allowance.
During the hot fudge and hickory nut cake course, the door opened and a Scotch laddie, kilted and belted in the most approved manner entered the room. His knees were bare, he wore a little Scotch cap, a black velvet jacket and a plaidie thrown over one shoulder. But the most perfect part of his get-up was his miniature bagpipe, which he blew on vigorously, and presently he paused and sang a Scotch song.
“Nance!” cried several of the Queen’s Cottage girls, for it was difficult to recognize the quiet young girl from Vermont in this rakish disguise.
In the midst of the uproar there was a loud knock on the door.
“Come in,” called Molly, a little frightened, thinking, perhaps, the kindly matron had for once rebelled at the noise they were making.
Slowly the door opened and an old hag stepped into the room. She was really a terrible object, and some of the girls shrieked and fell back as she advanced toward the jolly circle. Her nose was of enormous length, and almost rested on her chin, like a staff, like the nose of “The Last Leaf on the Tree.” Also, she had a crooked back and leaned heavily on a stick. On her head was a high pointed witch’s cap. She wore black goggles, and had only two front teeth. The witch produced a pack of cards which she dexterously shuffled with her black gloved hands. Then she sat down on the floor, beckoning to the girls to come nearer.
“Half-a-minute fortune for each one,” she observed in a muffled, disguised voice, but it was a very fulsome minute, as Judy remarked afterward, for what little she said was strictly to the point.
To Judith Blount she said:
“English literature is your weak point. Look out for danger ahead.”
This seemed simple enough advice, but Judith flushed darkly, and several of the girls exchanged glances. Molly, for some reason, recalled what Judith had said about Professor Edwin Green.
Many of the other girls came in for knocks, but they were very skillful ones, deftly hidden under the guise of advice. To Jennie Wren the witch said:
“Be careful of your friends. Don’t ever cultivate unprofitable people.”
To Nance Oldham she said:
“You will always be very popular – if you stick to popular people.”
It was all soon over. Molly’s fortune had been left to the last. The strange witch had gone so quickly from one girl to another that they had scarcely time to take a breath between each fortune.
“As for you,” she said at last, turning to Molly, “I can only say that ‘kind hearts are more than coronets, and simple faith than Norman blood,’ and by the end of your freshman year you will be the most popular girl in college.”
“Who are you?” cried Molly, suddenly coming out of her dream.
“Yes, who are you?” cried Judith, breaking through the circle and seizing the witch by the arm.
With a swift movement the witch pushed her back and she fell in a heap on some girls who were still sitting on the floor.
“I will know who you are,” cried Jennie Wren, with a determined note in her high voice, as she grasped the witch by the arm, and it did look for a moment as if the Kentucky spread were going to end in a free-for-all fight, when suddenly, in the midst of the scramble and cries, came three raps on the door, and the voice of the matron called:
“Young ladies, ten o’clock. Lights out!”
The girls always declared that it was the witch who had got near the door and pushed the button which put out every light in the room. At any rate, the place was in total darkness for half a minute, and when Molly switched the lights on again for the girls to find their wraps the witch had disappeared.
In another instant the guests had vanished into thin air and across the moonlit campus ghostly figures could be seen flitting like shadows over the turf toward the dormitories, for there was no time to lose. At a quarter past ten the gates into the Quadrangle would be securely locked.
Nance lit a flat, thick candle, known in the village as “burglar’s terror,” and in this flickering dim light the two girls undressed hastily.
Suddenly Molly exclaimed in a whisper:
“Nance, I believe it was Frances Andrews who dressed up as that witch, and I’m going to find out, rules or no rules.”
She slipped on her kimono and crept into the hall. The house was very still, but she tapped softly on Frances’ door. There was no answer, and opening the door she tiptoed into the room. A long ray of moonlight, filtering in through the muslin curtains, made the room quite light. There was a smell of lavender salts in the air, and Mollie could plainly see Frances in her bed. A white handkerchief was tied around her head, as if she had a headache, but she seemed to be asleep.
“Frances,” called Molly softly.
Frances gave a stifled sob that was half a groan and turned over on her side.
“Frances,” called Molly again.
Frances opened her eyes and sat up.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked.
Molly went up to the bedside. Even in the moonlight she could see that Frances’ eyes were swollen with crying.
“I was afraid you were ill,” whispered Molly. “Why didn’t you come to the spread?”
“I had a bad headache. It’s better now. Good night.” Molly crept off to her room.
Was it Frances, after all, who had broken up her party?
Molly was inclined to think it was not, and yet —
“At any rate, we’ll give her the benefit of the doubt, Nance,” she whispered.
But there were no doubts in Nance’s mind.
CHAPTER VI
KNOTTY PROBLEMS
“I tell you things do hum in this college!” exclaimed Judy Kean, closing a book she had been reading and tossing it onto the couch with a sigh of deep content.
“I don’t see how you can tell anything about it, Judy,” said Nance severely. “You’ve been so absorbed in ‘The Broad Highway’ every spare moment you’ve had for the last two days that you might as well have been in Kalamazoo as in college.”
“Nance, you do surely tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,” said Judy good naturedly. “I know I have the novel habit badly. It’s because I had no restraint put upon me in my youth, and if I get a really good book like this one, I just let duty slide.”
“Why don’t you put your talents to some use and write, then?” demanded Nance, who enjoyed preaching to her friends.
“Art is more to my taste,” answered Judy.
“Well, art is long and time is fleeting. Why don’t you get busy and do something?” exclaimed the other vehemently. “What do you intend to be?”
Judy had a trick of raising her eyebrows and frowning at the same time, which gave her a serio-comic
