, you can't change it, you know. It's like this. The moving finger writes and having writ, moves on nor all your piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line nor all your tears wash out a word of it. Please don't be so severe, Ms. Molly, said Lawrence humbly. I wasn't thinking of what you said particularly, said Molly. I was thinking of any speech one might make and regret and never be able to recall. You are sad, said Lawrence. I was certain of it. Will it make you any glatter to hear about tomorrow? You are engaged for every hour in the day. I had a great to-do keeping a little time for myself. Three fellows wanted to take you driving in the morning, but I reserved that privilege for yours truly. Dodo and I are going to drive you and Ms. Judy over to Hillsdale after breakfast. Then there's the junior lunch.  It's like a reception. Prexy always comes to that and any of the alumni who happen to be down. A crowd of them come usually. Andy's giving a tea in the chapter rooms and there are some other teas and then come the dinner and the ball. If there's anything left of us by then, said Molly, laughing. It was an intermission and everybody was visiting as they did at the Wellington Glee Club concerts. Molly, the center of a jolly crowd of young people, joined in the merriment and talk and all the time there was a taste of bitterness on her lips and in her ear a voice kept dinning over and over. I have plenty of time for really loyal friends, Professor Green. That night when they had gone to bed in their rooms in the chapter house, they were serenaded by a roving band of juniors. When at last the serenaders moved away and the house was still, Molly could not go to sleep. Dozens of times she repeated her cruel speech. She analyzed and parsed it as she used to parse sentences years before in her first lessons in grammar. She named the subject, the predicate, the object and modifying words. She tried to define the meaning of the word loyal. What were its synonyms? Faithful was one, of course. When she closed her eyes, she could see her speech written in red across a black background like a flaming sign. Was the professor heard or angry or both? She recalled every kindness he had ever done for her and there were many. She remembered with a burning blush what pains he and his sister had taken to make her have a happy Christmas a year ago. He had informed President Walker on her, of course, but he was only doing his duty and she had made that cruel speech. I have plenty of time for really loyal friends, Professor Green. Her mind traveled in a circle. She tossed and turned, trying one side until it ached and then trying the other, resting on her back for a moment of finding the position intolerable. At last she fell asleep and woke up stiff and weary in the morning, devoutly wishing the day were well over. She had hoped to see Professor Green in the morning if only for a moment, but he had returned to Wellington leaving the entertainment of a toy-o in charge of some of his brother's friends. Of what earthly pleasure is a beautiful corn-colored evening gown when one's heart is like a lump of lead and one's conscience heavy within? All her numerous partners at the ball could not console Molly, nor could the knowledge that she was looking her best as she floated through the dances in her diaphanous dress. I know now how Judy felt after she was so unkind to me at the junior play, she thought, and if heaven is kind to me, I hope never to say anything to hurt anyone again. In the meantime, there were those who were enjoying themselves to the utmost limit of enjoyment. A toy-o-sin in a seventh heaven was dancing with young Andy who towered above her like a lighthouse over a cottage. Judy in her black dress was sparkling with vivacity. Her fluffy light-brown hair gleamed yellow and her skin was cream white against the dark folds of her chiffon frock. Could this be the same Judy who only a few weeks ago was contemplating heaven knows what? Nance, with one eye on Andy, was also happy and light-hearted. How trim and charming she looked in her white silk dress. Molly found herself laughing and talking a great deal and all the time she was thinking, we'll be back tomorrow at noon. On Monday, the holidays begin. Oh, if I can only see him before he goes. A great many young men came down to the station to see them off next morning. There was a din of farewells on all sides girlish voices recalling, goodbye. It was a jolliest dance. I never had a better time in all my life. Awfully nice of you to ask us. Molly had joined in the chorus with the others and had grasped many outstretched hands and smiled and waved her handkerchief and listened to a toyou in one ear crying, oh, Mies Brown, I do like the American young gentlemen very much. Well, Judy and the other was saying, wasn't it glorious fun? I never saw you look better. I have a dozen compliments for you. The car fairly crept back to Wellington so it seemed to poor Molly. At last they arrived and a carrielle took them back to the quadrangle. Without waiting to explain, she left her suitcase in the hall and ran to the cloisters. Pausing at the door marked EA Green, she knocked urgently. There was no answer. A door farther down the corridor was opened and the professor of French looked out. Professor Green has gone away, he said. He will not return until after the holidays. End of chapter 13. Recording by D.R. Baker Robinson. Chapter 14 of Molly Brown's Junior Days by Nell Speed. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. An invitation and an apology. Millison Porter invited Molly to go to New York with her for the holidays and visit in the Grand Porter Mansion. Molly understood it was a palace filled with tapestries and fine pictures. Millison had mentioned all those things casually. They would go to the theaters and the opera and ride about in motorcars. But Molly was glad she had kept her head and declined. I have some work to do, Millison, she said. I appreciate your invitation, but I can't accept it. You must, exclaimed Millison, too accustomed to having her own way to take no for an answer. Is it clothes, she added. Somehow she gave the impression of not being used to wealth. Molly hardly felt intimate enough with her to go into the subject of her own poverty and answer briefly, not entirely. Millison was not famous for generosity and the basket of red roses sent to Molly on the night of the junior play had been her one outburst. But she was determined to have Molly go home with her at any cost. Because she continued, if it's a question of clothes, I can arrange that perfectly. My dresses will fit you if they are lengthened and, well, there'll be plenty of clothes. Don't bother about that. Your yellow dress is good enough for anything. I should say it was, thought Molly rather indignantly, good enough for the likes of you or anybody else.  Now you must come, please. I want you to see my studio at the top of the house. To tell you the truth, I'm rather lonesome in New York. I don't know any girls well because I've never stayed at one school long enough to make friends. What's the reason of that? Asked Molly. Oh, I always get tired or something, answered the other carelessly. But say you'll come, do please. She went on pathetically. Then unable to stifle her grand air, she said, I doubt if you have such fine houses as ours in the South. Oh no, answered Molly quickly. I doubt if we have. Our homes are very old and simple. The only works of art are family portraits. We have no tapestry or a statuary. The house I was born in, she went on half smiling to herself, was built by my great grandfather. Most of the furniture came down from him too. Some of it's quite decrepit now, but we keep it polished up. My earliest recollection is rubbing the mahogany. You would doubtless think our house very empty and plain. We have some old crimson damask curtains in the parlor, but the rest of the curtains are made of 10 cent dimity. There is no furnace. We depend on coal fires in the bedrooms and wood fires in the other rooms, and we nearly freeze if there's a cold winter. We have no plumbing. Every member of the family has his own tub, and there are six extra ones for company.  He gets it from a big boiler attached to the kitchen stove. And when we are done bathing, he has to carry it all down again. Rather a nuisance, isn't it? But Sam doesn't mind. Oh, I daresay you'd think our house was a kind of a hobble. Molly paused and looked at Millicent strangely.  As for me, she said, no palace in all New York or anywhere else could be as beautiful to me as my home. Millicent looked uncomfortable. Be it ever so homely, there's no face like one's own, cried Judy, who at that moment who had come into the room and caught Molly's last words. What's all this talk about home? I was just telling Millicent about the old fashioned, whitewashed brick palace wherein I was born, answered Molly. I'm sorry you won't accept my invitation, said Millicent, taking no notice of Judy whatever. Perhaps after you think about it a while you'll change your mind. Her manner was heavy and patronizing and implied without words. After you have had time to consider the honor I am paying you and the advantages of visiting in my splendid home, you cannot fail to accept. You are very kind, Millicent, but I shall not reconsider it, announced Molly coldly. I have made up my mind to spend Christmas right here in the quadrangle. I hope you'll have a beautiful time. Goodbye. They shook hands formally. I'll try to see the best in her, she thought, but I'd rather not see it at close hand. She grates on me. Judy waved an open letter with a dramatic gesture. Oh, Molly, dearest, I'm glad you didn't accept. It's my own selfish pleasure that makes me glad, but I'm going to spend Christmas right here in the quadrangle too. Molly looked at her friend's eager, excited face and surprise. Do you mean your mother and father are coming here? No, no, they're on the Pacific coast, you know, and will be detained until spring. It's too far for me to take the trip just for the few days I could spend with them. So I'm going to stay here. A year ago, Judy would have been the depths of despair over a separation from her beloved parents at this holiday time. But whether she had gained poise by her recent sufferings or whether spending Christmas with her friend in the big, empty quadrangle appealed to her romantic nature, it would be difficult to tell. Through all the complexities of her nature, her devotion to Molly was interwoven like a silver thread, and the shame and remorse she still felt in looking back on that unhappy evening when she had denounced her friend only seemed to draw the two girls more closely together. Molly gave her a joyous hug. Oh, Judy, I am so happy. I never dreamed of such a blessing as this. Even a Toyo is going away this year and hardly half a dozen girls are left in the quadrangle. I am truly glad I had the courage to decline Melissa's invitation. It was only for one instant I was tempted to go, but she ruined it by a patronizing speech.  She has no charm if she can be on silver and she's so awfully conscious of her wealth. I don't know how I could ever have admired her. I suppose I was lured in the beginning by her fine clothes and her grand way of talking. She is very talented, Molly continued, but as you say, she lacks charm. Perhaps she would have been different if she had been poor and obliged to turn her gifts to some use. After all, I think we are happier than rich girls. We are not afraid to be ourselves. We wear old clothes and we have an object in view when we work because we want to earn money. Earn money, repeated Judy. I only wish I could give Papa the surprise of his life by earning a copper cent. Molly was silent. Her own earning capacity had not been great that winter. She had kept herself in pin money by tutoring, but lately she had made an alarming discovery. When she had first started college, teaching had been the ultimate goal of her ambitions. She intended to be a teacher in a private school and perhaps later have a school of her own as Nance wished to do. Now as her horizon broadened and her tastes and perceptions began taking form and shape, she found herself drifting farther and farther away from her early ambition. Something was waking up in her mind that had been asleep. It was like a voice crying to be heard, still immensely far away and inarticulate, but growing clearer and more insistent all the time. It made her uneasy and unsettled. She yearned to express herself, but the power had not yet arrived. The two girls went down to the village that afternoon to see the last train load of students pull out of Wellington Station and later to make some purchases at the general store. It was Christmas Eve and the streets were filled with shoppers from the country around Wellington. Molly was trying to recall the words of a poem she had heard ages back, the rhythm of which was beating in her head. And Judy was endeavoring to explain to herself why she felt neither homesick nor blue on this the first Christmas ever spent away from her parents. They paused to look in at the window of a florist who did a thriving business in Wellington.  We must have some Christmas decorations too, exclaimed Judy about to enter when the way was blocked by a crowd of people coming out. What pretty girls, continued Judy in a whisper, looking admiringly at two young women who came first. The prettiest one who had red hair, not unlike Molly's and brown eyes, called over her shoulder. Edwin, I shan't save you a seat beside me unless you're there to claim it. I'll be there Alice, never fear, answered Professor Green, hurrying after her with an arm load of holly and cedar garlands. Molly stood rooted to the spot while the shoppers crowded into the car. If I could only tell him how sorry I am for that cruel speech, she thought. With a sudden determination, she rushed toward the car calling, Professor. The girl named Alice looked around quickly, but apparently she did not choose to see Molly, and as the car moved off, she began laughing and talking in a very sprightly and vivacious manner. Molly sighed, the longer an apology is delayed, the more trivial and insignificant it becomes. He probably has forgotten all about it, she thought. He seems happy enough with Alice, whoever she is. Perhaps what I said hurt me more than it did him. But oh, I do wish I had seen him before he went away. It would have been different then, I'm sure. She followed Judy into the flower store. Mrs. McClain was there with Andy. Why, here are two lassies left over, cried the good woman. What luck mother said, Andy. Now we'll have some fun.  We will, won't we, mother?  You're still a lot of 10 and not 19, I'm sure. Don't you let him persuade you to give parties when you're not of a mind to do it, Mrs. McClain, put in Judy. I wouldn't miss the chance, my dear. I like it as much as he does. We'll have it tomorrow night and you'll come prepared to be as merry as can be and cheer up the doctor. He has been so busy of late, he has forgotten how to enjoy himself. He doesn't look as if we were going to spend such a quiet Christmas after all, Judy, laughed Molly when Mrs. McClain and Andy had gone. Judy was engaged in selecting all the most branching and leafy boughs of Holly she could find while the florist looked on uneasily. That afternoon, they spent an hour beautifying their yellow sitting room. And all the time, Molly's mind was harking back to Christmas a year ago when the Greens had busyed themselves preparing such a delightful party for Otoyo and her. And I said he was not a loyal friend, she said to herself. Oh, if I could only unsay those words. She sat down at her desk and seized a pen. What are you gonna do? Asked an inner voice. I am going to write a note and tell him I'm sorry. And then I'm going over to the cloisters and slip it under his door. It will ease my mind even if he doesn't get the note until he comes back. He'll know then that I couldn't go to sleep Christmas Eve until I had apologized. The note finished, she carefully addressed and sealed it. Judy was in her own room composing a joint letter to her mother and father and did not see Molly when she slipped out of the room and hurried downstairs. Outside the pale winter twilight still lingered and the sky was piled high with fleecy white clouds. It's going to snow, got Molly as she hurried along the arcade and opened the little oak door leading into the cloisters. End of chapter 14, recording by D.R. Baker Robinson. Chapter 15 of Molly Brown's Junior Days by Nailspeed. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. A Christmas ghost story that was never told. It was quite dark in the corridor whereon opened the cloister offices. All the teachers had gone away for the holidays and the place was as ghostly as a deserted monastery. I can't say I like to be here alone on a dark night if it is such a young cloister. It seems to have been born old like some children, Molly thought. She coughed and the sound reverberated in the arched ceiling and came back to her an empty echo. Pausing at Professor Green's door, she stooped to shove the note underneath when to her surprise the door opened at her touch and swung lightly back. With an exclamation, Molly started back, leaving the note on the floor. Leaning against one of the deep-silled windows just where the fast-fading light fell across his face stood a tall, stoop-shouldered man.  The rest of him was lost in the black shadows of the room. Once out of the ghostly corridor and the heavy oak door shut between her and the strange visitor in the professor's office, Molly paused and took a deep breath. In the name of goodness, she cried, what have I just seen? If he had stirred or blinked an eyelash or even appeared to breathe, I should at least have felt he was human. The big empty hall of the quadrangle seemed a cheerful spot in comparison with the cloister corridor. It was warm and light and from the senior's parlor came the sound of piano playing. But Molly never paused to look in and see what belated student was cheering herself with music. Only her own sitting room with its gay holiday decorations and Judy twanging the guitar could recall her to a world of realities. Before she reached the door, she had made up her mind that it would be just as well not to tell the excitable and impressionable Judy anything about the apparition or whatever it was in the professor's study. It was really an act of self-denial because it would have been decidedly interesting to discuss the episode with Judy. I would have told Nance, she thought. She would have agreed with me. I am sure that it couldn't have been a ghost because of course there are no such things. But if I tell Judy, I know perfectly well she will persuade me it was a ghost and will be frightened to death all night. Judy, still wearing her widow's weeds was singing a doleful ballad when Molly hurried in called by the Bonnie Mildombs of Benore. Molly was fond of this ancient song but she was in no mood to listen to it just then. The youngest stood upon a stand, the eldest came and pushed her in. Oh, sister, sister, reach your hand and ye shall be heir to half my land. Oh, sister, sister, reach but your glove and sweet William shall be your love. The guitar gave out a mournful twang. Talk about impressionable people. I'm worse than she is, thought Molly. I'll shriek aloud if she doesn't stop this minute. Just then the six o'clock bell boomed out and Molly did give a loud nervous exclamation. Judy dropped the guitar on the floor. The strings were sounded with a deep protesting cord and then subsided into resigned quietude. Molly, what is the matter? Your pale is a ghost. Molly smiled at her own weakness. Having just made up her mind not to tell Judy, she was suddenly possessed with a fever to relate the entire incident from beginning to end. If you'll promise to put on your red dress tonight by way of celebration and to cheer me up, I'll tell you a thrilling story, Judy. But I've made a vow and I can't break it. Did the vow stipulate that you couldn't wear colors Christmas Eve? No, not exactly.  I'll put on the red dress, said Judy, if you promise never to tell Nance, but I can't wait until after supper to hear the story. You'll have to. It's a long tale and there won't be time to dress and tell it too. Well, consented Judy. Because it's Christmas Eve, the very time to tell thrilling tales if they are true, I'll agree. And immediately she attired herself in the scarlet dress while Molly put on a blue blouse that by a happy chance matched the color of her eyes as perfectly as if they had been cut from the same bolt. Did it really happen to me? She kept thinking, or did I dream it after all? There was no chance to tell Judy the story after supper because the two girls were summoned to the parlor almost immediately to see three collars, Andy, Dodo Green, and Lawrence Upton. During the visit, Molly seized the opportunity to ask the younger Green where his brother was spending his Christmas. Oh, he's making visits around the county, answered George Theodore carelessly. He always has enough invitations for three but he was never known to accept any before. I don't know what's got into the old boy this year. He's getting as giddy as a debutante going to parties and rushing around in motors. I have had to make two trips over to Wellington, first to get his evening clothes because he forgot to pack them and then for his pumps and dress shirts, I forgot myself. When the old boy goes into anything, he always does it in good style. He used to be a kind of dude about 10 years ago but he's all the way to 30 now and he feels his age. Do you notice how bald he's getting? He'll be losing his teeth next. I'm glad he's having such a good time, said Molly, disdaining the aspersions cast by George's theater on his brother's age. I hope he is well and happy, she added in her thoughts. I am sure I don't begrudge him a jolly Christmas considering what a jolly one he gave me last year. I am sorry I left the note now. Like is not, he doesn't even remember what I said that day and when he reads the letter he won't know what I am talking about. At last the boys left. Judy was intensely relieved. She desired only one thing on earth to hear Molly's ghost story. All of her perceptions were on edge with curiosity but she was determined to have all things in harmony for the telling of a Christmas Eve ghost story. So she restrained her inquisitiveness until they had slipped on dressing gowns and were both comfortably installed in big chairs with a box of candy and a plate of salted almonds between them. And now begin, she said, sighing comfortably. But Molly had scarcely uttered three words when she was interrupted by the arrival of packages from the late train brought up by the faithful Murphy. Even Judy's unsatisfied curiosity regarding the tale could not hold out against these fascinating boxes and the story waited while they untied the strings and eerily tore off the paper wrappings. I suppose we ought to wait until tomorrow morning but since we're just two lonely little waves I think we might gratify ourselves this once. Don't you, Molly dear? Asked Judy. I certainly do, Molly agreed. Seeing as it doesn't matter to anybody whether we look at them now or in the morning. It was a long time before they settled down again to the story and Molly had not advanced to paragraph when there came another tap at the door. Evidently the quadrangle gates were to be kept open late that night or account of the arrival of holiday packages. This time it was a boy from the florists fairly laden with flower boxes. Andy had sent both the girls violets. Very sweet and proper of him I'm sure in the absence of Nance, laughed Judy. Lawrence Upton had sent Molly a box of American beauties and he could ill afford it the foolish boy ejaculated Molly. Dodo had expended all his savings on a handsome Jerusalem cherry tree for Judy. There was another box for Molly. It contained violets and two cards, Miss Grace Greens and Professor Edwin Greens. Molly blushed crimson when she read the names. For the thousandth time she covered herself with reproaches. She sat down and gathered the bouquets into her lap. Judy, she cried contritely. What have I done to gain all these kind friends? I'm sure I don't deserve it, the deers. But Judy was too much engaged with her own numerous gifts to contradict this self-depreciating statement. I am really happy, Molly, she cried. Even without Mama and Papa it's been a lovely Christmas Eve. With one of those divinations which sometimes comes to us like a voice from another land it suddenly occurred to Molly that whatever it was in Professor Greens office whether ghost or human perhaps the professor might not like to have it discussed and she resolved not to tell Judy or anyone else what she had seen. And then she continued, if he ever asks me whether I told it will be a nice comfortable feeling to say I haven't. At last having put the flowers back in the boxes and restored some order to the room Judy sat down and folded her hands. And now go on with the story. My dear child, so much has happened since then and I'm so weary. I don't think I can make it the frightful tale I had intended. Oh, it was all a joke, asked Judy whose enthusiasm had about spent itself in other outlets. Oh, partly a joke. I went down to the Cloisters to leave a Christmas note for Professor Green at his office and saw a ghostly looking figure there. Is that all? Well, anybody might look like a phantom in that gloomy place. I've no doubt the ghostly figure took you for another. I've no doubt it did answered Molly laughing and with that they kissed and went to bed. Long after midnight, Molly rose and slipped on her dressing gown. Creeping out of her room, she flitted along the corridor, turned the corner and hurried up the other side of the quadrangle. At the very end of this hall was a narrow passage with a window which commanded a view of the courtyard and the windows of the Cloister studies. Softly raising the blind, she looked out. In one of the studies, a dim light was burning. She counted windows. It was Professor Green's office. She was certain. While she looked, the light went out. Back to her bed, she flew with a feeling that somebody was chasing her. There's one thing certain, she thought drawing the covers over her head. Ghosts never need lights. End of chapter 15. Recording by D.R. Baker Robinson. Chapter 16 of Molly Brown's Junior Days by Nell Speed. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. More Christmas presents and a coasting party of two. All the bells in Wellington were ringing when the girls awoke Christmas morning. The sweet-toned bell of the Chapel of St. Francis mingled its notes with the persistent appeal of the Roman Catholic bell across the way. While on the next street, the bell of the Presbyterian church sent out a calm doctrinal call for all repentant centers to be on hand sharp for the 10 o'clock service. And in this confusion of sound came the tinkle of sleigh bells like a note of pleasure in a religious symphony. Merry Christmas! Cried Judy, running into the room with an armful of parcels done up with white tissue paper and tied with red ribbons. Here are the presents, Nance and the others left for you. My Lady Fair, arise, arise, arise! Merry Christmas! Cried Molly, bounding out of bed and rushing to find the presents she had been commissioned to take care of for Judy. The two girls climbed under the covers and began to open their gifts. Dear old Nance, ejaculated Judy, how well she knows my wants. She's given me an address book because she disapproved of my keeping addresses on old envelopes. And she's given me a pair of silk stockings, cried Molly, because she knows my luxurious tastes run to such things. Edith Williams is a class joker, remarked Judy, laughing. She sent me a novel by Black and she's written on the flyleaf. For the first six months, the merry widow read only novels by Black. Weren't they deers, broken Molly? They knew we'd be lonely and they wanted to make us laugh Christmas morning. Look what Edith sent me. It was a small round basket of sweet grass, no doubt purchased at the village store and inside on pink cotton was a pasteboard metal. Printed around the outer edge of the metal was the following announcement. Awarded to Palace Athene Brown for the best general average in good manners and amyability by the Wellington High School. There was a hole punched in one end of the metal with a blue ribbon run through it. On one of Edith's cards in the box was written, to be worn on great occasions. The two girls received other amusing presents. If their friends had hoped to cheer them on their lonely Christmas morning, they had succeeded wonderfully well. Judy especially was in the wildest spirits. It was a custom of hers to describe her feelings exactly as a chronic invalid recounts his sensations. I'm all aglow with good cheer. I could dance and sing. It must be a sort of Christmas spirit in the air. I do adore to get presents. I think I have more curiosity in my nature than you, Molly. Why don't you open the rest of yours? Molly was lost in admiration of a beautiful little copy of Materlinks, Pelleas Ed Melisande, sent to her by Mary Stewart.  Oh, she cried, taking the tissue paper off a small parcel. How lovely of your mother, Judy, to send me this beautiful lace collar. It's just like the one she sent me, answered Judy, as pleased as a child over Molly's enthusiasm. But do look in the other boxes. What's that square thing? If it were mine, I should be palpitating with curiosity. If Judy had guessed what the square box contained, she would not have been so eager to precipitate an embarrassing situation. Very well, Mistress Judy, we'll find out immediately what's inside. Where did it come from, anyway? There's not the slightest inkling of who sent it, answered Judy, examining the address printed in a sort of script. Whoever sent it knew how to do lettering, certainly, but the postmark is smeared. Molly cut the string and removed the brown paper wrapping. The article inside the box was folded in a quantity of tissue paper. It has as many coverings as a royal Egyptian mummy, exclaimed Judy impatiently. It had indeed. After stripping off several layers of paper, it was necessary to cut another string before the rest of the paper could be removed. At last, however, another China Martin Luther emerged from his tissue paper shell. The two girls gasped with surprise and consternation. Will wonders never cease, ejaculated Molly. I'm sure it's just another joke the girls are playing on us, broke in Judy with some excitement. Here's a card. What does it say? On a paste board card written in the same script as the address was the following mystifying message. Was it kind to put such temptation in the way of the week? What does it mean, Judy? asked Molly. I seem to be groping in the dark. Judy shook her head. You can search me, she said expressively. Why don't you break a hole in them and see? No sooner said than done, answered Molly. But I really feel like a butcher. This is the third time I've destroyed a pig. She cracked the bank on the head of her little iron bed, but only a silver quarter rolled out on the floor. The rest of the money was in bills, three $5 bills which had been compactly folded and pushed through the slit in the pigs back. $15 and a quarter, ejaculated Molly. That was just about what the original sum was, but I suppose in silver it was too heavy to come through the males. She lay back on her pillows, her brows wrinkled into a puzzled frown. It's a curious performance, she said after a brief silence. I don't understand. Judy at the foot of the bed, half buried in tissue paper and Christmas presents, glanced out of the window with a snowy landscape.  Molly looked at her a moment, but Judy would not meet her gaze. Julia Keen broke out Molly suddenly.  Mona Lisa. You have the same mysterious smile as if you knew a great deal more than you intended to tell. Now just turn around and look me in the eyes. Molly crawled from under the covers and put her hands on her friend's shoulders. Who sent me that first Martin Luther with all the small change? Judy's lips curled into an irresistible smile. There was something very mellowed and soft about her face like an old portrait, the colors of which had deepened with the years. You aren't angry with me, Molly Dearest. She asked, laying her cheek against Molly's. Angry, how could I be angry, you adorable child? You see, it was just taking money out of one pocket to put it in the other. And it was the only way I could think of to make you take the yellow dress. You wouldn't accept it as a gift. Of course, I never dreamed the real thief would repent. The two friends looked into each other's eyes with loving confidence. Dear old Judy, cried Molly. I don't know what I have done to deserve such a friend as you and what an imagination you have. Who but you would ever have conceived such a notion and to think too that I would never have known if the real person who took the money hadn't had an attack of conscience. It would certainly have remained a secret forever unless Nancy had confessed it on her deathbed, laughed Judy. She's that close. I imagine her first confession would be her last one. I'll wear the dress tonight, Judy, just to show you how much I appreciate the gift, announced Molly. Judy put on a broad lace collar that morning and a lavender velvet bow by way of lightening her morning. There was a good deal to do during the day, getting the room straightened and writing letters. All morning, the snow fell so softly and quietly that the quadrangle seemed to be isolated in a still white world of its own. Not even the campus houses could be seen through the thick curtain of flakes. Molly could picture to herself no more delightful occupation than to stay indoors all day and read one of her new Christmas books. Nothing could have been more cheerful than the little sitting room with its Christmas greens and vases of flowers. Curled up in one of the big chairs, Molly's mind wandered idly from the open pages of the book in her lap to the recent inexplicable happenings. Who was a mysterious visitor in the professor's study? After all, it was none of her business, but she felt some natural curiosity about it. Who was the girl who had stolen the China pig? I don't want to know, she admonished herself. Nevertheless, it was impossible not to make a few random conjectures. Judy, restlessly beating a tattoo on the window, was thinking the same thing. Molly, she burst out after a long silence. I have an idea who that girl is, have you? Yes, but I'd rather not mention her name. It's too dreadful. And you know how I feel about circumstantial evidence. All I say is, announced Judy, that it's a certain person who makes the loudest noise about losing her own things. Well, she's repented, said Molly, so let's try and forget it. There was another brief but eloquent silence. Judy pressed her face against the window pane. I did think, she observed presently, that those boys would come to take us out for a sleigh ride or a coast or something this afternoon. But we can't wait around here all day for them. It would be paying them too much of an honor. Why not go coasting ourselves? I'll get eat a sled and we'll walk over to Roundhead. That would be fine, said Molly, with all the enthusiasm she could muster. Reluctantly, she laid aside her book and began to dress for the walk. When two intimate associates are not mutually agreed, the more selfish one never dreams of the sacrifices of the other. Molly had no taste for battling with the snow and when, in half an hour, they found themselves plunging through the drifts on their way to the steep coasting hill, she turned a wistful inward eye back toward the comforts of the yellow-walled sitting room. The Morris chair, the prized antique rug, and the Japanese scroll with the snow-capped fujiyama and the sky-blue waters called to her insistently. Isn't this glorious, Molly? ejaculated Judy, fired with the energy of her enthusiasms. Delightful, replied poor Molly, brushing the snow out of her eyes with admirable pretence and cheerfulness. However, the snowfall began to diminish and when they reached Roundhead, the storm had apparently spent itself. Molly felt a glow of exercise she really needed and she admired the splendid panorama of the snow-clad valley stretching before them. It is beautiful, she admitted, and what fun, Judy, to go whizzing down Roundhead.  Clambering up the side of the hill had not been as difficult as they had expected because the wind had swept that part of it clear of drifts and the way was plain. When at last they reached the top, Molly was no longer sorry that Judy had dragged her from the idols of the king and the comforts of an easy chair. You're not afraid, Molly, asked the reckless Judy, looking with a glittering eye of anticipation down the long track of white over which they would presently be flying. I don't see why I should be, answered Molly evasively. Even if we fall off, it will be on a bed of snow as soft as a down comfort. Come along then, cried Judy. We'll have the sensation of our lives and we might as well make it a good one because it's beginning to snow again and we'd better not try it a second time. Judy had coasted down round head before and knew just the spot on the hill where the Wellington girls were accustomed to start the long slide on bobs and sleds. Sitting behind Judy, Molly closed her eyes and the sled commenced its journey. For some moments it skimmed along at a reasonable speed. But as it gained an impetus, she had the sensation of riding on the tail of a comet. Look out for the bump, called Judy with amazing calm and forethought considering the circumstances. But the warning had no meaning for Molly, whose experience in coasting was of a very mild and unexciting character. The shock of the rise caused her to lose her hold and the next thing she knew, she was very deep in a snowdrift and Judy was whizzing on alone into the unknown. I never did really enjoy coasting, thought Molly, climbing out of the drift and shaking herself vigorously like a wet dog. It's all right if nothing happens, but something always does happen and then it's a regular nuisance. Already the tracks of the sled were covered by the fast falling snow and it was impossible to see just where the tumble had occurred on the hillside. Judy called Molly, hurrying down the hill. While at the same moment Judy was calling Molly as she hastened back. The two girls passed each other at no great distance apart, but they might have been as widely separated as the poles for all they could see or hear in the blinding snowstorm. After calling and searching in vain, Judy started back to Wellington, feeling sure that her friend had gone that way and Molly, who was gifted with no bump of location, whatever, blindly groping in the snowstorm turned in the opposite direction. End of chapter 16. Recording by D.R. Baker Robinson.