The note was written on heavy cream-colored paper with two Greek letters embossed at the top in dark blue. Judith lived in the Beta Phi House, which was divided into apartments, and occupied by eight decidedly well-to-do girls, the richest girls in college, as a matter of fact. It was called “The Millionaire’s Club,” and was known to be the abode of snobbishness, although Molly, who had been there once to a tea, had been entirely unconscious of this spirit.

Judy and Nance were speechless with indignation after Molly had finished reading the note.

“What do you think of that?” she exclaimed, breaking the silence.

“It’s a rank insult,” cried Nance.

“If you were a man, you could challenge her to a duel,” cried Judy; “but being a girl, you’ll have to take it out in ignoring her.”

“It’s written in such a matter-of-fact way,” continued Molly, “that I can’t believe it’s entirely unusual. After sober, second thought, I believe I’ll ask Sallie before I answer it.”

“Speaking of angels—there is Sallie!” cried Judy, as that young woman herself hurried past the door on her way to a class.

“What is it? Make it quick. I’m late now!” ejaculated Sallie, popping her head in at the door with a smile on her face to counteract her abrupt manner. “Who’s in trouble now?”

The three freshmen stood silently about her while she perused Judith’s note.

“Did you ever hear of such a thing?” burst out Judy with hot indignation.

“Oh, yes, lots of times, little one. It’s quite customary for freshmen to act as waitresses when girls in the older classes entertain in their rooms. The freshies like to do it because they get such good food. I do think this note is expressed, well—rather unfortunately. It has a sort of between-the-lines superiority. But Judith is always like that. You just have to take her as you find her and ignore her faults. You’d better accept, Molly, with good grace. You’ll enjoy the food, too. To-morrow—let me see, that’s New England boiled dinner night, isn’t it? You’ll probably have beefsteak and mushrooms and grape fruit and ice cream and all the delicacies of the season.”

“Very well, if you advise it, I’ll accept, like a lady,” said Molly resignedly.

“It’s customary,” answered Sallie, smiling cheerfully and waving her hand as she hurried down the hall.

“Well, that’s settled,” continued Molly sighing. Somehow, Judith Blount did get on her nerves. “Now, the other note is even more serious in a way. Listen to this.”

Before reading it, she carefully closed the door, drew the other girls into the far end of the room and began in a low voice:

The girls looked at each other in consternation.

“What’s to be done?”

“Say you have another engagement,” advised Judy, who was not averse at times to telling polite fibs in order to extricate herself from a difficulty. But Molly was the very soul of truth, and even small fibs were not in her line.

“Hasn’t any one else asked you yet?” asked Nance.

“No; you see, it’s a week off, and I suppose they are just beginning to think of partners now.”

“All I can say is that if you do go with her you are done for,” announced Nance solemnly.

Molly sat down in the Morris chair and wrinkled her brows.

“I do wish she hadn’t,” she said.

“She just regards you as a sort of life preserver,” exclaimed Judy. “She’s trying to keep above the surface by holding on to you. If I were you, I wouldn’t be bothered with her.”

“Of course, I know,” said Molly, “that Frances Andrews did something last year that put her in the black books with her class. She’s trying to live it down, and they are trying to freeze her out. Nobody has anything to do with her, and she’s not invited to anything except the big entertainments like this. I can’t help feeling sorry for her, and I don’t see how it would do me any harm to go with her. But I just don’t want to go, that’s all. I’d rather take a beating than go.”

“Well, then you are a chump for considering it!” exclaimed Judy, whose self-indulgent nature had little sympathy for people who would do uncomfortable things.

“Then, on the other hand,” continued Molly, “suppose my going would help her a little, don’t you think it would be mean to turn her down? Oh, say you think I ought to do it, because I’m going to, hard as it seems.”

Nance went over and put her arms around her friend, quite an unusual demonstration with her, while Judy seized her hand and patted it tenderly.

“Really, Molly, you are quite the nicest person in the world,” she exclaimed. Then she added: “By the way, Molly, can you spare the time to tutor me for a month or so? I don’t know what the rates are, but we can settle about that later. Nance tells me I must get busy or else take my walking papers. I’d be afraid of a strange tutor. I’m a timid creature. But I think I might manage to learn a few things from you, Molly, dear.”

Did Judy understand the look of immense relief which instantly appeared on Molly’s sensitive face? If she did she made no sign.

“Now, don’t say no,” she went on. “I know you are awfully busy, and all that, but it would be just an act of common charity.”

“Say no?” cried Molly, laughing lightly. “I can hardly wait to say yes,” and she cheerfully got out six pairs of muddy boots from the closet, enveloped herself in a large apron, slipped on a pair of old gloves and went to work to clean and black them. Molly had become official bootblack at Queen’s Cottage at ten cents a pair when they were not muddy, and fifteen cents when they were.

When she had completed her lowly job she sat down at her desk and wrote two notes.

One was to Judith Blount, in which she accepted her invitation to wait at table in the most polite and correct terms, and signed her name “Mary Carmichael Washington Brown.”

The second letter, which was to Frances Andrews, was also a note of acceptance.

Then Molly removed her collar, rolled up her sleeves, kicked off her pumps—a signal that she was going to begin work—and sat down to cram mathematics,—the very hardest thing in life to her and the subject which was to be a stumbling block in her progress always.

CHAPTER VII.
AN INCIDENT OF THE COFFEE CUPS.

Molly turned up at the Beta Phi House about five o’clock the next evening. She wore a blue linen so that if any grease sputtered it would fall harmlessly on wash goods, and in other ways attired herself as much like a maid as possible with white collar and cuffs and a very plain tight arrangement of the hair.

“If I’m to be a servant, I might as well look like one,” she thought, as she marched upstairs and rapped on Judith’s door.

“Come in,” called the voice of Jennie Wren. “Judith’s gone walking with her guests,” she explained; “but she left her orders with me, and I’ll transmit them to you,” she added rather grandly. “You are to do the cooking. Here are all the things in the ice box, and there’s the gas stove on the trunk. Miss Brinton and I will set the table.”

Molly gathered that Caroline Brinton, the unbending young woman from Philadelphia, had been chosen as her assistant.

The tiny ice box was stuffed full of provisions. There was the inevitable beefsteak, as Sallie had predicted; also canned soup; a head of celery, olives, grape fruits, olive oil, mushrooms, cheese—really, a bewildering display of food stuffs.

“Did Miss Blount decide on the courses?” Molly asked Jennie Wren.

“No; she got the raw material and left the rest entirely with you. ‘Tell her to get up a good dinner for six people,’ she said. ‘I don’t care how she does it, only she must have it promptly at six-fifteen.’”

There were only two holes to the gas stove and likewise only two saucepans to fit over them, so that it behooved Molly to look alive if she were to prepare dinner for six in an hour and a quarter.

“Where’s the can opener?” she called.

A calm, experienced cook with the patience of a saint might have felt some slight irritability if she had been placed in Molly’s shoes that evening. Nothing could be found. There was no can opener, no ice pick, the coffeepot had a limited capacity of four cups, and there was no broiler for the steak. It had to be cooked in a pan. It must be confessed also that it was the first time in her life Molly had ever cooked an entire meal. She had only made what her grandmother would have called “covered dishes,” or surprise dishes, and she now found preparing a dinner of four courses for six people rather a bewildering task.

At last there came the sound of voices in the next room. She put on the beefsteak. Her cheeks were flaming from the heat of the little stove. Her back ached from leaning over, and her head ached with responsibility and excitement.

“Is everything all right?” demanded Judith, blowing into the room with an air of “if it isn’t it will be the worse for you.”

“I believe so,” answered Molly.

“Why did you put the anchovies on crackers?” demanded the older girl irritably. “They should have been on toast.”

“Because there wasn’t enough bread for one thing, and because there was no way to toast it if there had been,” answered Molly shortly.

No cook likes to be interfered with at that crucial moment just before dinner.

“Here are your cap and apron,” went on Judith. “You know how to wait, don’t you? Always hand things at the left side.”

“Water happens to be poured from the right,” answered Molly, pinning on the little muslin cap. She was in no mood to be dictated to by Judith Blount or any other black-eyed vixen.

Judith made no answer. She seemed excited and absent-minded.

Caroline placed the anchovies while Molly poured the soup into cups, there being no plates. The voices of the company floated in to her. Jennie Wren had joined them, making the sixth.

She heard a man’s voice exclaim:

“I say, Ju-ju, I call this very luxurious. We never had anything so fine as this at Harvard. You always could hold up the parent and get what you wanted. Now, I never had the nerve. And, by the way, have you got a cook, too?”

“Only for to-night,” answered Judith. “We usually eat downstairs with the others.”

“You’re working some poor little freshman, ten to one,” answered Judith’s brother, for that was evidently who it was. Then Molly heard some one run up a brilliant scale and strike a chord and a good baritone voice began singing:

“Why don’t you join in, Eddie? But I forgot. It would never do for a Professor of English Literature at a girls’ college to lift his voice in ribald song.”

Some one laughed. Molly recognized the voice instantly. She knew that Professor Edwin Green was dining at Judith’s that night, and her inquiring mind reached out even further into the realms of conjecture, and she guessed who was the author of his light opera.

“Cousin Edwin, will you sit there, next to me?” said Judith’s voice.

“Cousin?” repeated Molly. “So that’s it, is it?”

Then other voices joined in—Mary Stewart, Jennie Wren and Martha Schaeffer, a rich girl from Chicago, who roomed in that house.

They gobbled down the first course as people usually dispatch relishes, and as Caroline removed the dishes, Molly appeared with the soup. None of the girls recognized her, of course, which was perfectly good college etiquette, although Mary Stewart smiled when Molly placed her cup of soup and whispered:

“Good work.”

Molly gave her a grateful look, and Professor Edwin Green, looking up, caught a glimpse of Molly’s flushed face, and smiled, too.

“I say, Ju-ju, who’s your head waitress?” Molly could not help overhearing Richard Blount ask when she had left the room.

“Oh, just a little Southern girl named Smith, or something,” answered Judith carelessly.

“That young lady,” said Professor Edwin Green, “is Miss Molly Brown, of Kentucky.”

The young freshman’s face was crimson when she brought in the steak and placed it in front of Mr. Blount.

Then she took her stand correctly behind his chair, with a plate in her hand, waiting for him to carve.

Sometimes two members of the same family are so unlike that it is almost impossible to believe that blood from the same stock runs in their veins. So it was with Richard Blount and his sister, Judith. She was tall and dark and arrogant, and he was short and blond and full of good-humored gayety. He rallied all the girls at the table. He teased his Cousin Edwin. He teased his sister, and then he ended by highly praising the food, looking all the time from one corner of his mild blue eyes at Molly’s flushed face.

“Really,” he exclaimed, “a French chef must have broiled this steak. Not even Delmonico, nor Oscar himself at the Waldorf, could have done it better. Isn’t it the top-notch, Eddie? What’s this? Mushroom sauce? By Jupiter, it’s wonderful to come out here in the wilds and get such food.”

Mary Stewart began to laugh. After all, it was just good-natured raillery.

“Why, Mr. Blount,” she said, “there is something to be found here that is lots better than porter-house steak.”

“What is it? Name it, please!” cried Richard. “If I must miss the train, I must have some, whatever it is—cream puffs or chocolate fudge?”

“It’s Kentucky ham of the finest, what do you call it—breed? Three years old. You’ve never eaten ham until you’ve tasted it.”

She smiled charmingly at Molly, who pretended to look unconscious while she passed the vegetables. Judith endeavored to change the subject.

She was angry with Mary for thus bringing her freshman waitress into prominence. But Molly was destined to be the heroine of the evening in spite of all efforts against it.

“Old Kentucky ham!” cried Richard Blount, starting from his chair with mock seriousness, “Where is it? I implore you to tell me. My soul cries out for old ham from the dark and bloody battleground of Kentucky!”

Everybody began to laugh, and Judith exclaimed:

“Do hush, Richard. You are so absurd! Did he behave this way at Harvard all the time, Cousin Edwin?”

“Oh, yes; only more so. But tell me more of this wonderful ham, Miss Stewart.”

Molly wondered if Professor Green really understood that it was all a joke on her when he asked that question.

Suddenly she formed a resolution. Following her assistant into the next room, she whispered:

“Which would you rather do, Miss Brinton? Go over to Queen’s and ask Nance to give you the rest of my ham or wait on the table while I go?”

“I’d rather get the ham,” replied Miss Brinton, whose proud spirit was crushed by the menial service she had been obliged to undertake that evening.

The dinner progressed. In a little while Molly had cleared the table and was preparing to bring on the grape-fruit salad when Caroline appeared with the remnants of the ham. Molly removed it from its wrappings and, placing it on a dish, bore it triumphantly into the next room.

“What’s this?” cried Richard Blount. “Do my eyes deceive me? Am I dreaming? Is it possible——”

“The old ham, or, rather, the attenuated ghost of the old ham!” ejaculated Mary Stewart.

Even Judith joined in the burst of merriment, and Professor Green’s laugh was the gayest of all.

Molly returned with the carving knife and fork, and Richard Blount began to snip off small pieces.

“‘Ham bone am very sweet,’” he sang, one eye on Molly.

“It is certainly wonderful,” exclaimed Professor Green, as he tasted the delicate meat; “but it seems like robbery to deprive the owner of it.”

“Now, Edwin, you keep quiet, please,” interrupted Richard. “I’ve heard that some owners of old hams are just as fond of things sweeter than ham bones. A five-pound box ought to be the equivalent of this, eh?”

“Really, Richard, you go too far,” put in Judith, frowning at her brother.

But Richard took not the slightest notice of her, nor did he pause until he had cleaned the ham bone of every scrap of meat left on it.

“Aren’t you going to catch your train?” asked Judith.

“I think not to-night, Ju-ju,” he answered, smiling amiably. “Edwin, can you put me up? If not, I’ll stop at the inn in the village.”

“No, indeed, you won’t, Dick. You must stop with me. I have an extra bed, solely in hopes you might stay in it some night. And later this evening we might run over—er—a few notes.”

He looked consciously at Richard, then he gave Molly a swift, quizzical glance, remembering probably that he had confided to her and her alone that he was the author of the words of a comic opera.

Having cleared the table, Molly now returned with the coffee. The cups jaggled as she handed them. She was very weary, and her arms ached. When she had reached Professor Edwin Green, Richard Blount, with his nervous, quick manner, suddenly started from his chair and exclaimed:

“Now, I know whom you remind me of—Ellen Terry at sixteen.”

Nobody but Molly realized for a moment that he was talking to her, and she was so startled that her wrist gave a twist and over went the tray and three full coffee cups straight on to the knees of the august Professor of English Literature.

There was a great deal of noise, Molly remembered. She herself was so horrified and stunned that she stood immovable, clutching the tray wildly, as a drowning person clings to a life preserver. She heard Judith cry:

“How stupid! How could you have been so unpardonably awkward!”

At the same moment Mary Stewart said: “It was entirely your fault, Mr. Blount. You frightened the poor child with your wild behavior.”

And Professor Green said:

“Don’t scold, Judith. I’m to blame. I joggled the tray with my elbow. There’s no harm done, at any rate. These gray trousers will be much improved by being dyed cafe au lait.”

Then Richard Blount rose from the table and marched straight over to where Molly was standing transfixed, still miserably holding to the tray.

“Miss Brown,” he said humbly, “I want to apologize. All this must have been very trying for you, and you have behaved beautifully. I hope you will forgive me. My only excuse is that I am always forgetting my little sister and her friends are not still children. Will you forgive me?”

He looked so manly and good-natured standing there before her with his hand held out, that Molly felt what slight indignation there was in her heart melting away at once. She put her hand in his.

“There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Blount,” she said, and the young man who was a musician pricked up his ears when he heard that soft, musical voice.

“And I’ve robbed you of your ham,” he continued.

“It was a pleasure to know you enjoyed it,” she said.

Presently Molly began clearing the table. Richard sat down at the piano. It was evident that he never wandered far from his beloved instrument, and the girls gathered around him while he ran over the first act of his new opera.

Professor Edwin Green said good night and took himself and his coffee-soaked trousers home to his rooms.

“You can follow later, Dickie,” he called.

As he passed Molly, standing by the door, he smiled at her again, and Molly smiled back, though she was quite ready to cry.

“The ham was delicious,” he said. “Thank you very much.”

That night, when Molly had wearily climbed the stairs to her room and flung herself on her couch, Nance, writing at her desk, called over:

“Well, how was the beefsteak?”

“I didn’t get any,” said Molly. “Even if there had been any left, I was too tired to eat anything. I’m afraid I wasn’t born to be anybody’s cook, Nance, or waitress, either.”

And Molly turned her face to the wall and wept silently.

Lest we forget, we will say now that two days after this episode of the coffee cups, there came, by express for Miss Molly Brown, a five-pound box of candy without a card, and the girls at Queen’s Cottage feasted right royally for almost two evenings.

CHAPTER VIII.
CONCERNING CLUBS,—AND A TEA PARTY.

At the first meeting of the freshman class of 19—, Margaret Wakefield of Washington, D. C., had been elected President.

Just how this came about no one could exactly say. She could not have been accused of electioneering for herself, and yet she made an impression somehow and had won the election by a large majority.

“Anybody who can talk like that ought to be President of something,” Molly had observed good naturedly. “She could make a real inauguration speech, I believe, and she knows all about Parliamentary Law, whatever that is.”

“She dashed off the class constitution just as easily as if she were writing a letter home,” said Judy.

“That’s not so easy, either,” added Nance mournfully.

The girls were silent. It had gradually leaked out as their friendship progressed that Nance’s home was not an abode of happiness by any means. And yet Nance had written a theme on “Home,” which was so well done that she had been highly complimented by Miss Pomeroy, who had read it aloud to the class. Molly often wondered just what manner of woman Nance’s mother was, and she soon had an opportunity of finding out for herself.

But the conversation about the new class president continued.

“President Wakefield wants us to have bi-monthly meetings,” continued Judy. “She wishes to divide the class into committees and have a chairman for each committee—”

“Committees for what?” demanded Molly.

“Dear knows,” laughed Judy, “but her father’s a Congressman, and she has inherited his passion for law and order, I suppose. She wants to conduct a debate on Woman’s Suffrage to meet Saturdays. It’s to be called ‘The Woman’s Franchise Club,’ and she wishes to establish by-laws and resolutions and a number of other things that are Greek to me, for ‘the political body corporate.’ She says it’s a crying shame that women know so little about the constitution of their own country, and in establishing a debating society, she hopes to do some missionary work in that line.”

Judy had risen and was waving her arms dramatically while her voice rose and fell like an old-time orator’s.

“I suppose we ought,” said Molly; “but I’d rather put it off a year or so. There are so many other things to enjoy first. Besides, it will be four years before I reach the voting age, and by that time I hope my ‘intellects’ will have developed sufficiently to take in the constitution of the country.”

“Anyhow,” exclaimed Judy, “I’m proud to have a class president who’s such a first-class public speaker, because it takes it all off our shoulders. Whenever there’s a speech to be made or anything public and embarrassing to be done, we’ll just vote for her to do it, because she will enjoy it so much.”

“But are you going to join the debating club?” asked Nance.

“I suppose it’s our duty to,” replied Molly; “but I do hate to pin myself down. Suppose we say we’ll go to one and listen?”

“Well, you’d better settle it now, because here comes the President sailing up the walk. She’s going the rounds now, I suppose, and in another two minutes she’ll be springing the question on us.”

Judy, who was sitting at the front window of her own room, nodded down into the yard and smiled politely, and the girls had just time to settle among themselves what they were going to say when there was a smart rap on the door and President Wakefield entered.

She wore rather masculine-looking clothes, and carried a business-like small-sized suit case in one hand and a notebook in the other.

“Hello, girls!” she began; “I’m so glad I caught you together. It saves telling over the same thing three times. I want to know first exactly how you stand on the woman’s suffrage question. Now, don’t be afraid to be frank about it, and speak your minds. Of course, I’m sure that, being women who are seeking the higher education, you are all of you on the right side—the side of the thinking woman of to-day——”

Here Judy sneezed so violently that she almost upset the little three-legged clover-leaf tea table at her elbow.

“How do you feel on the subject, Molly?”

Molly smiled broadly, while Nance cleared her throat and Judy blew her nose and exclaimed:

“I think I must be taking cold. Excuse me while I get a sweater,” and disappeared in the closet.

“I—I’m afraid I don’t know very much about the subject, Margaret. You see, I was brought up in the country, and I haven’t had a chance to go into woman’s suffrage very deeply.”

“There is no time like the present for beginning, then,” said Margaret promptly, opening the business-like little suit case. “Read these two pamphlets and you’ll get the gist of the entire subject clearly and concisely expressed. I will call on you for an opinion next week after you’ve had time to study the question a bit.”

Molly took the pamphlets and began hastily turning the leaves. She wanted to laugh, but she felt certain it would offend Margaret deeply not to be taken seriously, and she controlled her facial muscles with an effort while she waited for attack No. Two.

“Nance, have you taken any interest in this question?” continued Margaret, who seemed to have the patience of a fanatic spreading his belief.

“I know something about it,” replied Nance quietly. “You see, my mother is President of a Woman’s Suffrage Association, and she spends most of her time going about the country making speeches for the National Association.”

“What, is your mother Mrs. Anna Oldham, the famous clubwoman?” cried Margaret.

Nance nodded her head silently.

“Why, she is one of the greatest authorities on women’s suffrage in the country!” exclaimed Margaret with great enthusiasm. “It says so here. Look, it gives a little sketch of her life and titles. She is president of two big societies and an officer in five others. It’s all in this little book called ‘Famous Club Women in America and England.’ Dear me,” continued Margaret modestly, “I think I’d better resign and give the chair to you, Nance. I’m nobody to be preaching to you when you must know the subject from beginning to end.”

Nance smiled in her curious, whimsical way.

“Have you ever eaten too much of something, Margaret,” she said, “and then hated it ever afterward?”

“Why, yes,” replied the President, “that has happened to every one, I suppose. Mince pie and I have been strangers to each other for many years on that account.”

“Well,” continued Nance, “I’ve been fed on clubs until I feel like a Strausberg goose. I’ve had them crammed down my throat since I was five years old. When I was twelve, I was my mother’s secretary, and I’ve sent off thousands of just such pamphlets as you are distributing now. I learned to write on the typewriter so I could copy my mother’s speeches. I’ve been usher at club conventions and page at committee meetings. I’ve distributed hundreds of badges with ‘Votes for Women’ printed on them. I had to make a hundred copies of mother’s speech on ‘The Constitution and By-Laws of the United States,’ and send them to a hundred different women’s clubs. So, you see,” she added, simply, frowning to keep back her tears, “I think I’ll take a rest from clubs while I’m at college and begin to enjoy life a little with Molly and Judy.”

Margaret Wakefield, who was really a very nice girl and exceedingly well-bred, leaned over and placed a firm, rather large hand on Nance’s.

“I should think you had had enough,” she exclaimed, giving the hand a warm squeeze. Seeing teardrops glistening in Nance’s eyes, she rose and started to the door. “If ever you do want to come to any of the meetings, you will be very welcome, girls,” she said; “but you don’t want to overdo anything in life, you know, and if there are things that interest you more than Woman’s Suffrage you oughtn’t to sacrifice yourselves. People should follow their own bent, I think. Good-bye,” she went on, smiling brightly, “and don’t bother to read the pamphlets, Molly, dear, if you don’t want to. It’s a poor way to carry a point to make a bugbear of the subject.”

She went out quietly and closed the door.

“I call her a perfect lady,” exclaimed Molly, trying not to look at Nance, but wishing at the same time that her friend would give way just once and have a good cry.

“Let’s cut study this afternoon and take a walk,” exclaimed Judy. “Trot along and get on your sweaters. It’s much too glorious to stay indoors. Nance, can’t you do your theme after supper? Molly, you look a little peaked. It will do you good to breathe the fresh, untainted air of the pine woods.”

Judy, it must be confessed, was always glad of a good excuse to get away from her books.

“Splendid!” cried Molly with enthusiasm.

“And I’ll bring my English tea basket,” went on Judy. “Who’s got any cookies?”

“I have,” said Nance, now fully recovered.

In five minutes the three girls had started across the campus to the road and presently were making for the pine woods that bordered the pretty lake. Everybody seemed to be out roaming the country that beautiful autumn afternoon. Parties of girls came swinging past, who had been on long tramps through the woods and over to the distant hills which formed a blue and misty background to the lovely rolling country. The lake was dotted with canoes and rowboats, and from far down the road that wound its way through the valley there came the sound of singing. Presently a wagon-load of girls emerged into view, followed by another wagon filled with autumn leaves and evergreens.

“It’s the sophomore committee on decoration,” Judy explained. Apparently she knew everything that happened at college. “They are getting the decorations for the gym. for the ball to-morrow night.”

Molly quickly changed the subject. She had had two invitations to go to the Sophomore-Freshman Ball since she had accepted Frances Andrews’ offer, and several of the sophomores had been to see her to ask her to change her mind, but, having given her word, Molly intended to keep it, no matter what was to pay.

“Let’s go to the upper end of the lake,” she suggested. “It’s wilder and much prettier,” and she led the way briskly along the path through the pine woods.

In a little while they came out at the other end of the small body of water where the woods abruptly ended at the foot of a hill called “Round Head,” which the girls proceeded to climb. From this eminence could be seen a widespreading panorama of hills and valleys, little streams and bits of forests, and beyond the pine woods the college itself, its campus spread at its feet like a mat of emerald green.

The girls paused breathlessly and Judy put down her tea basket.

“Here’s where a little refreshment might be very welcome,” she said, opening her basket of which she was justly proud, for not many girls at Wellington could boast of such a possession. She filled the little kettle from the bottle of water she had taken the precaution to bring along, and they sat down in a circle on the turf. The autumn had been a dry one, and the ground was not damp. Nibbling cookies and sweet chocolate, they waited for the water to boil.

“Look, here comes some one,” whispered Judy, indicating the figure of a man appearing around the side of the hill.

“I do hope it’s not a tramp,” exclaimed Nance uneasily.

Molly Brown hoped so, too, although she said nothing. But she felt nervous, as who wouldn’t in that lonely place? As the man came nearer, it became plain that he was making straight for them, and he did most assuredly look like a wanderer of some kind. He was dressed in an old suit of rough gray, wore an old felt hat and carried a staff like a pilgrim. The girls sat quite still and said nothing. There had been a silent understanding among them that it was better not to run. As the man drew nearer, Molly became suddenly conscious of the fact that across the gray trousers just above the knees was a deep coffee-colored stain.

The next moment the man stood before them, leaning on his staff, his hat under his arm. It was “Epiménides Antinous Green.”

“Confess now,” he said, smiling at all of them and looking at Molly, whom he knew best of the three, “you took me for a tramp?”

“Not exactly for a tramp,” answered Molly; “but for one who tramps.”

“What’s the difference, Miss Brown?” he asked laughing.

“Oh, everything. Clothes——” she paused, blushing deeply. Her eyes had fallen on the coffee stain. “Why doesn’t he have it cleaned off?” she thought, frowning slightly. “And—and looks,” she continued out loud.

“Even in the walk,” Judy finished. “Perhaps we can give you a cup of tea, Professor,” she added politely.

The Professor was only too glad for a cup of tea. He had been roaming the hills all day, he said, and he was tired and thirsty. While he sipped the fragrant beverage, he glanced at his watch.

“The truth is, I had an appointment at this spot at four-thirty,” he announced. “I was to meet my young brother George, familiarly known as ‘Dodo.’ He’s at Exmoor College, ten miles over, and was to walk across the valley to the rendezvous, and I was to conduct him safely to my rooms for supper. He was afraid to enter the college by the front gate for fear of meeting several hundreds of young women. He runs like a scared rabbit if he sees a girl a block off.”

“Won’t it give him an awful shock when he catches a glimpse of us waiting here on the hilltop?” asked Molly.

“It’s a shock that won’t hurt him,” replied the professor. “We’ll see what happens, at any rate.”

He put his cup and saucer on the ground, while his quizzical eyes, which seemed to laugh even when his face was serious, turned toward Molly. And Molly was well worth looking at that afternoon, although she herself was much dissatisfied with her appearance. Her auburn hair had almost slipped down her back. Her blue linen shirtwaist was decidedly blousey at the waist line. “It’s because I haven’t enough shape to keep it down,” she was wont to complain. Her cheeks were glowing and her eyes as calmly blue as the summer skies.

“Perhaps we’d better start on,” said Nance uneasily. She always felt an inexplicable shyness in the presence of men, and her friends had been known to nickname her “old maid.”

But before Professor Green could protest that he was only too glad to have his bashful brother make the acquaintance of three charming college girls, Judy, ever on the alert, exclaimed, “Look, there he comes around the side of the hill.”

The Professor rose and signaled with his hat, chuckling to himself, as he watched his youthful brother pause irresolutely on the hillside.

“Come on, Dodo,” he shouted, making a trumpet of his hands.

“I believe not this afternoon, thank you,” Dodo trumpeted back. “I have an important engagement at six.”

The girls could not keep from laughing.

“It’s a shame to frighten the poor soul like that,” exclaimed Molly. “We’ll start back, Professor, and leave him in peace.”

But the Professor was a man of determination, and had made up his mind to bring his shy brother into the presence of ladies that afternoon, very attractive ladies at that, of George’s own age, with simple, unaffected manners, calculated to make a shy young man forget for the moment that he had an affliction of agonizing diffidence.

“George,” called the professor, running a little way down the hillside, “come back and don’t be a fool.”

The wretched lad turned his scarlet face in their direction and began to climb the hill. He was a tall, overgrown youth, with large hands and feet, and when he stood in their midst, holding his cap nervously in both hands, while the Professor performed the introductions, he looked like a soldier facing the battle.

It remained for Molly and Judy to put him at his ease, however, with tea and cookies and questions about Exmoor College, while the Professor conversed with Nance about life at Wellington, and which study she liked best. At last the spirit of George emerged from its shy retreat, and he forgot to feel self-conscious or afraid. They rose, packed the tea things and started back. And it was the Professor who carried Judy’s tea basket, while George, glancing from Molly’s blue eyes to Judy’s soft gray ones, strolled between them and related a thrilling tale of college hazing.

“That was a swift remedy, was it not, Miss Oldham?” observed the Professor, laughing under his breath.

But undoubtedly the cure was complete, for that very evening Molly received a note, written in a crabbed boyish hand, and signed “George Green,” inviting the three girls to ride over to Exmoor on the trolley the following Saturday and spend the day. Miss Green, an older sister, would act as chaperone.

And not a few thrills did these young ladies experience at the prospect.

CHAPTER IX.
RUMORS AND MYSTERIES.

How many warm-hearted, impetuous people get themselves into holes because of those two qualities which are very closely allied indeed; and Molly Brown was one of those people. Carried away by emotions of generosity, she found herself constantly going farther than she realized at the moment. Why, for instance, could she not have put Frances Andrews off with an excuse for a day or so? Some one would surely have asked her to the Sophomore-Freshman ball.

And if she had only liked Frances, matters would have been different. If it had been an act of friendship, of deep devotion. But in spite of herself, she could not bring herself to trust that strange girl, beautiful and clever as she undoubtedly was, and sorry as Molly was for her. After all, it was rather selfish of Frances to have obtained the promise from Molly. Did she think it would reinstate her in the affections of her class to be seen in the company of the popular young freshman?

All this time, Molly said nothing to her friends, but on the morning of the ball she could not conceal from Judy and Nance her apprehension and general depression. And seeing their friend’s lack-lustre eye and drooping countenance, they held a counsel of war in Judy’s small bedroom.

At the end of this whispered conference, Judy was heard to remark:

“I’m afraid of the girl, to tell you the truth. Her fiery eyes and her two-pronged tongue seem to take all the spirit out of me.”

“I’m not afraid of her,” said Nance, who had a two-pronged tongue of her own, once she was stirred into action. “You wait here for me, and when I come back, you can go and notify the sophomores of what’s happened. Of course, Molly will get to the ball all right. The thing is to extricate her from the situation by the most tactful and surest means.”

Judy laughed.

“No,” she answered, “the thing is not to let Molly know we have saved her life.”

“If Frances hadn’t done that witch’s stunt and said all those malicious things at Molly’s Kentucky spread, I don’t think I should have minded so much. And do you know, Judy, that the report has spread abroad that she and Molly had prepared the whole thing beforehand, speeches and all and were in league together? You see, Molly was the only one who wasn’t hit.”

“You don’t mean it,” cried Judy. “Then, more than ever, I want to spare the child the humiliation she might have to suffer if she went with Frances to-night. Go forth to battle, Nance, and may the saints preserve you.”

Nance girded her sweater about her like a coat of mail, stiffened her backbone, pressed her lips together and marched out to the fray. She never told even Judy exactly what took place between Frances and her in that small room, with its bewildering array of fine trappings, silver combs and brushes, yellow silk curtains at the window, Turkish rugs, books and pictures. No one had ever seen the room except Molly the night of the spread, when it was too dark to make out what was in it.

There was no loud talking. Whatever was said was of the tense quiet kind, and presently Nance emerged unscathed from the encounter.

“She made me give my word of honor not to tell what was said,” she announced to the palpitating Judy, “but she’s writing the note to Molly now; so go quickly and inform someone that Molly has no escort for the ball.”

Judy departed much mystified and Nance remained discreetly away from her own room until she perceived Frances steal down the hall, push a note under their door and then hurry back, bang her own door and lock it.

Then, after a moment’s grace, Nance marched boldly to their chamber. Molly was reading the note.

“What do you think, Nance?” she exclaimed with a tone of evident relief in her voice, “Frances Andrews can’t go to-night.”

“Indeed, and what reason does she give?” asked Nance, feeling very much like a conspirator now that she was obliged to face Molly.

“None. She simply says ‘I’m sorry I can’t go to-night. Hope you’ll enjoy it. F. A.’ How does she expect me to get there, I wonder, at the eleventh hour?”

Nance examined her finger nails attentively.

“Perhaps she’s seen to that,” she replied after a pause.

“Nance,” said Molly, presently, “I’m so relieved that I think I’ll have to ’fess up. It’s mean of me, I know, and I feel awfully ungenerous to be so glad. You see, nobody can ever tell what strange, freakish thing she’s going to do. Of course she was the witch. I knew it from the conscious look that came into her face when I told her about it afterwards.”

“The mistake she has made is being defiant instead of repentant,” said Nance. “Instead of trying to brazen it out, she ought to ‘walk softly,’ as the Bible says, and keep quiet. She is the most embittered soul I ever met in all my life. If hatred counted for much, her hatred for her own class would burn it to a cinder.”

There was a sound of hurrying footsteps on the stairs and Judy burst into the room. Her face was aflame and she flung herself into a chair panting for breath.

“What’s your hurry?” asked Molly, slipping on her jacket. “Excuse me, I must be chasing along to French. Tell her the news, Nance.”

No need to tell Judy news, who had news of her own.

“I tell you, Nance,” she exclaimed, “there are times when I think the position of a freshman is one of the lowliest things in life. The first sophomore I met was Judith Blount. I did feel a little timid, but I told her what had happened. ‘You can tell your friend,’ she said, ‘that we sophomores are not so gullible as all that, and if her nerve has failed her at the last moment, it’s her fault, not ours.’”

“Why, Judy,” exclaimed Nance, “you didn’t know you were jumping from the frying pan right into the fire when you told that to Judith Blount, who has never liked Molly from the beginning. It’s jealousy, pure and simple, I think; although there almost seems to be something more behind it sometimes. She takes such pains to be disagreeable. Was anyone else there to hear you?”

“Oh, yes. She was surrounded by her satellites, Jennie Wren and a few others.”

The two girls sat in gloomy silence for a few minutes. After that rebuff, they hardly cared to circulate the bit of news any further in the sophomore class, which, it must be confessed, had the reputation of being run by a clique of the most arrogant and snobbish set of girls Wellington College had ever known.

“Let’s go and tell our woes to nice old Sally Marks,” suggested Judy, and off they marched in search of the good-natured funny Sally, whose room was on the floor below.

“Come in,” she called at their tap on the door, and noticing at once their serious faces, she exclaimed:

“I declare, I am beginning to feel like the Oracle at Delphi. What’s the trouble, now, my children?”

“You ought never to have gone to Judith Blount,” she continued after they had unburdened their secrets. But having gone to her, “it would be well,” so spake the Oracle, “to sit back and hold tight. The news is certain to spread, and of course only Judith and her ring would believe that Molly sent you out to find her an escort. There is one thing sure: Molly is obliged to go to the dance, not only because she has so many friends, but because she figures, I am told, so largely in ‘Jokes & Croaks,’ and it would be sport spoiled if she wasn’t there when the things are read out. Now, trot along, children, I’m cramming for an exam., and I’m busier than the busiest person in Wellington to-day.”

The afternoon dragged itself slowly along. Nance took her best dress out of its wrappings, heated a little iron and smoothed out its wrinkles. She lifted Molly’s blue crepe from its hanger and laid it on the couch.

“It was made in the simplest possible way out of the least possible goods in the least possible time,” she informed Judy, who had wickedly cut a class and sat moping in her friend’s room. “Isn’t it pretty? We made it together, and I’m really quite puffed up about the result. It’s Empire, you know,” she added proudly.

The dress did indeed show the short Empire waist. The round neck was cut out and finished with a frill of creamy lace which Molly happened to have, and there had not been much of a struggle with the sleeves, which came only to the elbow and were to all intents and purposes shapeless. But the color was the thing, as Molly had said.

“I’d be willing to drown in a color like that,” Judy observed. Judy was quite a poseuse about colors and assured her friends that she could never wear red because it inflamed her temper and made her cross; that violet quieted her nerves; green stirred her ambitions, and blue aroused her sympathies. While they were looking at the dress, Margaret Wakefield and Jessie Lynch, her roommate and boon companion, after rapping on the door, sailed into the room.

“We came to consult about clothes,” they announced. “Is this to be an evening dress affair, or what’s proper to wear?”

“The best you have,” replied Judy, “at least that’s what I was told by the oracular Sally below stairs.”

“For the love of heaven, don’t tell that to Jessie,” cried Margaret. “If you give her so much rope, she’ll be wearing purple velvet and cloth of gold.”

Jessie laughed good-naturedly. She was already considered the best dressed and prettiest girl in the freshman class, and it was a joke at Queen’s Cottage that she had been obliged to apply to the matron for more closet room, because the large one she shared with Margaret Wakefield was not nearly adequate for her numerous frocks. It had been a constant wonder to the other girls in the house that these two opposite types could have become such intimate friends; but friends they were, and continued to be throughout their college course, although Jessie never could rake up an interest in the U. S. Constitution or woman’s suffrage, either.

The two girls really formed a sort of combination of brains and beauty, and it became generally known that Jessie would hardly have pulled through the four years, except for the indefatigable efforts of her faithful friend, Margaret.

Mabel Hinton, a Queen’s Cottage freshman, now popped her head in at the door, which was half open. She was a very odd character, but she was popular with her friends, who called her “The Martian,” probably because she had a phenomenal intellect and wore enormous glasses in tortoise shell frames which made her eyes look like a pair of full moons.

“I thought I heard a racket,” she said in her crisp, catchy voice. “I suppose you are all discussing the news.”

“News? What news?” they demanded.

She closed the door carefully and came farther into the room.

“Gather around me, girls,” she said mysteriously, enjoying their curiosity.

“But what is it, Mabel? Don’t keep us in suspense,” cried Judy, always impatient.

“Well, there is evidence that someone was going to set fire to the gym. to-night,” she began, in a whisper. “This morning a bundle of oil-soaked rags was discovered in a closet, and then they began to search and found several other bundles like the first. There was a lot of excitement, and the Prex came over. They tried to keep it quiet, but the story leaked out, of course, and is still leaking——” she smiled.

The girls exchanged horrified glances. What terrible disaster might not have befallen them if the rags had not been discovered?

“Of course it was the work of an insane person,” said Margaret Wakefield.

“Of course, but who? Is she one of the students or some outside person?”

With a common instinct, Judy and Nance looked up at the same moment. Their glances met. Without making a sound, Judy’s lips formed the word “Frances.”

“Is the dance to take place, then?” asked Jessie.

“Oh, yes. It’s all been hushed up and things will go on just as usual. I’m going to look on from the balcony. I shan’t mingle with the dancers, because they knock off my spectacles and generally upset my equilibrium.”

The door opened and Molly appeared in their midst like a gracefully angular wraith, for her face looked white, her shoulders drooped and her long slim arms hung down at her sides dejectedly.

“Why, Molly, dear, has anything happened to you?” cried Nance.

“No, I won’t say that nothing has happened,” answered Molly, sinking into a chair and resting her chin on her hand. “I have been put through an ordeal this day, why, I can never tell you, but I am glad you are all here so that I can tell you about it.”

They pressed about her, full of sympathy and friendliness, while Judy, who loved comfort and recognized the needs of the flesh under the most trying circumstances, lit Nance’s alcohol lamp and put on the kettle to make tea.

“But what is it?” they all demanded, seeing that Molly had fallen into a silence.

“I’ve been with the President for the last hour,” she said, “though for what reason I can’t explain. I can’t imagine why I was sent for and brought to her private office. She was very nice and kind. She asked me a lot of questions about myself and all of Queen’s girls. I was glad enough to answer them, because we have nothing to be ashamed of, have we, girls?” Molly rose and stood before them, spreading out her hands with a kind of deprecating gesture. The circle of faces before her almost seemed abashed under the steady gaze of her clear blue eyes. “It was a pleasure to tell her what nice girls were stopping at Queen’s Cottage.”

“Did she mention?” began Judy and pointed to the dividing wall of the next room.

“Oh, yes, I was coming to that. But what do I know about——” Mollie stopped short and caught her breath. Her eyes turned towards the door, which was opened softly. There stood Frances Andrews.