 CHAPTER 17 The Wayfarers Human beings have been variously compared by imaginative persons, to prongs on a chessboard, storm-toss boats on the sea of life, pilgrims on a weary way, and other things of no resemblance whatever to the foregoing, molly marching stolically along the lonely road under the impression that she was on her way to Wellington when she was really turned towards Exmor might have fitted into any of those comparisons rather more literally than was intended. She was certainly a storm-tossed pilgrim, if not a boat, the way was decidedly weary and as pawn, pilgrim, or ship, whichever you will she was about to come in contact with another of life's pawns, pilgrims, or ships, to the decided advantage of the one and amazement of the other. This new pawn, pilgrim, or ship, was now advancing down the road and molly, mindful of the fact that she was not getting anywhere when she felt sure that by this time she should have at least reached the lake, was not sorry to see a human being. The stranger looked decidedly like the pilgrim of romance. He wore an old black-felt hat with a broad, slouching brim and a long Spanish cape reaching below his knees. His staff was a rosewood cane with a silver knob. He was about to pass molly without even glancing in her direction when she stopped him. Would you mind telling me if it's very far from Wellington? She asked. I'm afraid I'm lost. Do you imagine you are going to Wellington? He demanded, looking up. Instantly molly recognized him. He was the man she had seen the night before in Professor Green's study. I did think so, she answered meekly. I would advise you to go in the opposite direction, then, he said. Exmoor lies that way. He pointed down the road with his stick. How stupid of me, exclaimed molly, I was coasting and tumbled off the sled. I was completely dazed. I suppose when I crawled out of the drift. Though two walked along in silence molly gave the man a covert glance. He was very distinguished looking and vaguely reminded her of someone. You are one of the students of Wellington, he asked presently. Yes, sir, answered molly respectfully. The stranger smiled. You are from the south. I never heard a girl across the boundary lying, you sir. I am, she answered briefly. And from what part, may I ask? From Carmichael Station, Kentucky. The man stopped as if he had been struck a blow in the face. Carmichael Station, Kentucky, he repeated in a half whisper. Having a leather wallet from his inside pocket, he took out a folded legal cap document and opened it. A hymn? Not far to go, he said in a low voice, running down a list with one finger. Your name? Brown. Mildred Carmichael Brown, I presume? No, Mary, my sister's name, Mildred. The old man refolded the document, put it carefully back in the wallet, which he returned to his pocket. Then he resumed his walk, muttering to himself. Strange, strange, molly heard him say, here in a snowstorm, in the wilderness, on Christmas day two, I should happen to meet. I can't get away from them, he cried angrily, waving his cane. Those victims, everywhere, they rise up and confront me when I'm sleeping or waking, like ghosts of the past. His mutterings gradually became inarticulate as he wrapped his cape around him and stalked through the snow. Hunted, hunted, hounded about, he began again. Suddenly he stopped, took off his hat, and held his face up to heaven, as if he were about to address some unseen power. I'm tired, he cried. I've had enough of these wanderings, these eternal haunting visions, let me have peace. He shook his cane impotently at the overcast skies. It was then that molly recognized him. On that very day, but one a year ago, had she not seen Judith Blunt stand under a wintry sky and defy heaven in the same rebellious way. Judith's father had come back from South America, and was hiding in the professor's room at Wellington, and how light they were, the father and daughter, the same black eyes, too close together, the same handsome aquiline noses, and the same self-pedying, brooding natures. Evidently, Mr. Blunt had suffered deeply. Molly thought he must be very poor. Looking at him closely, she noticed the shabby gentility of his appearance, the shiny seams of his Spanish cape, which had been torn and patched in many places. His old thin shoes split across the toes, and his worn, trouble-stained hat. She wondered if he had any money. She suspected that he was very hungry, and her soul was moved with pity for the poor, broken old man, who had once been worth millions. Mr. Blunt, she began, "'How did you know my name?' he cried, shivering all over, like a whip-dog. I didn't mention it, did I? I haven't told any one, have I? I came down here in disguise,' he laughed feebly, disguised as a broken old man. I went to Edwin's rooms,' he wandered on, forgetting that he had asked Molly a question. "'You know where they are?' Molly nodded her head. She knew quite well that Professor lodged in one of the former college houses built on the old campus. Years long ago before the quadrangle had been built, flanking the new campus. The housekeeper recognized me as a relation, and I waited in his room some hours. Went on the old man in a trembling voice. And where did you spend the night? In the cloister study I found the key on his desk. It was marked cloister study. But where did you eat?' asked Molly gently. The melting sympathy in her eyes and voice encouraged the old man to pour out his woes. Evidently it was a great relief to him to talk after his miseries and hardships. "'I've been living off apples,' he said. Very fine apples. They were—there was a basket of them on Edwin's study table. But there's an inn in the village,' she exclaimed. He smiled grimly. "'I have come all the way from Cracus to Wellington,' he said. "'I was poor when I started—yes, miserably, wretchedly poor. I am an old man, old and broken. I want peace. Do you understand? Peace!' They had reached the lake, and in fifty minutes would arrive at the quadrangle. Mr. Blunt was leading the way, occasionally hitting the ground savagely with his cane. Molly thrust her hand into her blouse, and drew out a chamois, skin-bag, which hung by a silk tape around her neck. Since the pofering had been going on at Wellington, she carried what little money she had with her during the day, and hid it under her pillow at night. Extracting ten dollars from the bag, she hurried to the old man's side and touched him on the shoulder. "'Mr. Blunt, I'm under great obligations to your cousin. She has been very kind to me—always—and I'd like you to—I'd—' It was difficult to know what to say. Was it not strange for her, a poor little school girl, to be offering money to a man who had so recently been a millionaire? Won't you take this money?' She began again, resolutely. "'I don't think anyone will recognize you at the inn. It's just a little country place, and you will be quite comfortable there, until I find Professor Green. I may get word to him tonight or to-morrow at any rate. Mr. Blunt, I'd the money, as a hungry dog, eyes a bone. Evidently hunger and fatigue had gotten the better of his pride. He took the bill and touched it lovingly. Then he put it in his pocket. "'You're a nice girl,' he said. "'I thank you.' "'Would you like to see George Green?' asked Molly timidly. "'No, no, no,' he answered fiercely. "'Not that young fool. I don't suppose Judith is here.' He added presently in a tremendous voice. "'No, sir, she is in New York for the holidays.' They shook hands and separated. Mr. Blunt took the path down, the other side of the lake, across the links, to the village, and Molly followed the path on the college side. As she cut through the pine woods, she heard a shout. "'Molly Brown, where have you been? We have had a search for you,' cried Judy, rushing up, followed by the three boys. "'I reckon I'd been a good deal, like the pig, who thought he was going to cork, when he was really going to Dublin,' laughed Molly. "'If I hadn't asked the way, I suppose I'd been almost to Exmoor by this time. I am a poor person to find my way about. My brother used to tell me to take the direction opposite to the one my instincts told me to take, and then I'd be going right. In other words, first make sure you're right, then take the other way,' said Lawrence Upton, laughing. "'You'd make a good explorer, Miss Molly,' remarked Andy McClain, "'you might discover the South Pole and think all the time it was the North Pole.' "'That would be of great benefit to humanity,' answered Molly, "'but you may be sure I'd stop and ask a policeman before I've reached the equator.' "'It's your proper punishment for cutting church this morning,' here put in George Green. "'I don't know whether it was because it was a good excuse to go slaying, but a lot of people were at the 10th service. Even old Edwin came in the trail of Alice Furn.' "'What a pretty name,' said Molly. It sounds so woodsy.' "'She's a cousin,' George went on, and a winner too. They've got a Jim Dandy place ten miles the other side of Wellington, Furn Grove. We spent last years with them and had a cracker-jack time.' "'George Theodore Green,' ejaculated Judy, "'I never heard so much slang. I wonder you are allowed inside Exmoor.' "'Oh, I cut it out there. I only use it when it's safe. I regard that a slight on-present company broke in Andy. I think you just have to take a little dose of punishment for that, Dodo. Get busy, Larry.' There was a wild scramble in the snow, and finally Dodo, who had developed into a big strapping fellow, stronger than either of his friends, entrenched himself behind a tree and began throwing snowballs with the un-airing aim of the best pitcher on the Exmoor team. Molly hastened on to the quadrangle, while Judy, with true sportsman taste, waited to see the fun. Molly went straight to the telephone booths in the basement corridor. By good fortune, the haughty being who presided at the switchboard was hovering about waiting for a long-distance call from a certain party in New York, that she alone in all the world was concerned in this call, and that she wished to have this corner of the globe entirely to herself for the full enjoyment of it, were very evident facts when Molly asked for Fern XVI Wellington. "'I'm not working today,' announced the operator shortly, arranging her huge psych-naught at the mirror beside her desk. She looked into the girl's implacable face. No feminine appeal would melt that heart of stone, but perhaps the nagent name of a man might fix her. "'Would you do it to oblige, Professor Green? I have an important message for him. "'I guess that's different,' announced the owner of the psych-naught, with a high-nasal accent. "'Why didn't you say so at first? "'I guess Professor Green is about the nicest gentleman around here.' Sitting down at the switchboard, she slipped on the headpiece with a professional flourish, then with a hand then quicker than eye movement. She pushed several organ stops up and down, struck the end of a green tube into a hole, and remarked in a high-pitched voice, that had great projective powers. "'Wellington Exchange, hello?' "'Yes, I know it's Christmas. On hand for a long distance, are you?' "'Oh, you well, say listen. To oblige a certain party, a very attractive gentleman, call up Fern XVI Wellington. Then there was a detached monologue about a certain party in you-know-where, same gentleman that was down thanksgiving time. Suddenly, with professional alertness, the telephone girl stopped short. "'Fern XVI Wellington, here's your party, booth three,' she added to Molly, in a voice so radically different, that Molly had a confused feeling that the young person who operated the Wellington switchboard might be a creature of two personalities. She retired timidly to the booth. "'Is this the residence of Miss Alice Fern?' she asked. "'It is,' came the voice of a woman from the other end. "'I would like to speak to Professor Edwin Green. He is very much engaged just now. Is it important?' "'I think it is,' hesitated Molly. "'What name?' "'Now, what earthly difference does it make? To her, what my name is?' Molly reflected, with some irritation. "'Would you please tell him it's a message from the university?' "'I'll tell him nothing until you tell me your name. Would this be Miss Alice Fern?' Molly was fairly certain it was. Perhaps she also had two personalities. It doesn't do any good to tell my name. I have nothing to do with the message. I'm only delivering it for someone else. But if you want to know, it's Brown.' Mrs. or Miss Brown?' Suddenly Molly heard the Professor's voice quite close to the telephone, saying, "'Alice, is that someone for me?' "'Yes, an individual of the illuminating name of Brown wishes to speak to you. I don't see why they can't leave you alone for one day in the year.' Molly smiled. Why was it that deep down in the unexplored caverns of her soul there looked an infatessibly tiny feeling of relief that Miss Alice Fern was plainly a vixen? How do you do, Professor Green? This is Molly Brown. How do you do? Is anything the matter?' answered the Professor, in rather an anxious tone. "'I wanted to tell you that Mr. Blunt is here, old Mr. Blunt. The Professor seemed too surprised to answer for a moment, or it might have been that Miss Alice Fern was lingering at his elbow and embarrassed him. Where?' he asked. He spent the last night in the Coister study. Now he's at the inn. He asked me to let you know. I met him on the road. He's very unhappy. How did he happen to be in the study? He—he had no money. And now he's at the inn. Has he seen anyone but you? No.' Molly blushed hotly. "'I'll come right over. Thank you very much.' Now, Edwin, what a nuisance broke in the voice of Miss Fern. Good-bye. Thank you again. I really must, Alice. Very import. The receiver had been hung up, and the connection lost. All these cousins, Molly reflected with a laugh as she hurried up to her room. There was a gay party at the McLean's that night, and one unexpected guest arrived just before dinner. It was Professor Green. They squeezed him in somehow at the end of the table with the doctor, and the two made married together like schoolboys. Molly had never seen the Professor of English Literature in such joyous spirits. After dinner, when the dancing commenced, he sought her out and led her to a secluded sofa in the back hall. She began at once by asking about Mr. Blunt, but the Professor was not listening. "'That's one of the prettiest dresses I've seen you wear,' he interrupted. "'Yellow is not becoming to most people, but it is to you, probably because it has the same golden quality that's in your hair.' "'I'm glad you'd like it,' said Molly, turning red under his steady gaze. "'I found your note on my study floor,' he went on. "'I was afraid you wouldn't remember what I was talking about after all,' she exclaimed. "'But I had to write it. I have never really been happy since I said that cruel thing to you. I was so wretched the day afterward, and when I rushed to find you in your study, you were gone.' She broke off with a tearful glance into his eyes. The Professor beamed upon her. "'So you were unhappy,' he said, as if the statement was not entirely unpleasing. "'Oh, yes, I know now that you are quite right to tell Miss Walker about that silly episode of the burying of the slipper. But I never told her. I know the story, of course, and the explanation. The President told me herself. "'But who did tell, then?' "'That, I can't say. It was now Molly's turn to beam on the Professor. I am glad you didn't tell her,' she exclaimed in tones of great relief. "'You see, you didn't inform on Judith Blunt that time, and I was hurt. I couldn't help from being. I was really awfully sore. My dear child,' said the Professor hurriedly, "'promise hereafter to regard me as a faithful friend. Never doubt my sincerity again. I promise,' answered Molly, feeling intensely proud without knowing why. Then the talk drifted to Mr. Blunt. "'And you haven't mentioned meeting him?' he asked, not even to Miss Keane. Molly shook her head. "'You are a very unusual woman, Miss Brown. It's important to keep Mr. Blunt's presence here a secret. If word got out that he had come back, there would be a great hue and cry in the papers. I have him with me now at my rooms until Richard gets here. The family will be very grateful to you for your kindness to him.' Miss Upton was coming down the hall to claim Molly for a dance. Are you going back to the ferns to-morrow?' she asked hurriedly. "'I think not,' answered the Professor, with a ghost of a smile. I am detained here on business. The next morning Molly received a short note from Professor Green in closing a ten-dollar bill. There was a post-cript which said, "'I've opened a barrel of greenings. Better come round and get some.'" End of Chapter 17, Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. Chapter 18 of Molly Brown's Junior Days. This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. Molly Brown's Junior Days. By Nell Speed. Chapter 18. Healing the Blind. But Madeline, I never touched an iron in my life. I wouldn't know how to go about it, protested Judith Blunt. It's high time you learned then, child. It's a very useful piece of knowledge, I assure you. You may begin on handkerchiefs first. They are easy, just a flat surface. And it doesn't matter if you scorch one, especially as it's your own. Test the iron like this. See? Pick it up with the holder, wet your finger, and touch the bottom. If it gives out a sizzly sound, it's fairly hot and may be used on something damp. It will surely scorch dry material. Always sprinkle. Rough dry things can't be ironed decently unless they have been sprinkled and allowed to get damp through and through. Madeline Petit's unceasing flow of conversation did not stop while Judith took her first lesson in ironing. You see, continued Madeline, I've made quite a name for myself for doing up fine things, and I really need an assistant, Judith, and since you need the money, and I like you better than any girl in college, I want you to help me. Judith winced at the mention of poverty, but her face softened when Madeline spoke of friendship. After all, was it not good to have a friend, a real tried and devoted friend who had nothing to gain but friendship in return? Yes, Madeline did talk a great deal. We all have our faults. Judith was a temper. She knew that, but Madeline was good company, nevertheless, much better company than those false friends of Beta Phi days. She was charming and pretty, and she had a heart of pure gold. Moreover, she was a lady, if she did talk so much. Judith loved Madeline. For the first time in her life she felt the stirrings of a really deep affection for another girl. It had quickened her parched soul like the waters of a freshest flowing through a thirsty land. Madeline had first gained the respect of the proud, discontented girl by being always good-natured firm, and now she had gained her love. Furthermore, Judith felt for the first time the pleasure of doing something for someone else. It was a matter of infinite secret joy to her that she had been able to help Madeline with her studies. In a way, she had constituted herself tutor to the little southern girl, had criticized her themes, given her a boost in the dreaded French literature, and carried her over the blighting period of mid-year examinations. Madeline had spent Christmas with the Blunts at a boarding house in New York, and had given them a taste of southern conversation. However, an antidote that had made the dreary time for them to blossom with new enjoyments. And now Judith was learning to iron. At first she handled the iron quite awkwardly, but in a few minutes she became interested and a pile of handkerchief rapidly decreased. Of course it isn't as if either one of us expects to have to iron handkerchiefs always, went on Madeline, but it doesn't hurt us to know how, just the same. And I have always found that doing common things well only made one do uncommon things better. Now I intend to be a professor of mathematics. I don't know where, nor how, but those are my intentions. There's no ironing of jabots connected with mathematics, but somehow I feel that ironing jabots, well, makes me more proficient in mathematics. By the way, have you settled on anything to do yet? It's time you began to think about it, unless you decide to take a post-grad course and be with me next year. That would be perfectly grand, wouldn't it? Madeline's small pretty hands paused an instant, in their busy fluttering over the garments she was sprinkling, and she smiled so sweetly upon Judith that the black-brown young woman felt moved between the power of speech and could only smile silently in reply. Oh heavens, it was good to have a friend! Madeline had come at a time when she most needed her, when the whole world was nothing but a black hideous picture, and life was a dreary waste. Not her mother, not Richard, not Cousin Edwin, could take the place of Madeline. You know I always said I wouldn't work for a living, Madeline? She answered, presently gulping down these new, strange emotions. My dear, we all say such things, but it's only talk, and, after all, is better to work than to be an object of charity. Think of making your own money, having it come in every month, say, a hundred dollars, or even more, earned by you. Why is glorious, is better than running across a goldmine by accident or inheriting a fortune? Because you have done it yourself. I intend to earn a great deal of money. I shall rise from being a teacher to having a splendid school of my own. It will be the most fashionable school in the South, and all the finest families will send their daughters there. And what will you be in my school, Judith? Because you must commence now to work up to that eminence. Will you be part owner with me? Judith laughed. You're an absurd, adorable sweet child, she said, and went on ironing busily. After all, life was not so desperately unpleasant. There was a knock on the door. Judith put down the iron hastily and retreated to the window. She had not yet reached the point where she was willing for others to see her engaged in this menial work. Come in, called Madeleine, without stopping an instant. To Judith's relief, however, it was Mrs. O'Reilly. A note for you, Miss Blunt, and the man's waiting for an answer. Judith tore open the envelope impatiently. It was a bill of two years running, amounting to nearly forty dollars, from the stationery and candy-chop. On the bottom she was requested to remit at once. Tell the man anything, Miss O'Reilly, I can't see him. That's all. Certainly, Miss, said the Irish woman, with a good-natured smile. These poor young college ladies was in hard luck just like the men sometimes. She thought as she turned away. Judith sat down and began to think. Judith was having a great struggle to keep her at college, her mother and himself at the boarding-house, and her father in a sanitarium. It would really be unkind to burden him with that bill, but what was to be done? Is it that old stationery man again, asked Madeleine, who had inherited a profound contempt for dunning shopkeepers? Yes, it is, and I don't know what to do. Well, don't you put an advertisement in the commune. You have no idea how it will bring in work, and then hand out a shingle, too. People have got to learn to recognize you as a wage-earning person before they come around and offer you things to do. But what can I do? I don't know how to iron well enough to take in laundry, like you. A voice outside called, Is this Miss Madeleine Petite's room? Come in. Can't you see the name on the door, answered Madeleine? There is only one Petite at Wellington, and I'm the lady. Millicent Porter now entered. She looked smaller and more shriveled than ever, in a beautiful mink coat and cap, and a velvet dress, a rich shade of blue, that breathed prosperity in every fold. This is the region where signs are out asking for work, isn't it? She asked, in a pleasantly patronizing, unctuous voice. We don't ask for work. We announce that we do it, and the work comes, replied Madeleine, eyeing the visitor with a kind of humorous pity. Be that as it may, said Miss Porter. I have some work I want done, and I'm looking for a very competent and reliable person to do it. Judith winced at the work reliable. This isn't a servant's agency, you know Miss Porter, answered the spunky Madeleine. Those words are generally used when one engages a cook or a housemaid. What is the work like? I'm going to give an exhibition of my silver work at the George Washington Bazaar. I may sell some of it, if I can get the price, and what I want is a skillful and rea, or rather clever, Madeleine blinked both eyes rapidly at the substitution. Person to help me get it in order. Most of it is awfully tarnished, and it will need a good deal of polishing. How much will you pay a skillful, clever person, demanded Madeleine, determined to drive a good bargain and shrewdly guessing the kind of person she had to deal with. I'll pay ten dollars, answered Millicent Ghibli. What are the pieces like? Oh, there are chains, necklaces, platters, and bowls, and a lot of ivory things I have picked up in Europe that must be carefully washed. We'll do the work for fifteen dollars, announced Madeleine, no less. Judith could hardly preserve a grave counterance, while this bargaining was going on between the rich Miss Porter and her funny little southern friend. I think that's too much, declared Millicent. Not at all. The work requires care, and as you said, reliability, it might be stolen, you know. Madeleine snapped her eyes. Very well then, said Millicent, in a resigned tone of voice. It's a great deal to pay, but I suppose I can't do any better. I hear you do everything well, Miss Petite. Miss Blunt will do this, answered Madeleine. If I do things well, she does them better. Now where do you want them cleaned, down here or up at your place? Oh, I would never let them out of my studio, cried Millicent. She must come there, where she can be under my eye. That, objected Judith, and paused at a glance from Madeleine. It would be a crushing blow to her pride for her to go back to her old rooms and rub tarnished silver for this perfectly insufferable Millicent Porter, yet fifteen dollars loomed up as quite a considerable sum, and, with five dollars added, could be paid to the stationary man on account. Did Judith realize her secret soul that the bitter dose she was now swallowing was only a dose of the same medicine she had once forced others to swallow? Very well then, said Madeleine, will give you as much of Friday and Saturday as will be necessary. We'll take a lunch up on Friday, so that we won't have to come back for supper. She waited for a moment, wondering if Millicent would not invite them to supper at Beta Phi. Hospitality was so much a part of her upbringing, that it was impossible to conceive it lacking in others. I thought Miss Blunt was to do the work. She will, I shall work under her as assistant rubber. So the bargain was clinched and Millicent departed. Seeing little reptile cried Judith when the sounds of her footsteps died away in the hall and the door banged behind her. Could Judith forget that she herself had once belonged to that overbearing class? Don't get all stirred up, Judith, it's bad for your digestion, ejaculated Madeleine. That girl is nothing but a mere ripple on the surface. She's ridiculous, but there's no harm in her. I am really sorry for her because she doesn't belong anywhere. She could never make a friend and she will never know what it is to be really liked. She thinks she's a genius because she's learned how to beat out a few tawdry silver chains and, as soon as she finishes one, she locks it up in a box and takes it out about once a decade to look it over. Why, she's just as poor, starved, little creature without a spark of generosity in her soul. What does she know about living and happiness? You and I know how to live, Madeleine continued, flourishing her iron. We're in the procession, we're moving on, learning and progressing, we're going up all the time. I tell you the highest peak in the Himalayas is not higher than my ambitions, and I intend to take you with me, Judith, and when we get to the top we'll look back and see poor little menacing porter shriveled to nothing at the bottom. Judith gave a strange hysterical laugh. Suddenly she flew across the room and embraced her friend. You could make me do anything, Madeleine, she cried, scale the Himalayas or cut a tunnel through them. Taking her friend's small charming face between her two hands, she looked hurt in the eyes. Madeleine, she said, did you know I used to be a blind girl? You have healed me. I am beginning to see things as they are. CHAPTER 19 OF MOLLY BROWN'S JUNIOR DAYS This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. Molly Brown's Junior Days by Nell Speed A warning. The girl who had been blind and could see, and Madeleine, of the unconquerable soul, appeared in Millicent's sumptuous apartment promptly at three o'clock on Friday afternoon. They carried with them a suitcase containing the implements of their labor, taken chiefly from Madeleine's rag-bag, some old stockings, several worn out under vests, and polishing claws made from antiquated flannel petticoats, also a bottle of ammonia and two boxes of silver polish. Well, here we are, announced Madeleine, unconcernedly, when Millicent had opened her door to them. I hope you have the things out and ready, our time is valuable. Of no avail were Millicent's pompous and important heirs. Madeleine insisted on treating her as a familiar and an equal. I have put you in the den. You will be less disturbed, and you can use the writing table to spread things on. Please be care. Have you made an inventory, interrupted Madeleine? No, faltered Millicent. Why was it that this poverty-stricken little person took all the wind out of her sails? Make it please at once in duplicate, keep one yourself, and give us the other. But, began Millicent, no, we will not touch a thing until the inventory is made. No competent, reliable person would think of doing work like this without an inventory. We'll wait in the other room until you have made it. There was nothing to do but proceed with the inventory. It was plain that Madeleine knew the manner of person she was dealing with. While the two girls waited in the big sitting room, now a studio, Madeleine drew a book from her Ulster pocket, and began to study. The little Southerner was never idle one moment of her waking day, and the other seven hours she put in sleeping very soundly. Judith began to look about her. The room was little changed from the old days, except that it was even richer in aspect. There was some splendid old altar pieces on the walls, and a piece of beautiful old rose brocade hung between the studio and the den. But after all, what did it come to? Was anyone really fond of Millicent with all her wealth? Why Judith, poor and forgotten, had made a friend. She felt small tenderness toward the rest of the world. But she loved Madeleine. Molly Brown came into the room at this stage in Judith's reflections. Why, hello, girls! she exclaimed cordially, shaking hands with the silver rubbers. Where is Millicent? She is making an inventory of her valuables before we begin to clean them, replied Madeleine, smiling sweetly and blinking both eyes at once. We insisted, because it would have been unprofessional not to have had one. The idea, said Molly, no it wouldn't, besides, you are not professionals. Yes, we are, insisted, Madeleine. Everything we do for money is professional work. Oh, very well, left Molly, and I suppose you'll polish them up so carefully that some day you'll be admirals in the Queen's Navy. Nothing less, said Madeleine, that's my theory exactly. Oh, Molly, called the voice of Millicent from the den, please come and help me with this stupid thing, I can't seem to get it straight. And that was how Molly came to be admitted into Millicent's inner sanctum, where she kept her most valued possessions under lock and key. The top of a heavy oak chest rested against the wall, and inside was a perfect mine of silver articles, many of them Millicent's own work. There also was a quantity of small ivory figures collected by her in her travels. All lift out the things and call their names, and you can copy each one twice, like this. One silver necklace, grapevine design. Molly sat down and began to make the list. They were nearly finished when Rosamund Chase's voice was heard in the next room. Millicent, please come out for a moment, I want to see you on business. Molly, left alone, went on with the list, taking each article from the box and noting it carefully, twice on the inventory. In the meantime, Millicent and her friend were having a secret conference in the bedroom, while Madeleine and Judith silently waited in the studio. The two silver rubbers were presently startled by the apparition of Molly standing in the doorway. She had the look of one fleeing before a storm. Her face very pale and her eyes dilated with horror. She started to speak, but chacked herself and closed the door behind her. Then, hurrying into the room, she said in a low, strained voice, Madeleine, I would not advise you to do any work for Miss Porter. The two girls exchanged a long look. Do you really mean that, asked Madeleine? I was never more in earnest in my life. But can't you explain, demanded Judith blunt. Molly shook her head and rushed from the room. Come on, Judith, said Madeleine, slipping on her ulster. But this is absurd, objected Judith again. Don't you know human nature well enough to understand that a girl like Molly Brown would never have given a piece of advice like that, without knowing what she was talking about? She's jealous because she would like to earn the money herself. Nonsense, said Madeleine. She is not that kind. You know perfectly well that she is the most generous-hearted, unselfish girl in Wellington. She wouldn't injure a fly if she could help herself. And I think we had better take her advice. But Judith was stubborn. We've come to do the work. Why go? Having once committed herself to this menial labor, she wished to see it through. After all, whatever Molly had against Millicent Porter couldn't concern them, and in the end Madeleine reluctantly gave in. Presently, Millicent and Rosamund came into the room. What became of Molly Brown, demanded Millicent suspiciously? She couldn't wait, answered Madeleine briefly. Was there anything to matter with her? She seemed in perfectly good health as far as I know, but you had better hurry up with the inventory, Miss Porter. We are losing time. Rosamund helped Millicent with the remainder of the list, and by four o'clock Madeleine and Judith were installed in the den hard at work. All afternoon and evening they toiled, and the next morning they appeared soon after breakfast and started in again. This is easier than cracking rock, and the pay is considerably better, but I am just as tired between the shoulders as a common laborer, Madeleine exclaimed, rubbing the last tray until she could see her own pecan't little face, reflected in its depths. As for me, I feel as if I had been drawn and quartered, complained Judith. It's worth more than fifteen dollars, we should have asked twenty. I would have asked it if I had thought she could have been induced to part with so much money, but I saw that fifteen was her limit. Judith laughed. You're a regular little bargain driver, she said admiringly. No, not always, answered Madeleine, only when I meet another one. Well, I am glad we undertook it, and I am gladder still we have finished it, said Judith. They arranged a silver on half of the table, and the small army of carved ivory ornaments, for which Millicent seemed to have a passion on the other half. Then removing the loose gloves which had protected their hands they put on their things and marched into the next room, with expectant faces. For the first time in all her life Judith had earned a sum of money, and the humblest wage earner was not more anxious for this week's pay than she was. Will you please inspect the work, Miss Porter, and give us our money? We are tired and want to go home, said Madeleine. It was propped up against some velvet cushions in the window seat. There was an expression of nervous worry on her thin, sallow face, and around her on the floor lay the scattered bits of a note she had read, reread, and torn into little pieces. She was in a very bad humor, and her warped nature was groping for something, on which to vent its accumulated spleen. She rose from the window seat, swept grandly into the next room, and glanced at the table full of silver and ivory. It looks fairly well, she said, for Millicent was one of those persons who grudged even her praise. What was the amount I promised to pay? I dare say you haven't forgotten it so soon," answered the intrepid Madeleine. Oh, was it so much? Will this evening do? I haven't that sum on hand just now. I'll have to go down to the bank. A check will do then, said Madeleine, sitting down in one of the carved chairs. I never pay with checks. I only pay cash. I would prefer to draw out the money and pay you this evening. Nonsense, exclaimed Madeleine. Besides, you know very well that the bank closes on Saturdays at noon, and it's now nearly four o'clock. So it does. Then you will have to wait until Monday. We won't wait until Monday, ejaculated Madeleine. We haven't been rubbing silver for our health. You'd better look around in your top drawer and see if you can't scrape fifteen dollars together, because I tell you plainly if you don't, you'll regret it. How regret it? asked the other suspiciously. I'm not obliged to pay it until Monday, and I won't, she added stubbornly. It was growing late. The girls were exhausted and hungry. They had eaten no lunch except crackers and cheese. At last Judith, utterly crushed with disappointment, drew Madeleine aside. Suppose we leave her, she said. I can't stand it any longer. Without another word they took their departure, leaving Millicent still in the window seat, looking pensively out on campus. They were hardly outside before she sprang to the door and locked it. Then she hastened to the den and began to pack feverishly and with trembling nervous hands. Wrapping each article of silver in tissue paper, she placed it in the chest on a bed of raw cotton. When the table was entirely cleared, she closed and locked the chest and, addressing a tag, wired it to the handle. Next she drew a trunk from the big closet and packed it with her best clothes. This done, she crept downstairs to the telephone and engaged Mr. Murphy to call that night for an express box and a trunk. The beta-fied girls were all at a Saturday night dance at one of the houses where Mr. Murphy called. Millicent explained to the matron that her rooms were too crowded and she was sending some of her things back to New York. As quietly as possible she drew her other two trunks from the closet and by three in the morning the rooms were entirely dismantled and all drapery and pictures carefully packed away. These also she locked and tagged with the precision of one who intends to lose nothing. No matter what's to pay, one more task remained. This was performed in the privacy of the den behind closed doors. When it was done, there stood on the table a square box addressed in artistic lettering to Miss M. Brown, No. 5, Quadrangle. Placing her watch on her pillow, Millicent now rested for several hours without sleeping. At last, at seven o'clock dressed for a journey with her suitcase, umbrella, and a handbag, she crept softly downstairs and plunged into the early morning mists. Not once did she glance back at the two gray towers as she hastened down to the station and when the 730 train for New York pulled in she boarded it quickly and turned her face away from Wellington for ever. Chapter 20 of Molly Brown's Junior Days This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 20 The Parable of the Sun and Wind If Molly had been carrying a stick of dynamite, she could not have held it more gingerly than the square box she was taking to President Walker on Monday morning. That was the reason I never liked her, she thought, mentioning no names even in her own mind. I wonder if it is true that she couldn't help it. It must be. When she was so rich, what could she want with Minerva's medals or Margaret's initial ring? Both Ems, though, she thought, have smiling. Oh, Miss Brown cried a voice behind her, and Madeleine Petit came tearing across the campus as fast as her little feet could carry her. Is it true that Millicent Porter has run away from college? I'm afraid it is, answered Molly. She owed us fifteen dollars, cried Madeleine tragically. She promised to pay this morning, and I have just heard rumors that she has disappeared, beg, and baggage. You did do the work for her, asked Molly? Yes, really, against my will. I knew you would never advise without having something to advise about, but Judith was determined, and the only reason I gave in was because she had never done any work before, and I thought it would be good for her to make a start. She was so happy over earning the money, it was really wonderful to see how she brightened up, and when we couldn't get a cent out of Miss Porter on Saturday afternoon, poor old Judith was so disappointed that she cried. Think of that. What a shame, exclaimed Molly, appreciating Judith's feelings with entire sympathy. I'm sure I should have cried if I had done all that hard work and then couldn't collect. But what are we to do? Must we sit back quietly and let the rich trample the poor? Don't you think she is coming back? I don't think so, answered Molly. Did you find out something, those few minutes you were in the den? Molly nodded her head. Is she? The two girls exchanged frightened glances. And her father, a millionaire, too. Well, I never, cried Madeline. I think I'll just drop him a letter, which he accordingly did that very day. But she never received an answer, and the debt still remains unpaid. In the meantime, Molly was closeted with Miss Walker for ten minutes. It's strange, said the President. I just had a letter this morning from an old friend at the head of a private school, warning me about this unfortunate girl who was a pupil there. But Molly was low to discuss the matter, and still more low to keep stolen property in her private possession. She placed the box on the President's desk and hastened away as soon as she politely could. That afternoon there appeared on the bulletin board the following unusual announcement. All those who have lost property during the winter may possibly be able to obtain it by applying to the Secretary of the President. That the thief had been apprehended at last was, of course, understood. Putting two and two together, the Wellington girls concluded that Millicent Porter must have had some important reason for fleeing early in the morning without explanations, leaving two trunks and a debt of honour behind her. The trunks were afterwards expressed according to directions left in a room. But for the honour of Wellington, open conversation on the subject was not encouraged, and most of the talk was in whispers behind closed doors. A crowd of the girls from the quadrangle, where most of the pofering had been carried on, went together to claim their property on Monday evening. Those who had lost money returned disappointed. The box of restored goods contained none, whatever. But the other articles were duly claimed and distributed, with the exception of one. Does anyone know to whom this belongs, asked the Secretary, placing a photograph in a beautiful silver frame on the top of her desk? It must be yours, Nance, announced Edith Williams with a teasing smile. It is not, said Nance emphatically. The other girls, now gathered around the picture, began to laugh. Undoubtedly the small, lanky boy in kilts in the photograph was Andy McLean. Perhaps it is Mrs. McLean's suggested someone. Margaret, examining the frame with the eye of an experienced detective, remarked in her usual authoritative tone. The design on the frame is Japanese. Otoyo, cried Judy, and the little Japanese, lingering near the door, crept timidly up and claimed the picture. Her face was a deep scarlet, as, with drooping head, she rushed from the room. Bless the child's heart, who have thought she had a boy's picture, laughed Catherine Williams. The very night Otoyo returned the photograph to Mrs. McLean, and with many tears confessed that she had removed it from the drawer, without so much as asking permission. My sweet lass, exclaimed the doctor's wife, kissing her, you shall have a good picture of Andy, if you like, taken just lately. I am only too happy that you admire his picture enough, to put it in that beautiful frame. I'm sure I think he is a bra lad, the handsomest in three kingdoms, but I am his mother, you know, and not accountable. Together the two women fitted the latest photograph of the callow youth into the frame. Otoyo presentedly bore it triumphantly back to her room, and placed it on the mantle shelf, where all the world could see it. That night she slept with an easy conscience and a thankful heart. Her one dishonest deed was wiped out forever. The untangling of one snarl in the scheme of affairs generally leads to the untangling of many others. So it happened that Molly and Judy, by the turn which events had taken, were able to clear up a mystery that had puzzled them for months. I feel Judy, remarked Molly one day, that we ought to do something nice for Minerva Higgins, because of, you know what, we mentioned no names and never breathed it even to each other except vaguely Christmas Day. You remember, but we did suspect her, and thinking is just as bad as talking when you think a thing like that, so cruel and horrible. Judy nodded her head thoughtfully, but she will never know we are making repatriation, Molly, she said, it will have to be purely for our own private satisfaction. Of course, replied Molly, that is what I meant, we did her a wrong in our minds, and in our minds we must undo it. And how, pray, demanded Judy, well, let me see, couldn't we ask her here some night with just the three of us and make her fudge and be awfully sweet and interested? I suppose we could, if we made a superhuman mental and physical effort, answered Judy lazily, and it would take both, why, not let well enough alone. But it isn't well enough, Judy, and we've had an ugly thought about her for weeks. Do you call those practical jokes she played on us last autumn pretty, demanded Judy, who had no liking for Minerva? No, but she has learned better now. Anyhow, Judy, I want to try an experiment. Do you remember the allegory of the sun and the wind and the man wrapped in the cloak? The wind made a wager with the sun that he could make the man take off his cloak, and he blew and blew with all his might, and the more he blew, the closer the man wrapped his coat about him. Then the wind gave up, and the sun came out and tried his method of just shining very brightly and cheerfully, and presently the man was so hot he took off his coat. Judy laughed, meaning I suppose that we have been trying the human-gale method instead of the merry little sunshine way. All right, Molly, dearest, bring on your Minerva, and I'll be as gentle as a main morning. But don't let the Gemini come, because we could never carry it through if they were present. It was agreed that the three friends, Molly, Nance, and Judy, should entertain the vain little freshman at an exclusive party all to themselves. Other persons were advised to keep away. Hands off, exclaimed Judy, stay away from our premises this evening, ladies, because we are going to try an experiment with explosives, and it might be dangerous. It was unfortunate that, on the very evening that Minerva Higgings had arranged to go to the three friends, somebody played a practical joke on her, and she was in an extremely bad humor. Although she had regained her two medals, she was always loosing things and crying her losses up and down the corridor. She usually found the articles mislaid in her own room, but she had a suspicious nature and was genuinely on the lookout for thieves. That afternoon she had rushed into the corridor crying. My water picture has been stolen from me. I will not have people going into my room and taking my things. As if anybody wanted her old water picture, remark Margaret, in a tone of disgust. Edith Williams smiled mysteriously. Presently Minerva and the matron, much bored, passed the door. Come on, let's go and see the fun, suggested Edith. How do you know there will be any fun, demanded Margaret? There's likely to be. They strolled slowly up the corridor, and, as they passed the door, the matron was saying, Really, Miss Higgings, I must request you not to raise any more false alarms like this. There is your water picture. She pointed to the chandelier, where the picture had been hoisted on a piece of cord. A good many other girls had gathered about Minerva's door, and a ripple of laughter swept along the hall. Edith, did you play that joke, asked Margaret later? Judy was a party to it, and Catherine and several others answered Edith evasively. We thought it high time to put an end to burglar alarms. Minerva Higgings has come to be a public nuisance. Margaret smiled. Her dignity would never allow her to enter into what she called rowdy jokes. However, it did not mar her enjoyment of the story about them afterward. But it was an angry, sullen Minerva, who presented herself at the door of No. 5 Quadrangle that evening at eight o'clock. She had left off her medals, and she had not worn the indigo blue. Judy was relieved at this, but Molly and Nance considered it a bad sign. The first half hour of the repatriation party dragged slowly. We've piped for Minerva, and she will not dance. We've mourned for her, and she will not mourn. It's a hopeless case, Judy remarked, in an aside to Nance. But Molly had formed a resolution, and she was determined to carry it through. Behind that Chinese wall of vanity Minerva has a little soul hidden somewhere, and I'm going to reach it to-night. If I have to blast with dynamite, she thought. Nance was stirring fudge on the shaving dish, and Judy was occupying herself strumming chords on the piano. Molly led Minerva to the divan and sat down beside her. Are you glad you came to college, Minerva? She asked, wondering what in the world to talk about. No, answered the other emphatically. I did test college, except that the studies are higher. I think Milltown High School is better run. I don't like college girls either. They are all conceited snobs. Perhaps you will like it better when you are a sophomore and have more liberty. Suggested Molly. The first year won can't look forward too much pleasure, but a freshman is always under inspection. You see, if she accepts the situation without complaining and is nice and obliging and modest, it's like so much treasure laid by for her the next year when she finds how popular she is with the other girls. It's not like that in Milltown. A freshman is just as good as anybody else, snapped Minerva. Judy, overhearing this statement, blinked at Nance, who smiled furtively and went on stirring fudge. Molly still persisted with the patience of one who looks for certain success. The most interesting part of being a freshman, she continued, is that a girl begins to find out about oneself. And by the time she's a sophomore, she knows what she really wants. Oh, but I know perfectly well what I wanted before I came, interrupted Minerva, in a lofty tone. I want to study the dead languages. But there is something you want more than that, broken Molly. You want to be popular. Minerva gave her a suspicious glance, but Molly was beaming kindly upon her, with all the warmth of her affectionate nature. How did you know that, she demanded, in a somewhat softened tone? It was not hard to guess. You said you were disappointed with the girls here because they seemed to be snobs. Now, if you hadn't minded it very much, you never would have mentioned it. Don't you think the girls are just a little afraid of you? You see, they had heard you were the brightest girl in your school, and when they saw all the medals, and you talked to them on such deep subjects, they were scared off. They thought, perhaps, you wouldn't care for them because they didn't know enough. After all, people's feeling toward you is just a reflection of what you feel toward them. If you are interested and admire and love them, they are pretty sure to feel the same toward you. You see, I know you can be just as nice and human and every day as the rest of us. Molly laid her hand on Minerva's, but the others haven't had a chance yet to find out. Minerva's stiff figure relaxed a little, and she leaned against Molly confidingly. I do want to be light, she whispered. All my life I've wanted it more than anything in the world, but even as mill town the girls were afraid of me. Just as you say they are here, I might as well own up, as you have guessed it already. But it's only a question of time now before you make lots of friends, said Molly. You are so clever that you'll find out how to make them like you. But how? Well, said Molly, I think people who are sympathetic and who listen more than they talk generally have a good many friends. I'm afraid I've talked more than I listened this evening," she added, pinching Minerva's cheek. But you've talked about me, answered Minerva. Suddenly her face turned very red and her eyes filled with tears. I shall not wear the medals any more," she whispered unsteadily, and there is something I want to confess. I waited for you that night you were on the lake, and I sent an unsigned note to Miss Walker the next day, to get even with you because you wouldn't let me go walking with you. Judy, at the piano, was singing a vociferous melody, and Nance was joining in. That's all right, whispered Molly. It was much better for her to know, because we would have been misrepresented always unless someone had told her, and we couldn't exactly tell her ourselves. But I think it's awfully nice of you to confess, Minerva. Now we shall be better friends than ever. The two girls kissed each other, the cloak of vanity had slipped off, and the smartest girl in Milltown High School became her real natural self. Until a quarter before ten, the four girls laughed and talked pleasantly together, while the convival fudge plate was passed from one to the other. But never once did Milltown High School or comparative philology come into the conversation. When at last the evening was at an end, and Minerva had departed, Nance and Judy led Molly gravely to the divan. Now, tell us how you did it, they demanded in one voice. I only told her the truth, answered Molly, but I didn't put it so that it would hurt her. I said the reason why the girls were standoffish was because they were afraid of her learning and her gold medals. This brilliant creature cried Judy, embracing her friend, while Nance laid a cheek against Molly's. You are a perfect darling, Molly, she said. Chapter XXI of Molly Brown's Junior Days This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. Molly Brown's Junior Days By Nell Speed The Junior Gamble Hail Wellington, beloved home, hail spot forever dear, we greet thy towers and cloisters gray, thy meadows fresh in spring array, we greet thee Wellington today, thy hills and dales, thy valleys green, thy wood and lake, tranquil serene, we greet thee far and near. Molly and Judy were responsible for the words of these stirring lines, which with three other verses were sung by the junior class to the air of Bula land, the music having being adapted to the words rather than the words to the music. The entire junior class, a long slender line of swaying white stretched across the campus lifted its voice in praise of Wellington that may day morning at the Junior Gamble. In the center waved the class flag of Primrose and Lavender. In the background was the gray pile of Wellington and in the front stretched the level close cut lawn of the campus, fringed by the crowd of spectators. It was an impressive sight, and when the fresh young voices united in the class song of Hail Wellington, Miss Walker was moved to tears. The dear children she exclaimed to Professor Green at her side, really I feel all choked up over their devotion. Winding in and out in an intricate march, the class moved slowly across the campus until it reached the somophores grouped together in one spot. Here they paused while the president of the juniors made a speech and presented the president of the somophores with a small spade wreath. One simulax, a symbol of learning, or rather of the delving for learning, which that class had in prospect in another year. Next the juniors approached the seniors and sang one of the Wellington songs, Seniors Farewell. Then the line broke up and moved to the center of the campus where stood a maypole and orchestra stationed under one of the trees began playing an old English country dance, and the juniors seized the streamers and tripped in and out with the graceful dignity suitable to their new uplifted position of seniors about to be. Not one of the Wellington festivals could so stir her daughters of the present or the past, now grouped on the edge of the campus as this junior May Day gamble. Perhaps it is so sad because it is so beautiful, Miss Pomeroy observed, to Miss Bowles' teacher in higher mathematics, wiping her eyes furatively, but Miss Bowles not being an ex-daughter of Wellington and having a taste for more prosaic and practical pleasures regarded the scene with only a polite and tolerant interest. Who is to be the May Queen? asked Mrs. McClain, standing in the same group with Miss Walker and Professor Green. As each succeeding year brought around the junior gamble, the good women hastened to view it with undiminished interest. It would be difficult to say, answered Miss Walker, in a class of such unusual individuality it will be very hard to select one who deserves it more than another. It is a question of popularity more than intelligence, observed the Professor. I think I might hazard a guess. He added in a lower tone, but his voice was drowned in a burst of music. The juniors were singing an old English glee song to the cuckoo. Hail, beautiest stranger of the grove, Thou messenger of spring, now heaven repairs Thy rural seat and woods Thy welcome ring. Many guesses were hazarded regarding the junior May Queen. Not only among the crowd's spectators, but in the class itself. The votes for the Queen were cast by secret ballot in charge of a committee of three. Wellington traditions required that the name of the chosen one should be kept in entire secrecy until the clock in the tower struck noon on May Day. When the junior donkey was set forth garlanded with flowers, he had officiated on this occasion now for ten years. This was the great moment when the identity of the most popular girl in the junior class was established for all time, and it was an important moment because the one selected was generally chosen as class president the next year. And now, as the tower clock boomed twelve deep strokes, there was a stirring among the spectators and a craning of necks. Three juniors appeared at the end of the campus, leading the aged donkey, who flicked his tail and walked gingerly over the turf. He wore a garland of daffodils and lilacs and moved sedately along, mindful of the importance of his position. The three girls were Nancy Oldham, Carolyn Brinton, and Edith Williams. One of them carried a wreath of Narcissus, and the other two held the ribbon-rains of the donkey. According to the time-honored roll, they approached their classmates with grave still faces. It was really a solemn moment, and the juniors waiting in an unbroken line never moved nor smiled. The spectators held their breath, and for a moment Wellington was so still that every human thing in it might have been turned to stone. What was so exciting this choosing of the May Queen? No one could tell, and yet it was always the same. Even Miss Bowles felt a lump rise in her throat. Many of the Illuminati shamelessly wept, and Professor Green, watching the three white figures move slowly in front of the line of juniors, wondered if no one else could hear the pounding of his pulses. Presently, the committee came to a stop. The professor thrust his hands into his pockets and drew a deep breath. Nancy stepped forward and placed the wreath on somebody's head. The spectators could see that she was quite tall and slender, and that she shrunk back with surprise and shyness as she was led forth, and bidden to mount the donkey, which she did with perfect ease and grace, as one who has mounted horses all her life. Who is it? cried a dozen voices. They'd look so much alike. Scores of opera glasses and field glasses were raised. Miss Molly Brown, of course, cried a girl. The professor smiled happily. Of course, he repeated, thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets. And now the ban of silence was lifted. The orchestra played, the audience cheered, and the three classes gave their particular yells in turn, while the juniors, marching two by two, followed Molly Brown, riding the donkey around the entire circuit of the campus. As for Molly Brown, she hung her head and blushed, looking neither to the right nor the left. The sweet lass, she might be a bride. She is so shy, ejaculated Mrs. McClain, as the procession moved slowly by. Her raw for Miss Molly Brown of Kentucky yelled a group of Exmore students. Others to Molly Brown drank her down, saying the entire student body of Wellington. It was a thing that happened every year, and there were those who had seen it thirty times or more, and still the spectacle was ever new. I think I must be dreaming, Molly was saying to herself. Of course, I might have known Nance and Judy would have voted for me, and perhaps one or two others, but so many, and what have I done to deserve it? I have hardly seen anything of Carolyn Britton and her crowd. O Lord, make me thankful for these and all thy mercies! She added, repeating the family grace, which somehow seemed appropriate to this stirring moment. After the triumphal march, Molly, with the class officers, flanked by the rest of the class, held an informal reception on the lawn. This was followed by the junior lunch. Quite an elaborate affair served in the gymnasium, decorated for the occasion by the sophomores. Lawrence Upton was Molly's guest for the day. Many of the girls had asked Exmore students, but Nance had been visited with a disappointment that was too amusing to be annoying. Otayo Sen, on the sophomore committee for decorating the gymnasium, and therefore entitled to ask a guest, had not let the grass grow under her little feet one instant. The moment the committee had been selected, she sent off a formal, polite note to Andy McClain, second, inviting him to be her guest. O Nance, that's one on you, cried Judy, once you heard this bit of news. You always thought Andy was so much your property that no one would ever think of treading on your preserves, is just like Japan creeping quietly in and taking possession. I suppose Andy will be hurt because I didn't get there first, replied Nance, laughing good naturedly. I suppose I shall have to ask Louis Allen, but I don't think it will do Andy any harm to know there are other fishes in the sea. I guess it won't, answered Judy. Nance is learning a thing or two, she added to herself. But all is fair in love and war, and there was no more charming figure on the campus that day than little Otayo in a pink organdy and large hat trimmed with pink roses. On her face was an expression of shy, discreet triumph as of one who has gained a victory by stratagem. The junior gamble came to an end at six that evening, and the tired students repaired to the rooms to rest and relax after eight hours of continuous entertaining. The eight friends of the old queen's days had gathered in number five of the quadrangle, where refreshments were being handed around, chiefly lemonade and hickory nut cake. Eight limp young women in dressing gowns draped themselves about the divins and in the armchairs to discuss the joys of the day. Molly, at the window, was reading something written on a card tied to the stem of an exceedingly large yellow apple. It was Professor Edwin Green's card, and the inscription thereon read, The first of the three golden apples was one today. Untying the card, she slipped it into her portfolio. Shall I divide it or eat it alone, she asked herself, and, without waiting for a second voice to answer, she seized Judy's silver knife and divided the apple into eight sections, which she passed around the company. Did this come from the garden of Hespri-D's Molly, asked Edith Williams, always ready with her classic allusions? I wouldn't be surprised if it did, answered Molly, smiling mysteriously. There was much to talk about that evening. It was the moment for reminiscence, and they reviewed the past year with all the excitement and pleasures. When Millicent Porter had departed from Wellington in dishonourable flight, her place in the Shakespeareans had been immediately filled, and Judy Keane was the girl selected, which goes to show that after a good deal of suffering, and when the edge is taken off the appetite, we generally get what we once earnestly desired. Judy was not excited over the honour paid her, but she acquitted herself credibly in the beautiful performance of A Winter's Tale, which the society eventually produced. She sat on the floor now, leaning against Molly, whom, next to her father and mother, she loved best in all the world. Without realizing it herself, Judy's character had been wonderfully developed and strengthened by the events of that winter, and she looked on the world with a new and broader vision. It was nearly bedtime, the night was warm and still, and through the open windows came the sound of singing. The girls were silent for a while, too weary to make any more conversation. Next year will be horary old seniors suddenly announced Judy, following up a train of thought, several in the company side audibly, already the thought of parting from each other and from their beloved Wellington cast a shadow before it, but this sorrowful last year was to be filled with interest and happy times. As you will see who read the next volume of this series, entitled Molly Brown's Senior Days. End of Chapter 21, Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C., End of Molly Brown's Junior Days by Nell Speed.