 Chapter 15 of Molly Brown's Senior Days by Nell Speed. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. THE CAMPUS GHOST About this time Wellington was filled with strange rumours that were much discussed in small sitting-rooms behind closed doors. It was said, and this part of the story could be credited as truth, that a woman had been seen wandering about the campus late at night ringing her hands and moaning. Some of the Blakely House girls had seen her from their window one night and had rushed to find the matron, but the strange woman had disappeared by the time the matron had been summoned. Another night she had been seen, or rather heard, under the quadrangle window. She had been seen at other places and some of the Irish maids had been filled with superstitious dread because, observed as it might seem to sensible persons, it was reported that the weeping, moaning lady was the ghost of Miss Walker's sister who had died so many years ago. It's an evil omen, Miss, a waitress said to Nance, one evening. In Ireland ghosts come to foretell bad news. It's no good to the college, sure, that she's wandering here the nights. Don't you worry, Nora, it's just some poor crazy woman, said Nance sensibly. And where does she be after keeping herself hid in the daytime, Miss? I can't say, but it will come out sooner or later. Ghosts don't exist. Sure, and you're found plenty of them in the old country, Miss. Well, maybe this is an imported ghost, laughed Molly. Nevertheless, not a girl in college, but felt slightly uneasy about being out after dark alone, and most trans campus fitters were careful to come home early. One night, Molly and Nance had been down to the village to supper with Judith Blunt and Madeleine Petit. They had had a gay time and a jolly supper, and it was quite half past nine before they hurried up the Helly Road to Wellington. The two girls had locked arms and were walking briskly along, talking in low voices. It was a wonderful night. There was no moon, but the stars were brilliant, and Molly was inclined to be poetical. Bright star, would I? Worse, dead fast, as though art. She began, waving her free arm with expressive gestures. Not inlone splendor hung aloft the night. Molly, hissed Nance, in a frightened whisper, do be still, look! They had turned in at the avenue now and there, directly over where old Queens once stood, was a tall figure draped in black. As the girls came up, she began to moan in a low voice and wring her hands. Oh, Molly, I'm so scared, my knees are giving away. What shall we do? Let's run, whispered Molly, emitting silently that the phantom was a bit unnerving. Here, take by hand and let's fly. She's crazy, of course, and she might do anything to us. With hands clasped, the two girls flew up the campus, glancing over her shoulder. Nance gave a wild cry and pressed along faster. She's chasing us, she gasped. Oh, heavens, she'll kill us! Molly glanced back. Sure enough, the phantom, keeping well within the shadow of the elms, was running behind them. Oh, Nance, can't you run a little faster? She cried, now thoroughly frightened. Not a soul was on the campus that night. The place was entirely deserted, and it looked for a few minutes, as if they were going to have a very uncomfortable time. But as they neared the quadrangle, the figure slipped away and was lost in the dense shadow of the trees that bordered the avenue. Lay me on a stretcher, gasped Molly, as she dropped on a bench inside the gates, while Nance went to inform the gatekeeper of the strange presence on the campus. Immediately, the gatekeeper, who was also night watchman, rushed out with a lantern to chase the phantom, which was a poor way to catch her, you will admit. Once in the privacy of their own sitting-room, Nance had a real case of hysterics, laughing and weeping alternately, and Molly felt quite faint and had to lie on the sofa, while Judy, who had been moodily strumming her guitar most of the evening, gave them aromax spirits of ammonia. I should think you would have been frightened, she said sympathetically. But fancy old Nance's running, it's the first time on record, Nance shuddered. I don't think you would have stood still under the circumstances, she answered. I don't think I would, but I should like to have known who the ghost was, just the same. Suppose you had stopped still and let her come up to you, do you think she would? Heavens exclaimed the other two in one breath. She ran after you because you were running from her, observed the wise Judy. People always give advice about ghosts and robbers and mad dogs, said Molly, and they are the ones that run the fastest when the ghosts and robbers and mad dogs appear. Do you think it was a ghost? Asked Judy, ignoring the irritation of her friends. If it had been a ghost, it would have caught up with us, answered Molly, while Nance in the same breath said emphatically, I don't believe in ghosts. Nance and Molly were heroines for several days after this, and during this time the ghost did not reappear on campus, although a close watch was kept for her. The Williams sisters insisted on walking down the avenue every night, at half past nine in hopes of seeing a real phantom, but she was careful to keep herself well out of sight during this village. One night, some 10 days later, just as the town clock told midnight, Molly wait suddenly with a draft of cold air in her face. She sat up in bed and glanced sleepily through the open door into the sitting room. Where did the air come from? She wondered, and then noticed that Judy's door was open and slipped softly out of bed. She did not simply close her own door, she never could explain, but some hidden impulse moved her to look into Judy's room. A shaded night lamp turned quite low cast a soft luminous shadow right across Judy's bed, which was empty. Molly started violently. Once before they had come into Judy's room at midnight and found her bed empty. The startling recollection caused Molly to run to the open window. As she leaned out her hand touched something rough, a rope. A rope ladder she whispered to herself, horrified, great heavens Judy has done for herself now. Just then the rope scraped her knuckles and she felt a tug at it from below. Someone is coming up. She looked out. Judy, she whispered in a tone filled with reproach, how could you? The voice from above must have frightened the climber, for with an excited little gasp she missed her hold on the rope and fell backward, where she lay for a moment perfectly still. It was not a very great fall, but it must have hurt, and instantly Molly climbed to the window sill and began to make her way slowly down the ladder. It was not so difficult as she thought, but she was frightened when, at last, she bounded onto the ground, and she was freezing cold in spite of her knitted slippers and woollen dressing gown. Have you hurt yourself badly? She asked, leaning over Judy, who was endeavoring to sit up. No, only dazed from the fall, whispered Judy. Go on up, will you, or we'll both get caught. You'd better go first, said Molly. I'm afraid to leave you down here alone. Go on instantly, she added, remembering that she must be stern since Judy richly deserved all the reproaches she could think of. Judy began the ascent and pulled herself over the window sill, then exhausted. She sat on the floor, holding her throbbing temples in both hands. That is why she did not see what was presently to happen. Just as Molly placed her foot on the first rung of the ladder, a firm hand grasped her arm. Why she did not shriek aloud with all the power of her lungs she never knew. But she remained perfectly silent while a voice, and it was Miss Walker's voice, said in her ear. You will say nothing about this tonight. I wish you to come to my office tomorrow morning at ten. Do you understand? Yes, ma'am, answered Molly, reverting to her childhood's method of answering older people. She climbed the ladder in a day sort of way. It was more difficult than climbing down. But at last she scaled the window sill and jumped into the room. Judy was still sitting on the floor, holding her temples. Perhaps it had been only five minutes, but it seemed like a thousand years. However, she felt little sympathy for Judy, bruised temple or not. Get up from there and get to your bed, she whispered, and I want to hear from you exactly what you were doing down there, and where you got that ladder. The rope ladder belonged to Anne White, Judy answered in a stifled voice. I borrowed it to win a wager from Adele. Of course, I didn't mean to blame her, but she teased me into it. It was silly, I know, looking back on it now. What was the bet? She bet that I would be afraid to climb down the ladder at midnight when the ghost is supposed to walk. I was simply to climb down, touch the ground, and climb back again. Idiots, both of you, said Molly furiously. I know it, and I am sorry now, said the pentant Judy, but fortunately no harm has been done except to my silly head, which needed a good whacking anyhow. No harm, thought Molly angrily, I wonder what's going to happen to me tomorrow. One of us will be expelled, I suppose. Miss Walker is already down on Judy. Thank you for coming down to me, Molly dearest. Molly closed the door. Judy, I want you to promise me something, she said, if you get out of this scrape. But no one knows it but you. I have no idea of telling on you, Judy, but things leak out. How do you know you weren't observed? Judy looks startled. I want you to promise me to give up this Adele Windsor and her crowd. She's never done you any good. She's a malicious, dangerous, wicked girl. And if you haven't the sense to see it, I'll just tell you. This was strong language coming from Molly. If you don't, mid-years will certainly see your finish. If you aren't, drop sooner. You're not studying at all and you are simply acting outrageously, dyeing your hair and borrowing rope ladders. I'm disgusted with you, Judy Cain, I am indeed. Miss Walker has a grudge against me, announced Judy, in a hot whisper. Nonsense, said Molly, and she swept out of the room and crawled into her bed, very weary and cold and frightened, wondered what the morrow would bring forth in the way of punishment for her, or was it to be for Judy. In the meantime, foolish Judy carefully coiled up the rope ladder and hid it in the bottom of her trunk. End of Chapter 15, Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. Chapter 16 of Molly Brown's Senior Days, by Nell Speed. This Libber Vox recording is in the public domain. On the Grill. Not a word did Molly say to Nance, or the unsuspecting Judy, next morning, about her appointment with President Walker. Don't forget Latin versification at ten, Nance had cautioned her, as she left the sitting room a quarter before ten. Molly had forgotten it and everything else except the matter in hand, but the President's word was law and she prepared to obey and skip the lecture. The President was waiting for her in the little study. No one was about, and an ominous quiet pervaded the whole place. Sit down, said Miss Walker, without replying to Molly's greeting of good morning. So it's you, is it, who has been wandering about the grounds at night, in a gray dressing gown scaring the students. I need not tell you how disgusted and grieved I am, Miss Brown. Molly turned as white as a sheet. She never dreamed that Miss Walker suspected her of being the campus ghost. But she answered steadily, you are mistaken, Miss Walker. The ghosts chased Nance and me the other night when we were coming back from the village. We were really frightened. I suppose it's some insane person. Then what were you doing on the campus at that hour? And where did you get that thudder? Molly turned her wide blue eyes on the President with reproachful protest, and Miss Walker suddenly looked down at the blotter on her desk. Answer my question, Miss Brown, she asked more gently. How could Molly explain without telling on Judy, and yet did not the reckless silly Judy deserve to be told on? Judy two tears trickled down her cheeks. She let them roll unheeded and clasped her hands convulsively in her lap. I insist on an answer to my question, Miss Brown, repeated the President, without looking up. Molly pressed her lips together to keep back the sobs. I never saw the latter until a few minutes before you did, she answered hoarsely. I owe Miss Walker. You make it very hard, she burst out suddenly, leaning on the table and burying her face in her hands. And then the most surprising thing happened. The President rose quickly from her chair, hurried over to where Molly was sitting, with bowed head and drew the girl to her as tenderly as Molly's old mother might have done. Were there, my darling child, she said soothingly, I haven't the heart to torture you any longer. I know, of course, that it was your friend, Miss Keen, who was at the bottom of last night's performance, and as usual you came down to help her when she fell. I only wanted you to tell me exactly what you knew. The truth is, the President had tried an experiment on Molly, and the experiment had failed, and no one was more pleased than Miss Walker herself in the failure. She liked to see her girls loyal to each other, but things had not been going well at Wellington that autumn. There was an undercurrent of mischief in the air, a dangerous element, carefully hidden, and still slowly undermining the standards of Wellington. Miss Walker was very much enraged over the rumor that the ghost of her beloved sister had been seen wandering about the campus. This was too much. Her Irish maid had repeated the story to her, and she had determined to lay that ghost without the assistance of the night watchman or anyone else. The surprise of first being stretched on the grill and then embraced by the President of Wellington College brought Molly to herself like a shock of cold water. She looked up into the older woman's face and smiled, and the two sat down side by side on a little sofa. The President's still holding Molly's hand. There might be some who could resist the piteous look in those blue eyes, but not President Walker. I'm afraid I, just a weak old person, she said to herself, giving the hand a little squeeze and then releasing it. Judy wasn't the ghost either, Miss Walker, said Molly, glad to be able to defend her friend on safe grounds. The night we were chased, Judy was in our rooms all the time. Last night was the first time she had ever done anything so foolish. It was only because a girl she goes with bet she wouldn't do it. It was the same girl that made her dye her hair, Molly added, without any feeling of disloyalty. A hem, and who is this young woman who has such a bad influence on Miss Keane? Molly flushed. Was she to be placed on the grill again? But after all, there was no harm in telling the name of the girl who had brought all Judy's trouble to her. Adele Windsor. And what do you know of her? I don't know anything about her, except that she has fascinated Judy. And Judy must be punished, mused the present. Judy is a very difficult character, and she must be brought to her senses if she expects to remain at Wellington. Judy loves Wellington. Indeed she does, Miss Walker. It's only that she has got into a wrong way of thinking this year. I've heard her tell freshmen how splendid it was here, and how they would grow to love it like all the rest of us. She has not been doing well at all. She never studies. You see I know all about my girls. You didn't know, went on Molly, that the jubilee entertainment was all Judy's idea. She gave it to Adele Windsor. I don't know why, just because she was in one of her obstinate moods. But I heard the plan out the whole thing the opening night of college, and it was all for the glory of Wellington. The president's face softened. Molly, she said, as if she had always called the young girl by her first name. Do you wish very much to save your friend? Oh, I do, I do. I can't think of any sacrifice I wouldn't make to keep Judy from being—she paused and lowered her eyes. Was Miss Walker thinking of expelling Judy? But Miss Walker was not that kind of a manager. She often treated her airing girls very much as a doctor treats his patients with a few doses of very nasty but ephatious medicine. What is your opinion of what had best be done then? You know her better than I do. What do you advise? Molly was amazed. Me? You ask my advice? She asked. The president nodded briskly. Well, the best way to bring Judy to her senses is to give her a good scare and let it come out all right in the end. The president smiled. You're one of the wisest of my girls, she said. Now run along. I've made you miss a lecture. I'm sorry. It will come out all right in the end, Miss Walker, asked Molly, turning as she reached the door. I promise, answered the other, smiling again as if the question pleased her. And so Molly escaped from the grill, feeling really very happy. Certainly much happier than when she entered the office. Late that evening, while Molly and Nance were preparing to take a walk before supper, Judy rushed into the room. There was not a ray of color in her face, and her hair stood out all over her head as if it had been charged with electricity. Oh, Molly, Molly, she cried. Did you know the president had overheard everything that was said last night? She was at the foot of the ladder all the time. You are not implicated. I saw to that, and I've not told where I got the ladder. I simply said someone had given it to me. No one is in it but me, but I'm in it deep. Girls, I've lost out. It's all over. I've got to go. Oh, heavens, what a fool I've been. Judy flung herself on the divan and buried her face in the pillows. For a moment Molly almost lost faith in the president's promise. What do you mean when you say you must go, Judy? She asked. It can't be true, burst out Nance, whose love for Judy sometimes clothed that young woman's sins in a garment of light. Not expelled, asked Molly in a whisper. No, no, not that, but suspended. I can come back just before mid-years, but don't you see the trick? How can I pass my exams then? And mama and papa, what will they think? And oh, the jubilee and all of you and Wellington, Molly, I've been a wicked idiot and some of my sins have been against you. I was jealous about that Jimmy Lufton, because he had seemed to be my property and you took him away. And Nance, I was mad with you, because you were always preaching. I didn't really like Adele Windsor. I think she is horrid. She's malicious and she makes trouble. I found that out. But she's got me in her toils somehow. And so poor Judy rambled on, confessing her sins and moaning like a person in mortal pain. She had worked herself into a fever. Her face was hot, and she looked at the girls with burning, unseeing eyes. Papa will be so disappointed, she went on. It will be harder on him than on mama for me not to graduate with the class. And oh, I did love all of you. I really did. Tears, which Molly had never seen Judy shed. But once before, now worked two torturous little paths down, her flesh cheeks. Molly and Nance comforted and nursed her into quiet. They bathed their face and loosened her dyed locks, which were now beginning to show a strange ton of yellow at the roots, and a rusty brownish color at the ends, all the time Molly was thinking very hard. Judy, she said at last, when they had got her quiet, there's no reason why you shouldn't pass the mid-years and graduate with your class, if you want to. And how? I'm so behind now, I can hardly catch up, and if I miss six weeks, I can never do it. Yes, you can, said Molly. This is what you must do. Go down to the village and get bored anywhere, with Mrs. Murphy or Mrs. O'Reilly. Take all your books and begin to study. Every day some of us will come down and coach you, Nance or I or Edith. I know any of the crowd will be glad to, so as not to lose you. But the Christmas holidays put in Judy. I shall be here for all the holidays, said Molly, it will be all right. And so the matter was settled. The very next day Judy's exile began. She engaged a room at Mrs. O'Reilly's. Her obstinate mood slipped away from her. And she was happier and more like her old self than she had been in weeks. And Molly was happy too. She felt that she had saved Judy and freed her at the same time from the clutches of Adele Windsor. End of Chapter 16, Recording by Linda M. Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. Chapter 17 of Molly Brown's Senior Days by Nell Speed. This Slibervox recording is in the public domain. A Christmas Eve misunderstanding. The old Queen's crowd rallied around the exiled Judy, even as Molly had predicted, and Judy was prostrated with gratitude. Nothing could have stirred her so deeply as this devotion of her friends. I feel like Elijah being fed by the ravens in the wilderness. Only you are bringing me crumbs of learning, she exclaimed to Molly, who had taken her turn in coaching Judy. I hope you don't mind being called ravens, she added apologetically. Not at all, left Molly. I'd rather be called a raven than a catbird or a pole parrot or an English sparrow. But Judy was already deep in her paper. Being a recluse from the world, her life consecrated to study. She was playing the part to perfection. If Adele Windsor knew that Judy was in the village, she gave no sign, and so the exile in her old room at O'Reilly's Overlooking the Garden had nothing to do but bury herself in her neglected textbooks. Indeed, very few of the girls knew where Judy was. When she went out for her walks after dusk, she wore a heavy veil and thoroughly enjoyed the skies. One night the old crowd gave her a surprise party which Edith had carefully planned. Dressed in absurd piratical costumes with skirts draped over one shoulder in the semblance of capes, bright sashes around their waist, many varieties of slouch hats and heavy black mustaches, they stormed Judy's room in a body. Hiss said Edith, the captive maiden, we must release her sunrise. Then they trooped in, danced a wild fandango, which made Judy envious that she herself was not in it, and finally opened up refreshments. So it was that Judy's exile was happy enough. And when Christmas holidays approached she had made up most of her lost work and was ready from Molly's careful coaching. Thus it is that heaven protects some of the foolish ones of this earth. Judy wrote to her mother and father that she was behind in her classes and would remain to study with Molly Brown, and that Mr. and Mrs. Keane were at this time in Colorado they thought it a wise decision on the part of their daughter. Molly had grown to love the Christmas holidays at college. It was a perfect time of peace after the excitement and hurry of her life, a time when she could steal into the big library and read the hours away without being disturbed, or scribble things on a paper that she would like to expand into something someday when her diffidence should leave her. Today curled up in one of the big window seats, Molly was thinking of a curious thing that had happened that morning at O'Reilly's. She had gone in to say goodbye to Judith Blunt and Madeline Petit, who were leaving for New York by the noon train. I suppose she'll be visiting all the tea rooms in town for new ideas, Molly had said pleasantly. Yes, indeed, said Madeline, I never leave a stone unturned and everything's grist that comes to my mill. This fall I got six new ideas for sandwiches and the idea for a kind of bun that ought to be popular if only because of the name. I haven't the recipe, but I think I can experiment with it until I get it. What's the name, Molly asked idly, never thinking of what a train of consequences that name involved. Snaky noodles, isn't it great? Let you see it on a little menu and people ordering out of curiosity, and then ordering more because they're so good. Snaky noodles, Molly repeated in surprise. That's the name, isn't it Judith asked Madeline? Oh yes, I remember it because the bun is formed of twisted dough like a snake coiled up. It's very strange, said Molly. That's strange. Why that name, Snaky Noodle? You see it's a kind of family name with us. Our old cook has been making them for years. I really thought she had originated it, but I suppose other colored people know it too. Where did you have one? At a spread, oh, weeks and weeks ago. But where, insisted Molly? I have a real curiosity to know. Was it a southern spread? Far from it, said Madeline. Yankee is Yankee. One of the girls in Brentley House gave the spread. But she didn't provide the Snaky Noodles, put in Judith. What's that girl's name who talks through her nose? Miss Windsor. Oh! Coming to think of it, I believe she said they had been sent to her from an aunt in the south, went on Madeline. So you see, Molly, nobody has been poaching on your preserves. Molly only smiled rather vaguely. She would have liked to ask a dozen more questions, but kept silent and presently after shaking hands with the two inseparable friends. She went up to the library to think. Somehow Molly was not surprised. Nothing that Adele Windsor could do surprised her. The surprising part was how she avoided being called out. It was just like her to have planned the theft of the senior ramble lunch. There was something really diabolical in her notions of amusement. And now what was to be done? Should she tell the other girls after the holidays? Or should she wait? It was all weeks off, and Molly decided to let the secret rest in her own mind safely. Even if she told, it would be hard to prove the accusation at this late day. But perhaps, and here Molly's thoughts broke off. I detest all this meanness and trickery, she thought. I don't blame Miss Walker for wanting to clean it out of the school. Anyway, she added, smiling. If that girl bothers Judy any more, I intend to pronounce the mystic name of snicky noodles over her head like a curse and see what happens. That afternoon Molly packed a suitcase full of clothes and lugged it down to Mrs. O'Reilly's, where she had consented to spend Christmas with Judy instead of in her own pretty quadrangle apartment. Secretly Molly would much rather have stayed in number five, where she could have rested and read poetry as much as she liked. But she was rarely known to consult her own comfort when her friends asked her to do them a favor. And after all, if she were going to put Judy through a course of study, she had better be on the spot to see that the irresponsible young person stuck to her books. So the two girls established themselves in the pleasant fire-lit room overlooking the garden. Judy had brought down two framed photographs of her favorite pictures and a big brass jar by way of ornament. And on Christmas Eve the girls went out to buy holly and red swamp berries. They were walking along the crowded sidewalk arm in arm, recalling how last year they had done exactly the same thing. And they came unexpectedly face-to-face with Mr. James Lufton. Well, if this isn't good luck, he exclaimed, nobody at the quadrangle seemed to know where you were. He included both girls, but he really meant Molly. And what are you doing here? asked Molly, giving him her hand after he had shaken Judy's hand. Judy McClain asked me down for Christmas, he said. He failed to mention that he had pawned his watch, a set of ball-zic and two silver trophies, one at an athletic club, and furthermore had given out at the office that he was down with gripe in order to accept the invitation. And he's up the street now looking for you. He thought perhaps Mrs. Murphy might know where you were. What did he want with us? asked Judy, lifting her morning veil. Jimmy hesitated. He was thinking of getting up a Christmas dance, but he looked at Judy's black dress. She's not in mourning, Mr. Lufton laughed Molly. It's only that she prefers to look like a mourning widow-lady. Oh, excuse me, Miss Keen, said Jimmy, I thought you had a recent bereavement. Here, Judy, take off that thing, exclaimed Molly, unpinning the morning veil in the back and snatching it off Judy's glowing face. Molly, how can you invade on the privacy of my grief? exclaimed Judy, laughing. Why, it's Miss Judy Keen, exclaimed Dodo Green, coming up at that moment with Andy McClain. Nothing has happened, no, put in Molly. It's only one of Judy's absurd notions. She's been wearing mourning for years off and on, but she's only lately gone into such heavy black. And you've no objection to a little fun, then, asked Andy. Not a particle, answered Judy, the old bright-look lighting her face. My feelings aren't black, I assure you. On with the dance, then, let joy be unconfined, cried Andy. We'll call for you at a quarter of eight girls. At O'Reilly's, you say, I'll have to trot along now and tell the matter. The three boys hurried off while Molly and Judy rushed home to look over their party clothes. Isn't life a pleasant thing, after all, exclaimed Judy? And Molly readily agreed that it was. Such a jolly impromptu Christmas Eve party as it was that night at the McClain's. Mrs. McClain had a niece visiting her from Scotland, an interesting girl with snappy brown eyes and straight dark hair. She was rather strangely dressed, Molly thought, in a red merino with a high white linen collar and a black satin tie, and she looked at Molly and Judy in their pretty evening gowns with evident disapproval. Just as Jimmy Lofton and Molly had completed the glide waltz for the fifth time that evening and had sunk down on a sofa breathless, the parlor door opened and in-walk Professor Edwin Green, looking as well as he ever looked in his life with a fine glow of color in his cheeks. My dear Professor cried Mrs. McClain, Ed, I thought you were going to spend Christmas in the south, exclaimed his brother. You are a disobedient young man, ejaculated the doctor, all in one course. Don't scold the returned wanderer, said the Professor, glancing about the room swiftly until he caught Molly's eye and then smiling and nodding, is dangerous for convalescence to be bored and realizing that Christmas in the tropics might bring on a relapse, I decided to lose no time in getting back home. And glad we are to see you, lad, said the doctor, seizing his hand and shaking it warmly. You did quite right to come back before the Inuit got in its work. It's worse than the fever. Molly left Jimmy Lofton's side to shake hands with the Professor, and then the Professor remembered the young newspaper man and greeted him cordially, and after that all the company went back into the dining room for hot chocolate and sandwiches. And here it was that all the mischief started, which came very near to breaking up the great friendship that existed between Molly and the Professor. It was simply that the Professor overheard scraps of information that Jimmy was pouring into Molly's ready ear while she listened with glowing cheats and a gay smile to what he had to say. Oh, you'll enjoy New York all right, Miss Brown, and the newspaper work won't be as hard as what you are doing now. I fancy. I'm sure they'd take you on if you only for your—he paused—you'll have only to ask, and I'll put in a good word, too, he added. You can never understand what a good time you'll have until you get there, theaters until you have had enough, and the opera, too. I often get tickets through our critic. The grand opera, repeated Molly, yes, anything you like, long grin, eta, la bohem, suno or later, you will see them all, then there are the restaurants, such jolly places to get little dinners, and you are so independent. You are too busy to be lonesome, and you can come and go as you like. Nobody to boss you except the editor, of course, and you'll soon catch on. You have a natural knack for writing. I could tell that by your letters. Molly, listening to the voice of the tempter, saw a picture of New York as one might see a picture of a carnival, all lights and fun and good times. But I want to work, too, more than anything else. She said suddenly, oh, you'll have plenty to do, laughed the careless Jimmy, who took life about as seriously as a hummingbird. After supper, the professor drew Molly away from the crowd of young people and led her to a sofa in the hall. I want to talk to you, he said, in a tone of authority that a teacher might use to a pupil. I could not help overhearing what your newspaper friend was saying to you at supper, and I wish you would take my advice and not listen to a word he says. He is just a young fool. The professor was quite red in the face, and Molly also flushed and her eyes darkened with anger. I don't agree with you about that, she said. Is it possible you are going to put all this hard studying you have been doing for the last three and a half years into writing news items for a yellow journal? I'm disgusted. But I only expected to start there, began Molly. And is that young idiot trying to persuade you that the sort of life he described, a wild carnival life of dissipation and restaurant dinners is the right life for you? I tell you he's mistaken. I should like to to Molly's face was burning now. I I I don't think it's any of your business, she burst out at this astonishing speech. The professor came to himself with a start. I beg your pardon, Miss Brown, he said. I realize now that I entirely overstepped the mark. Good evening. Miss Brown, shall we have the last dance together called Jimmy Leften down the hall and presently poor Molly whirling in the waltz, wondered why her temples throb so and her throat ached. End of Chapter 17, recording by Linda Marie Nielsen Vancouver, B.C. Chapter 18 of Molly Brown's senior days by Niel speed. This labor box recording is in the public domain. Two Christmas breakfasts. Early Christmas morning, a slender figure in faded blue corduroy could be seen hurrying up the road that led from the village to the college grounds. The frosty wind nipped two spots of red on her cheeks, and under the drooping brim of her old blue felt hat her eyes shone like patches of sky in the sunlight. Where was Molly bound for at this or the hour? The church bells are ringing out the glad Christmas tidings. The ground sparkled with horror frost, but not a moment did she linger to listen to the cheerful clanging or even to glance at the lonely vista of hill and dale stretched around her hurrying across the campus. She skirted the college buildings and presently gained the pebble path that led to the old campus in the rear flanked by a number of old red brick houses, formerly the homes of the professors. They were now used for various purposes. The college laundry, homes for the employees about the building, and grounds and rooms for bachelor professors. Heisting along the path to the house where Professor Green was domiciled, Molly was thinking only a year ago I had to make the same apology to him. Oh, my wicked, wicked temper. I am ashamed of myself. And now she had reached the old brick house and sounded the brass knocker with an eager rat tat tat. Presently she heard footsteps resounded along the empty hall and the Irish housekeeper flung open the door. Is Professor Green up yet, Molly demanded? I'm sure I've not an idea whether he'd be up or slapping, but can't you see? I cannot. I wouldn't be an easy thing to do, I'm thinking. And why not pray? It must be his breakfast time. You have only to wrap on his door, and it's very important, and if it's so important you'd better be after sending him a cable to the Bahamas, where the professor is sunning himself at present. Nonsense, Mrs. Brady, the professor, got back last night. I saw him myself. He must be up in his room now. Do go see. You haven't cooked him a bit of breakfast, I suppose. Mrs. Brady turned without a word and tiptoed up the stairs. Molly heard her breathing heavily as she moved across the hall and tapped on the professor's door. Then came a muffled voice through the closed door. I'll get you some breakfast, sir, called Mrs. Brady, and down she came. Sure, and you was right, and I was wrong, and I'm obliged to you for this information, but he'll not be ready for seeing people for an hour yet may be longer. Mrs. Brady said, Molly, moved by a sudden inspiration, let me get his breakfast. But, objected the Irish woman. I'm a splendid cook, and I'll give you no trouble at all. Please, Molly put her hands on the Irish woman's shoulders and looked into her face appealingly. Sure, them eyes is like the gals in the old country miss, remarked, Mrs. Brady, visibly melting under that telling gaze. He can do as you like, but if the professor don't like his breakfast, the blame be on you. He'll like it, I'm perfectly certain, said Molly, following Mrs. Brady back to the kitchen. It's a very, very funny world, said Mrs. Brady, displaying the contents of her larder to the volunteer cook. Her resources were limited, to be sure, but Molly improvised a breakfast out of them that it came would not have scorned. There were pop-overs done to a golden brown, a perfect little omelet, baking crisp enough to please the most faciduous palate, and an old champagne glass, the spoils of some festive occasion, filled with iced orange juice. The coffee was strong and fragrant. He's very particular about it, miss, and he buys his own brand. Then Molly set the tray, Mrs. Brady's best white lemon cover she snatched from the shelf without asking leave. In a twinkling she had polished and heated the blue china dishes, placed the breakfast on them, and covered them tight with hot soup plates, since there were no other covers. Then she snipped off the top of a red geranium, blooming in the window sill, and dropped it into a finger bowl. Lord love ye, miss, but that's a beautiful tray, exclaimed Mrs. Brady, hypnotized by Molly's swift movements and skillful workmanship. If I did not know ye was a lady from your looks, I should say ye was a born cook. But Mrs. Murphy be after telling me how ye used to make things in her kitchen. Ye must be the same one, since its red hair and blue eyes ye have. Molly had disappeared into the pantry to replace the flower sifter when Mrs. Brady was holding forth, and now through a crack in the pantry door, she saw the kitchen door open, and Professor Green, in a long dressing gown, stalk in. Don't bother about breakfast for me, Mrs. Brady, he said. A cup of coffee, quite strong, stronger than ye usually make it, please. That's all I want. Mrs. Brady, glancing at Molly hidden in the pantry, saw her shake her head and place a finger on her lips. The Irish woman smiled broadly. It was a situation in which she saw many humorous possibilities, and an amusing story to tell over the tea cups to Mrs. Murphy and Mrs. O'Reilly. Sure and ye needn't eat it, sir, she said, in an injured tone, but it's all prepared in of the very best. The Professor glanced at the tray. Why? he exclaimed in amusement. This is something really fine, Mrs. Brady. I didn't know you were getting up a holiday breakfast. Mrs. O' Slopped over trays, wheat coffee, and hard toast pass before him, for Mrs. Brady was not a cook to boast of. I'll eat it down here, if you've got no objection. He continued kindly, lifting the covers and glancing curiously underneath. By Jove, this is something like, omelet, and what are those luscious looking things? They be popovers, sir, if I'm not mistaken. Popovers? Ahem! I've heard the name before. He sniffed the small coffee pot. Good and strong! You've anticipated my wants this morning, Mrs. Brady. Why doesn't he go on and eat, thought the red-haired cook? The omelet will be ruined. But the Professor had drawn up a chair to the kitchen table and was draining the orange juice at a gulp. You're getting very festive, Mrs. Brady. Have you been taking lessons in my absence? That orange juice was just the appetizer I needed this morning. Then he fell on the breakfast and never stopped until he had eaten every crumb and drained the coffee pot to the dregs. In the meantime, Molly had taken a seat on the pantry floor. A weakness had invaded her knees and her head swam disly, since she had had no breakfast that morning. I suppose Judy will think I'm dead, she thought, but it won't do her any harm to be guessing about me for once. She hoped the Professor would leave in a moment and go to his rooms. He had filled a short briar wood pipe and was leaning back in his chair musing, but he couldn't stay forever in Mrs. Brady's kitchen. Mrs. Brady, that was a very dainty and delicious little meal. You prepared for me, she heard him say. I was a bit low in my mind, but I feel cheered up. A cup of coffee, if it's good. As this was, is often enough to restore a man's ambition. And now the kitchen was filled with the fragrance of tobacco smoke, while the Professor mused in his chair, blowing out great clouds at intervals. A bachelor is a poor pitiful soul, sir, answered the woman. Now, if you had a wife to look after ye, you'd be after having the late breakfast every morning. The Professor blew out a ring of purple smoke and watched it float lazily in the air and gradually dissipate. Didn't you know I was a woman hater, Mrs. Bradley? Indeed, I should think you might be seen, so many of them every day and all the time, answered the housekeeper sympathetically. Too much of a good thing, sir. But when old age comes to ye, you'll miss them, sir. You'll miss a good wife to look after your comforts then. I've got something better than that for my old age, Mrs. Brady. I've got a bit of land. It's an orchard on the side of a hill sloping down to a brook. Molly sitting on the pantry floor felt a sudden jolt, as if someone had shaken her by the shoulder. Faitness came over her, and her heart beat so fast and loud. She wondered that the two in the kitchen did not hear its palpitations. The trees bear plenty of apples. I have lots of fruit in my old age. I've only to hobble out and knock them down, with my cane when I get too old to climb up and shake the limbs, and where one swung a hammock in my orchard I may build a little hut. It's a pretty picture, sir, but lonely, I should say. Ah, well, Mrs. Brady, though be four walls to my hut and every inch of those walls will be covered with books, announced the professor, as he strolled out of the kitchen, leaving the door ajar. Molly, now thoroughly exhausted, amazed, and quite faint from her emotions, was pulling herself to her knees when the professor marched swiftly back into the room and walked into the pantry. I wanted to see how much coffee you had left. He began. I'll be writing for more. His foot encountered something soft on the floor, and glancing quickly down he caught a glimpse in the shadow of a figure huddled up in the corner. The face was hidden in the curve of the elbow, but he saw the red hair and a beam through the crack in the door cast a slanting light across the blue silk blouse. Why, Molly Brown, my little friend, he exclaimed, and he lifted her to her feet and half carried her to a chair near the fire. So it was you who cooked me that delicious Christmas breakfast. And now you're half dead from fatigue and hunger. You had no breakfast, confess. Molly lifted her eyes to his and sugar head. Then she lowered her gaze and blushed. I'm too ashamed to think of breakfast, she said. Mrs. Brady, put the kettle on, ordered the professor, get out the eggs. Where's the bacon? In the jar sliced, sir, but protested, Molly, don't say a word, child, be perfectly quiet. Then the professor began to fly about the room, tearing into the pantry, rushing from the table to the stove and back again, rummaging in the refrigerator for oranges and butter and upsetting two chairs that stood in the way. All this time Mrs. Brady quietly toasted bread and broiled bacon while they're hovered on her lips and a manic smile. Then she scrambled two eggs while the professor tested the coffee and squeezed an orange alternately. Molly watched him in days silence. He bought the apple orchard and that is how I happened to be at Wellington this minute. She kept thinking mechanically. He worked all summer and got into debt and caught typhoid fever in order to furnish me. She choked and I spoke to him like that. No wonder he's a woman hater. No wonder he wants books. Brady announced Mrs. Brady and the next day Molly knew she was sitting at the table drinking orange juice while the professor buttered toast and poured out the coffee. Presently, it was all over. Two Christmas breakfasts had been prepared in Mrs. Brady's kitchen that morning where none had been expected. Twas lucky I laid in supplies exclaimed the genial Irish woman. A body can never tell what starving creatures coming to the door begging for a crust. And now Molly Brown found herself almost without realizing it walking across the college grounds beside her professor. I can never, never thank you, she was saying. I couldn't even try. Don't try. He answered. Indeed, I ought to thank you for introducing me to that lovely bit of orchard. As for the money, it was fairly crying out to be invested. I think I made a great bargain. But Dodo said Dodo talks too much, said the professor frowning. He knows nothing about me and my affairs. Anyhow, you'll let me apologize for the way I answered you last night, said Molly, giving him a heavenly smile. The professor looked away quickly. The apology is accepted, he said gravely. And now we are friends once more, Miss Molly Brown of Kentucky. Are we not? Yes, indeed cried Molly joyfully, feeling happy enough to dance at that moment. End of Chapter 18, Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. Chapter 19 of Molly Brown's Senior Days, by Nell Speed. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, facing the enemy. It was a joyous day when Judy returned to college just before mid-years, after her long exile in the back room of O'Reilly's. She was made welcome by all her particular friends who killed the potted calf, as Edith called it, in honour of the prodigal's return. And Judy was well content with herself and all the world. A hairdresser in Wellington had, by some mysterious process, restored her hair to very nearly its natural shade. Thanks to Molly, chiefly, and the others, she was well up in her lessons and quite prepared to breast the mid-year wave of examinations, with the class. Never had the three friends at number five being more courteously, radiantly happy than now, on the verge of final examinations. And then, one day, in the midst of all this serenity and peace, Adele Windsor dropped in to call on Judy. At once, Nance fled from the apartment. She could not bear the sight of this sinister young woman. Molly would have gone too, but she remained, at an imploring glance from Judy, and slipped quietly into the next room, leaving the door ajar. Judy knows she can call for help if she needs it, she thought rather complacently, for she was no longer afraid of that art mischief-maker. As for Judy, she was singularly polite, but cold in her manner, and Molly detected a certain tremendousness in her voice. She's scared, poor dear, thought Molly, indently. Now, I wonder why? I haven't seen you for weeks, Adele began, in her sharp, assured tone. Where have you been? I heard you had gone home. I was away for some time, answered Judy evasively. I hope and trust she thinks I have gone out with Nance, thought Molly, in the next room, feeling a good deal like a conspirator. She'll never come to the point if she knows I'm here, and I'd just like her to show her cards for once. It will be glorious chance to get rid of her for ever more, amen. The light of battle came into Molly's eyes. I feel like a knight perking o'er the plain to sleigh a dragon, she thought, weaving an imaginary sword in the air. When it's all over, I wish I had the nerve to say, Thou wretched rash, intruding, full, farewell. She gathered that Adele had moved more closely to Judy, for she heard her voice from a new quarter of the room, saying, Is it true that you were dropped? There was a moment's pause. Whatever happened, Adele, it's over now, and I am installed again and forgiven. I thought you were being rather reckless, Judy. The rope ladder business was bad enough, but those ghost walks were really dangerous. Judy, you went too far, I beg your pardon, interrupted Judy stiffly. You are on the wrong track, I wasn't the campus ghost. Now really, Judy, my dearest friend, cried Adele, seizing both of Judy's hands and looking into her eyes with an expression of gentle toleration. Why can't you confide in me? After all our good times, are you going to give me the cold shoulder? I know perfectly well that you were the ghost. Have I forgotten the night you planned the whole thing out? And White was there. I dare say she remembers it quite as well as I do. Of course, we thought you were enjoying yourself, frightening the life out of people. But we wondered, both of us, how you dared. I remember you said how easy it would be to chase girls if they ran, and how easy to escape because you were the swiftest runner in college. Why are you trying to deceive your old partner, especially as I happen to know that you had the rope ladder all that time? It would have been easy enough, oh, I'm on to you, subtle secret of Judy. You are a clever little girl, but I'm on to you. What does she want, Mollie breathe through herself in the next room? But I won't tease you any longer, dearest. I only wanted to let you know that I'm at the very bottom of the secret. I came to talk about other things. She breathed alongside. Here it comes, she thought. Judy straightened up and prepared to hear the worst. Have the Shakespeareans and the Ola Podraikas had their yearly conclave yet about new members? So it's that, Mollie almost cried aloud, waving her arms over her head. We meet on Saturday, answered Judy dodgely. You have a good deal of influence in that crowd, haven't you? I mean, you can't command a lot of votes. No, I can't command any, answered Judy. Blackmailer thought Mollie. I was thinking, went on a dale calmly, that I would like to become a member of one or both those clubs. If I have to make a choice, I would prefer the Shakespeareans, of course. Can't you fix it up? I'm afraid not a dale. I can't manage it. I doubt if I could command any votes for you. You are mistaken about my influence. Oh, yes you can. Now Judy, think a minute. I'm asking you a very simple, ordinary favor. Think of what it means to me and, well, to you, too. I might as well tell you right now that I am a good friend, but a bad enemy. You promised me once to get me into one of those clubs. Do you remember? Yes, said Judy. Well, why this sudden change? I expect you to keep your word. I am wild to be a member of the Shakespeareans. Here a dale changed her manner, and her voice took on a soft, persuasive tone. You won't regret it, Judy, dearest. You'll be proud of having me put up. I have a real talent for acting. I have indeed, and I shall be able to get stunning costumes. She twisted and squirmed and shrank away like a bird being gradually hypnotized by a serpent, at least so it seemed to Molly peeping through a crack in the door. I'll tell you it will be impossible, Judy was saying after a pause. When a dale burst out with, those are unlucky words, Judy came. I'll make you sorry you ever spoke. She stopped short, off, as Molly appeared in one door and Nance in the other, followed by Otoyo, Margaret, and Jesse, and the Williams sisters. Nance had evidently gone forth and gathered in the clan for Judy's protection. Molly was almost sorry they had come. It had been a good opportunity to say what had been seething in her mind for some time, and on the whole she decided she would say it anyhow. With a bold spirit and scornful eye she marched into the room and stood before the astonished Adele. Miss Windsor, she said, and she hardly recognized her own voice. So deep and vibrant were its tones. Did you ever hear of sneaky noodles? Sneaky noodles, sneaky noodles, sneaky noodles! She repeated three times like a magic incantation. Judy must have thought that she had suddenly lost her mind, for she glanced at her with a frightened look, and the other girls with difficulty concealed their smiles. Edith, whose keen perceptions at once informed her that something was up, took a seat by the window where she could command a good view of the entire proceedings. Adele, looking into Molly's honest stern eyes, shrank a little and started to rise. No, I shat that you go until I have finished, said Molly. Whenever the spirit moves you to ask a favor of Judy again, just say the word sneaky noodles over several times to yourself, and then I think you'll leave Judy alone. Now you may go and remember that people who tell malicious, wicked stories, who impersonate ghosts, steal luncheons, and get other girls into trouble are not welcome at Wellington. This is not that kind of college. It was, of course, a random shot about the campus ghost, but Molly put it in, feeling fairly certain that none but the darling Adele would have attempted that escapade. Remember, too, she added, as a parting shot, that girls don't get into clubs here by blackmail. Even if Judy had put you up, you wouldn't have had the ghost of a chance. Nobody was more interested than Edith in wondering what the strange Adele would do now. Will she defend herself or will she fly, Edith asked herself. Adele did the most surprising thing yet. She burst into tears. You have no right to speak to me as you did. She wept into a scented and hand-emproided hankerchief. Haven't I, said Molly, drawing her gently but firmly to the door. Well, go to your room and think about it a while, and see if you don't change your mind. And with that she quietly thrust Adele into the hall, closed the door, and locked it. Then such a burst of subdued laughter rose within number five, as was never heard before. Molly collapsed on the sofa, while the girls gathered round her. Judy sat on the floor, her head resting on Molly's shoulder. It was as good as a play, cried Edith. I never saw anything finer. Molly, you're certainly full of surprises. But what did you mean by sneaky noodles? Wasn't it beautiful? Then Molly explained to them about the sneaky noodle box. Of course, the rest was just wild guessing. But from the way she took it, I'm pretty sure I'm right. It was better than, gee jitsu, said Otayu. It was, I think, the gee jitsu of language. They all laughed at the quaint notion, and Molly relaxed on the couch, like a very tired young warrior after the battle. Judy, you're foolish to be afraid of that girl, said Margaret sternly. I'm not exactly afraid of her, answered Judy. But you see, it would have gone particularly hard with me just now to have her go to Miss Walker with that story about the ghost. It was true that one evening, in a wicked humor, I planned the whole thing with her and that little Anne, who is just as afraid of her as I suppose I am. I don't think Miss Walker would have given me another chance. Everything would have been against me, the rope ladder, and all the things I had said. But then you could have proved an alibi, said Nance. You were up here the night the ghost chased Molly and me. So I could, Judy exclaimed. I was so scared I forgot all about that night. There's something about Adele that makes you lose your senses. She leans over you and looks at you and talks to you in a hot, rapid sort of way. I just saw myself, after all the trouble everybody had taken with me, being sent away in disgrace. I didn't believe I could prove anything when she began talking. I just went under. Well, don't you ever do it again, put in Nance. Say snicky noodles the next time she comes at you, said Edith. Oh, dear, that exquisite name she continued, leaning back in her chair so as to indulge in a fit of silent laughter. I can tell you another interesting bit about this, Miss Windsor. Here put in Pretty Jessie. Do you remember that shabby little woman in black, who came down on the same train with Molly's Mr. Leften? Nonsense, broken Molly. I remember her, said Judy. Adele said she was a dressmaker, I believe. Well, she told the truth for once. She is a dressmaker, but she happens to be Adele's mother, too. Her mother? They gassed in chorus. Yes, when Mama and I were in New York for the Christmas holidays, we were recommended to go to a French place called Annette's for some clothes. There was a French woman named Annette who came out and showed us things, but the head of the establishment was Mrs. Windsor, and we saw Adele hanging around several times. We also saw Adele's father, very dressy with a flower in his buttonhole and yellow gloves. He smiled sweetly at me in the hall. The fitter told us secretly that Mrs. Windsor spent everything she made on Adele and Mr. Windsor. What a shame, cried Judy, and Adele throws money around like water. No wonder she wears such fine clothes. I suppose Annette makes all of them. Think heavens! We're rid of her for ever, Eslame Mollie. It's not difficult to find a spot of good in the worst of people. There were Minerva Higgins and Judith Blunt and Francis Andrews. I never did feel hopeless about them, but this Adele, who doesn't recognize her own mother, are well, Roquina Toyu. She is what we call in Japan evil spirit, or black spirit. She will not remain because there are so many good spirits. She will fly away. On a broomstick, put in Edith, but Minerva Higgins, there is some greatly big news about her. You have not heard? No, they cried. Toyu had become quite a little news body among her friends. She will not finish the course. She will be married in June to Learn Gentlemen, a professor of languages of death. You mean dead languages, put in Mollie, laughing? Ah, well, it is the same. That is why Minerva looks so gay and blushing, said Jesse. I saw her this morning reading a letter on one of the corridor benches. I might have guessed it was a love letter from her, expression of supreme joy. I wonder if it was written in Sanskrit. I suppose after they marry they will have Latin for breakfast, Greek for dinner, and ancient Hebrew for supper, observed Catherine. But the gold medals, what of them? They will be saved for Pallas Athene and Socrates, and Alcabati's Plato, of course, said Edith. Who are they? Why the children goosey, and the party broke up with a laugh. End of Chapter 19, Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. Chapter 20 of Mollie Brown's Senior Days, by Nell Speed. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Jubilee. Mollie Brown, in a state of wild excitement, rushed into number 5, one morning waving a slip of yellow paper in her hand. They were coming, she cried aesthetically, but vaguely. Who demanded her two bosom friends from the floor where they were engaged in fitting a paper pattern to a strip of velvet, much too narrow? My brother and sister, Minnie and Kent, isn't it glorious? They get here tomorrow morning to stay for the Jubilee. Oh, I'm so happy. I'm so happy, she's saying. I'm so glad, said the two friends in one breath. I'm getting rooms for them at Riley's, and they will arrive on the Tentrain. Isn't it lucky Mrs. O'Reilly is our bright particular friend? We never could have got the rooms. Everything in the village is taken. The crowds had indeed come pouring into Mollington for the great Jubilee celebration for which every student at the college had been working for months past. And now, almost the first of May, everything was in readiness. The pageants, the costumes, the plays, all the splendid and complicated arrangements for an old English May Day Festival. Judy, as she had planned on the opening night of college all those long months ago, was to be a gentleman of the court and was now engaged in constructing a velvet cape with Nancy's assistance. Furthermore, all the girls were to take part in the senior outdoor play to be given on the afternoon of the Jubilee celebration. And Mollie, wonderful as it seemed to her afterward, had won for herself by excellent recitation the part of Roslyn. There had been many Roslyn competitors, but Professor Green and the professional who had come down to coach chose Mollie from them all. How they had practiced and rehearsed and worked over that play, not one of the senior cast will ever forget. But now it was ready and the time was ripe for the grand performance. In two days it would take place. The next morning, in response to the telegram, the three friends met Mollie's brother and sister at the station. They were a good-looking pair, as Nancy pronounced them, but not the least like Mollie. Many, or Mildred Brown, was as pretty as Mollie in her way. She had an aquiline nose that spoke of family, brown hair curling bewitchingly about her face, and a beautifully mottled mouth and chin. Kent was different, too, tall with gravely, humorous gray eyes. His mouth rather large and shapely. His nose a little small, but he was very handsome and his manners were perfection. He took to Judy at once. She amused and mystified him, and she volunteered after lunch to show him all the sights of Wellington. Another visitor at Wellington was Jimmy Lofton, who had come down to see the celebration regardless of work and expenses, and ordered Mollie a beautiful bouquet of narcissists to be handed to her when she appeared as Rosalind. Mollie introduced him to Kent and Minnie, and the three were soon good friends and looking for the best places along the campus to see the sights. While Mollie rushed off to attire herself for the morning as a maple dancer, Old Wellington presented a strange and unusual aspect on that beautiful May morning. Far back under the trees gathered the people of the pageant, waiting for the queue to start the march. Cards drawn by yolks of oxen rumbled along the avenue, filled with rustics from the country, mostly fresh men dressed in all manner of early English costumes. There were shepherds and shepherdesses, maids of low and high degree. Gentlemen of the court and plowboys in smocked frocks elbowed each other on the green. Booze had been set up of a 17th century pattern where anchornisms in the form of modern refreshments were sold. Bands of singers and rustic dancers trooped by gestures in cap and bells, pageboys and trumpeters. A more animated and brilliantly colored scene would be difficult to imagine. Providence had smiled on Wellington's Jubilee and sent a glorious day for the May Day Festival. It was an early spring and everything that could do. Honor to the day had burst into blossom. Daffodils that bordered the lawns of the campus houses nodded their delicate yellow heads in the morning, sunlight. Clumps of lilac bushes formed bouquets of purple and white. And from an occasional old apple tree, showers of pink petals fell softly on the grass. It's almost as beautiful as Kentucky Kent, observed Mildred Brown, and Jimmy Lufton laughed joyfully. Almost but not quite, he said. In Kentucky there would be twice as much of everything, and besides the elms there would be beach trees and maples with a good sprinkling of walnut and locusts. Twice as many Mildreds too, observed Kent, but for my part I think the young ladies I have seen here are quite as pretty as the girls at home. I think you'd have a hard time finding two to match Miss Molly and Miss Mildred. Put in Jimmy, looking with admiration at the charming Mildred dressed in a cool white linen, a broad brimmed straw hat, trimmed with pink roses shading her face. There's Miss Judy Keane, argued Kent. What would this young man have thought if at that moment he could have had a glimpse of the fair Judy dressed as a court gentleman in lavender satin knickers. A long cape, a purple velvet, an immense cavalier hat with a great plume over her shapely mouth, a flaring yellow moustache, and all of our other friends, how strange and unnatural they seemed. Their most intimate friends would scarcely have recognized them. Margaret was a fat, jolly, false staff, stuffed out to immense proportions. Edith was entirely disguised as a jester and enjoyed her own quips immensely when she tapped a visitor on the shoulder with her bobble and said, could moral fair maid art looking for a swing? And now four little heralds advanced down the campus bearing long trumpets and teak in shape on which the sun sparkled brilliantly. At the center of the campus they paused and bloomed four long resonant blasts and then cried in one voice. Make way for their majesties, the king and queen and all the royal court. And the pageant began to unwind at sinuous length along the campus lawn and all the rustic players who formed the rabble fell in behind the royal personages and their brilliant train. It was really a wonderfully beautiful picture, one to be remembered along with pride by Wellingtonians and with pleasure by outsiders who had gathered by the hundreds on the lawn. After the pageant came the Maypole dancers and the wandering musicians, the morality play and the rustic dances. There were hundreds of things to see. Mildred Brown rushing from one charming performance to another felt almost as if it really was an old English Mayday festival. The spirit of the actor rustics pervaded her and she was full of excitement and wonder at the whole marvelous performance. At last the entire company gathered in front of the now historic site of Queens Cottage and there amid the shrubbery and the tall old forest trees, the seniors gave their performance of as you like it. I don't believe Marlowe and Southern could do it a bit better, exclaimed Mildred proudly. Aren't they wonderful? Isn't Miss Molly wonderful? Said Jimmy Lufton. Yes, indeed. I am proud of my little sister today, prouder than ever of her. A man in a gray suit fanning himself with a straw hat turned around and looked at Mildred curiously. His face was lined with fatigue for nobody had worked harder than he over the festival but he was not too tired to be interested in Mildred Brown. So they are the brother and sister, he said to himself and a very good looking pair they are. I must try and meet them tomorrow. Ask them to tea at the quadrangle. Miss Molly would like that I think but not that young Lufton. He added half angrily. Not that young buccaneering newspaper fellow. Professor Green said Mrs. McClain standing next to him. I think we owe most of the success of this day to you. But how about that charming Rosalind? Did you train her to act so prettily? No, he replied. I couldn't do that. It's in her already. One has only to bring it out. Among the flowers which are handed over the row of potted cedars to Molly after the charming performance was a big bunch of yellow daffodils and tied to the yellow ribbon was a large yellow apple. You've won your second golden apple today, Miss Molly and I'm proud of my pupil. Read the card attached. End of chapter 20. Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen. Vancouver, BC. Chapter 21 of Molly Brown's Senior Days. By Nell Speed. This Libber Vox recording is in the public domain. Farewells. The rest of the time until graduation was like a dream to Molly and her friends whose hearts were filled with a sort of two-pronged homesickness. Homesickness for home and for Wellington, which now they were about to leave forevermore. A great many things happened in the space that intervened between the 1st of May and the 18th of June when graduation occurred. There were dances at Exmoor and dances at Wellington and the senior reception to the juniors. Then there were long quiet evenings when the old crowd gathered in number five and talked of the future. It was on one of these warm summer nights that they were draped as usual about the couches in the mellow glimmer of one Japanese lantern. Judy, thrumming on the guitar, saying, When all the world is young, lad, and all the trees are green, and every goose a swan, lad, and every lass a queen, then hay for boot and horse, lad, and round the world away, young blood must have its course, lad, and every dog his day. When all the world is old, lad, and all the trees are brown, and all the sport is stale, lad, and all the wheels run down, creep home and take your place there, the spent and maimed among. God grant you find one face there, you loved when all was young. My, that makes me sad, said Jesse. I feel that I've already lived my life and am coming back to old Wellington to die with a lot of other decrepit old persons who used to be young and beautiful. Thanks for the compliment about looks, said Edith, but I don't feel that way. I'm going forth to conquer. I'm going to write books and books before I come home to die. I'm gonna write books too, announced Molly Meekly, but I feel that I'm not ready to begin yet. You can't begin too young, interrupted Edith. I know, but I'm coming back for a post-grad course in. Molly hesitated, she hardly knew why. In English and, and a few other things, I've got no style. What, are you really coming back, they cried? Nance and I have decided to return, replied Molly. We are not ready to join the ranks yet, are we Nance? Dear Nance is going to polish up her French literature. I'll be busy enough. I expect to do a lot of tutoring and other profitable work. What shall I do, grown Judy? I don't want to study anymore. And yet, how can I bear for you two to be at Wellington without me to bother you? Molly looked at her and smiled. Remember, you are to come home with me this summer, Judy, and maybe you'll like Kentucky so well you'll want to stay there. Molly was well aware that her brother Kent had fallen in love with Judy at first sight, and it didn't occur to her that anybody could resist the charms of her favorite brother. Margaret, why don't you come back, asked Nance. Not me, answered Margaret. I hear the voice of suffrage calling. We all of us hear voices calling, broke in Catherine, and each is a different voice according to our natures. Now Margaret's voice is soprano, but Jesse hears a deep baritone. Nothing of the sort, cried Jesse. Tess up now, Jesse. When is it to be? The girls all gathered around Pretty Jesse, and at last, hard pressed, she said, when it does come off, you'll have to assemble from the four quarters of the globe to act as bridesmaids, but the day is not set yet. Have you decided on the man, asked Edith? Edith, how can you, answered Jesse, laughing. What are you going to do, Catherine, asked Molly, when the excitement had quieted down? Teach, answered Catherine bluntly. I loathe the thing, but a place awaits me, so I suppose next winter will find me sitting behind a little table, ringing a bell sharply and saying, now girls, pay attention please. She turned her large melancholy eyes on her sister. Edith thinks she's the only writer in the family, but in the intervals of teaching, I intend to surprise her. I've already had one short story, accepted by an obscured but bonafide magazine, which hasn't sent me a check yet. Have you heard the joke on Catherine, put in Edith? Do tell, they cried. While Catherine said fiercely, now Edith, you promise to keep that a secret, is too good to keep. She chose for the subject of her graduating essay, the juvenile delinquent, and got it all written, and then it occurred to her that Miss Walker would announce the juvenile delinquent, Catherine Williams, and she could not stand the implication. Poor Catherine, they cried and laughed joyously, and now Molly was handing out nut cake and cloudbursts. It seemed almost for the last time, and after that, these bright spirits in kimonos flitted away to their rooms. A little later, after darkness and quiet had descended, an ecstatic little giggle broke from Judy, lying alone and staring at the dim outline of her window. It was too soft a sound to disturb the tired sleepers in the adjoining rooms, but it meant that Judy had an idea, an idea that she could see already realized by the aid of her remarkable imagination. Her mind had been reviewing the talk of the evening and revolving about each of the girls in turn. Edith and Catherine and Molly, literary and ambitious. Nance, serious and studious. Jesse, pretty romantic and destined for marriage. And Margaret, the able and willing champion of suffrage. And Judy had smiled as she began to recall certain hours when Margaret's enthusiasm had waxed high, even so far back as freshman year, and her first-class presidency. That thought had started others. And as Judy remembered, various amusing incidents of the four years, her idea had flashed upon her. It was then that Judy had hugged herself and laughed aloud. But it was several nights later that she shared with the other girls her inspiration. They had gathered in Otario's little room that night. Just the eight close friends who now grasped every opportunity for one more good time together. They were a little inclined to sadness, for they had all been busy with those extra duties that point directly to the closing days of college life. Some had posed before the class photographer's camera. Some had borne the weariness of having gowns fitted, and at least two had practiced their parts for the commencement exercises. Margaret and Jesse were humming the chorus of one of the senior-class songs. And Otario was just beginning to make the tea. When Judy slipped out of the room with a word of excuse and a promise to return, Molly turned lazily to Nance, who sat close behind her on the couch, and whispered, "'Judy is as nervous as a witch these days. She has probably thought of something to add to her list.' "'Oh, that list,' returned Nance. She has everything on it now, from white gloves to a trunk strap, and still it grows. "'Seniors, seniors, seniors,' chanted Margaret and Jesse Dreamily, watching Otario, as she deftly arranged her dainty cups and saucers on a beautiful lacquered trays. Edith and Catherine were quite disputing some point about the class program, and absently mindfully accepting lemon for their tea. When the door opened and a woman draped closely in black, stepped into the room. "'Aha, young ladies,' she cried in a high weird voice that startled them into instant silence. So you would pierce the mysterious veil of the future and read in your tea cups the fortune that awaits you. Could you but possess my occult vision? You would not need to employ such perile methods. Here the somber figure raised two black-gloved arms and held before her eyes a pair of black opera glasses. She had reversed their usual position and now gazed steadily about the room through the large end of the glasses. "'Aha,' she began again, fixing her roving attention upon Margaret, who returned her gaze easily. I see far, far away through a vista of crowded seats, a platform adorned with distinguished figures. A pretty woman, stunningly gowned, is introducing to a breathlessly expectant audience a tall, striking person. The plaudits of the multitude drown the sound of her name as it is announced, but our keen sight enables us to recognize the famous Miss Wakefield. To those who have long known her, it will not be surprising to learn that her companion is none other than her college satellite, now Miss Jessie, but I cannot quite pronounce the unfamiliar name. As the voice stopped for a moment, Jessie started to ward the strange figure, but Margaret pulled her back and drew her blushing face down upon her own shoulder. At the same time Molly cried, where have I seen those shabby old glasses before? And Nancy added, my old bird glasses, or I'm blind. Nothing daunted, the prophetess went on in the same weird key. I see the gray towers of Wellington looming grandly against a wild, autumnal sky. I see troops of girls crowding across the campus and into recitation rooms. I see a single figure walking beside the white-haired president, as though discussing the schedule of lectures and the merits of students. And the figure is that of Miss Oldham, dear old Nancy. And the voice of the sous-sayer broke suddenly as she turned the glasses on Nance and Molly. Then she hurried on. By forcing my keen vision to its utmost capacity, I am able to read upon certain profound textbooks and names of their joint compilers, Edith and Catherine Williams, the world-famed writers. And again the voice paused as the glasses were leveled at the friendly disputants, long since quieted by the eloquence of the seer. All this time a toy-o had stood spellbound beside her teapot. Now she started slightly as the glasses glimmered in her direction. Oh no, no, no, she cried in real distress. Don't tell me please, Miss Keen. At that Judy flung the draperies back from her hair, the glasses to Nance, and her arms about Otoyo exclaiming at the same moment. You precious child, I don't know any more than your little Buddha does about your future, but the gods will be good to you and will leave it to them. End of chapter 21, recording by Linda Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, BC.