Now as suddenly as she had tossed aside her head coverings, Judy dropped her long loose cloak upon the floor and stood revealed clad in motley raiment indeed. In an instant all that she had said was forgotten as the girls crowded around examining her curiously.

"Why, Judy Kean, where did you find that old necktie?" cried Molly, as she spied a long familiar article fastened at Judy's throat.

"And my Russian princess muff!" exclaimed Nance. "It was hidden with my treasures at the very bottom of my trunk!"

"And do I not behold my favorite Shelley?" chimed in Edith, seizing a book that dangled by a cord from Judy's waist.

"And I—surelee it is my veree ancient kimono that hangs behind?" inquired Otoyo curiously.

"I have it," announced judicial Margaret "Judy Kean is now a symbol. She represents us. Upon her noble person she carries the intimate souvenirs of our various stages of collegiate growth. Yea, verily, I recognize mine own."

With that, Margaret tried to claim a gorgeous yellow pennant that flaunted its aggressive motto in a panel-like arrangement on Judy's dress.

Judy dodged Margaret's attempt and lifting her hand dramatically exclaimed in oratorical tones:

"You have guessed. I am indeed the spirit of our college days. I represent History, and the tokens that I wear mark the incidents of humor, pathos, and tragedy that were the crises in our young careers. You will pardon me, I know, when I tell you that I have rummaged reverently among your personal 'estates,' as Otoyo used to say, seeing, touching, disturbing none but the significant articles before you. Behold the history of these departing years!"

As Judy swung slowly about before their interested eyes, something chinked and clinked gently, like glass meeting glass. Molly's long arm shot out and grasped the jingling articles. A not-to-be-suppressed shout broke forth as she displayed a china pig and a small bottle of blue-black fluid labeled "Hair-dye,—black."

"Oh, Judy, Judy," cried Molly, "if you haven't discovered another Martin Luther, the ghost of the hero of my Junior days! Give him to me and I will feed him faithfully next year,—by the slow earnings of my pen, I will!"

Meanwhile, Jessie was laughing over the tell-tale bottle of hair-dye, and secretly every one was rejoicing that Judy, too, could look back upon that supremely foolish escapade and laugh as heartily as any of them at her own expense.

And now Nance claimed her muff,—the one survivor of the three cotton-batting masterpieces made for the skating carnival of Sophomore year,—and as she thrust her hands inside, they encountered a long, hard object. She drew it out and with a flourish waved above her head a clean, meatless but unmistakable ham bone!

The laugh was directed toward Molly now, and to turn it again she exclaimed, "What do I see gleaming upon your finger, Judy Kean? Verily, upon the third finger of your left hand?"

Immediately the girls joined in the cry, chanted like a deep-toned school yell, "Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!"

"'Well, it was lent to me. It's not mine. I simply promised to wear it for a few months,'" quoted Judy, imitating Jessie's own protesting explanation so cleverly that even Otoyo recognized the source. "But it is only a five-cent diamond!" added Judy, shaking her head solemnly. "I might lose it, you know, and it would take more than a steely inspector to locate it in a man's deep coat pocket!"

The girls cast sly glances at Molly, but she was intent on another discovery. Hanging under Edith's shabby copy of Shelley was her own beloved Rossetti! Instantly she forgot the girls and their fun and saw for one fleeting moment a series of quickly moving mental pictures. First there flashed before her that Christmas when Professor Green had given her the little volume. Then she saw herself in the cloisters lost in the beauty of "The blessed damozel," when he had appeared so unexpectedly. And finally she realized suddenly how much she loved the little worn volume and how she should always keep it to comfort and inspire her.

"'Come—back—to me, Sweetheart,'" sang Judy teasingly, and Molly came back with a start, only just realizing that she had been day-dreaming.

"What is this spiky thing that pricks through the folds of my aged sweater?" asked Katherine, who had recognized an old blue sweater that Judy wore draped from her waist like a pannier.

"This," replied Judy, "is a bud that grew on a twig that grew on a bush that grew from the ground that marks the resting place of the ashes of Queen's, and to you, Katherine, as true historian of our noble class, do I present it."

"In the name of futurity, I accept it," replied Katherine, not to be outdone in formality.

"And now to appease the cravings of the inner man, permit me to share with you the contents of this hamper," continued Judy, opening a small basket that she carried on her arm. "Although not the original, lost-but-not-forgotten snakey-noodles, these are the best imitations that Madeleine Petit could make. And Molly the cook has contributed once more some of her justly famed cloud bursts, an indispensable exhibit in this unequaled historical collection!"

Warm and breathless, Judy sat down and began to remove her borrowed plumes, while the girls, each holding aloft a snakey-noodle and a cloud burst, chanted appreciatively, "What's the matter with Julia Kean? She's all right!"

Graduation at Wellington was old-fashioned and conventional. The girl graduates in white dresses filed onto the platform and took their seats in a semi-circle. Those who were so fortunate as to have relatives and friends in the large audience searched for their intimate features in the sea of upturned, interested faces. As glances met, smiles were fleetingly exchanged but quickly subdued on the part of the girls as the dignity of the day was borne in upon them anew.

President Walker, never more sweet and womanly than in the formal attire demanded by her position, unconsciously inspired them all to imitate her fine simplicity and grace of manner. Tears sprang to the eyes of many girls as they looked at her and realized as never before that she had been the real center of all that had been best and most lasting in their college life. The girls who were to read essays, resolved that for the President's sake they would do well in spite of trembly knees and shaky hands. And of course they did, because in their determination to please Miss Walker and to reflect credit upon her and dear old Wellington they quite lost their paralyzing self-consciousness. The little buzz of pleased conversation that followed each number of the program as the applause died down was gratifying without doubt, but the students cared more deeply for the President's brief nod and smile of satisfaction. After the exercises came the diplomas, those strips of sheepskin for which our girls had striven so long and valiantly. It was almost a shock to clasp at last that precious token that had seemed so difficult of achievement in the far-away Freshman days. If to Molly it meant among other things value received for "two perfectly good acres of orchard," to Nance it marked a milestone of happy progress; to Margaret, Edith and Katharine it represented an interesting bit of current history; and to Judy and Jessie it signified a safe haven after many narrow escapes from shipwreck.

After the exciting day was over, came the class supper and then everybody did stunts. Edith read the class poem and Katherine was historian. Then the oldest girl and the prettiest girl and the class baby made speeches, and at the end came three cheers for Molly Brown, the most beloved in 19—; and Molly, trembling and blushing, rose and thanked them all and assured them that it was the greatest honor she had ever known; and they made her sit on the table while they danced in a circle around it, singing:

Thus the four years at Wellington came to an end as all good things must, and the day for the parting arrived. The "Primavera" and the prayer rug were packed away in a box and shipped to Kentucky, because, after all, Molly might not return to Wellington. Who could tell what the fates had in store? Then came the good-byes. There were tears in their eyes and little choky sounds in their voices as they kissed and hugged and kissed again.

Otoyo at that last meeting gave a present to each of the old crowd. She was smiling bravely, since it is not correct for a young Japanese lady to weep, and she kept reiterating:

"I shall mees you, greatlee, muchlee. It will not be the same at Wellington."

With Molly's gift, a little carved ivory box, Otoyo handed a letter.

"I promised to deliver it on the last day," she said.

"That sounds a good deal like the Judgment Day," said Molly, laughing, as she tore open the envelope. The letter read:

Molly rolled the paper into a little ball and threw it away. Certainly the note of repentance did not sound very strong in Adele's letter. But perhaps it was only her way of putting it, and to be honest for any reason, no matter how remote from the right one, was something.

"Anyhow, I hope she will think it's best policy to be nice to her poor, hard-working mother," she thought indignantly.

But Adele had already passed out of the lives of the Wellington girls and none of them ever saw her again. She did not return to college to finish out the senior course, and the hoodoo suite was dismantled forever of her fine trappings and furniture.

"I have one more good-bye to say, girls," said Molly to her friends a little while before train time. "I'll meet you at the archway."

"You'll miss the train," called Nance.

"And that would just spoil everything," cried Judy.

The three friends had planned to travel as far as Philadelphia together. There Nance would leave them to join her father, and Molly and Judy would continue their journey toward Kentucky.

But Molly was already running down the corridor, suitcase in one hand and jacket in the other.

Down the steps she flew and out into the court toward the little door which opened into the cloisters. Another dash and she was knocking on Professor Green's door.

"Come in," he called, and she flew into the room breathlessly.

"I came to say good-bye again," she said. "I've only five minutes."

"Sit down," he said, drawing up a chair.

"I wanted to ask you," she went on, "if you wouldn't come to Kentucky to visit us this summer and—and see your property."

"How do you know it would be convenient for your mother to have me?"

"Because it is always convenient for mother to entertain friends, and this is really her very own suggestion. Our house is big and besides that we have an office outside with three bedrooms for overflow."

The Professor looked thoughtful. Perhaps he was already forming a picture in his mind of the hammock beside the brook and the shady orchard, his orchard.

"You will promise to come, won't you?" persisted Molly.

"Do you really want me?" he asked.

"Indeed, indeed I do."

"Perhaps," he answered.

"Good-bye, then," she said, "or rather au revoir," and they clasped hands while the Professor looked down into Molly's eyes and smiled.

He moved to the door like a sleep-walker and held it open for her as she hurried out. Then he went back to his desk and sat down in a sort of trance. The next instant the door was flung open again, footsteps hurried across the room and two arms slipped over his shoulders.

"Do you remember what I said I was going to do some time to that old gentleman who bought the orchard?" said Molly's voice over his head. "I said I'd just give him a good hug."

For one instant the arms held him tightly, a cheek was laid lightly on his thin reddish hair and then she was gone, flying down the corridor.

"I suppose she regards me as an old gentleman," he said resignedly, laying his hand softly on the spot where her cheek had touched.

As for Molly, she had a sudden thought that almost stopped her headlong course:

"What would Miss Alice Fern think if she knew!"

The girls were calling impatiently when Molly reached the arch, and in three minutes the crowded bus moved down the avenue.

"Good-bye! Good-bye!" called many voices.

"Good-bye! Good-bye!" echoed the few students who were going to take a later train.

Good-bye to Wellington and the old happy days! Good-bye to the Quadrangle and the Cloisters! Good-bye to all the dear familiar haunts and faces.

Every one of the girls felt the hour of parting keenly, but to two of Molly's friends at least there came an additional pang. They had known no happier home; no other place held for them such close associations. Nance, pale and silent, and Judy, feverish and excited, turned their eyes lingeringly toward the twin gray towers. But Molly, her face transfigured by some secret happy thought, looked southward down the avenue toward Kentucky and home!

The class prophecy which Judy had extemporized on the evening of her appearance as "History" may have had some promise of fulfillment, but it will be remembered that Otoyo's timely interruption saved her from guessing at the most puzzling future of all. It remains, therefore, for "Molly Brown's Post-Graduate Days" to reveal what Dame Fortune had in store for the girl of many possibilities, Molly Brown of Wellington and Kentucky.

THE END.