BREAKING THE NEWS.
Mrs. Markham had received due notice that Molly Brown of Kentucky would
be obliged to give up her half of the big room on the third floor at
Queen's. The matron was very sorry. Miss Blount also was moving to other
quarters, she said; but she was too accustomed to the transitory tenants
of Queen's to feel any real grief over sudden departures.
"It only remains to break the news to the others," thought Molly, but
she mercifully determined to wait until after the mid-year examinations.
She was very modest regarding her popularity, but she was pretty sure
that Judy's highly emotional temperament might work itself into a fever
from such a shock. Remembering her last year's experience at mid-years,
Molly guarded her secret carefully until after the great crisis.
At last, however, the fateful moment came. All the Queen's circle was
gathered in that center of hospitality in which Molly had spent so many
happy months. The walls never looked so serenely blue as on that bright
Sunday morning in January, nor the Japanese scroll more alluring and
ornamental. A ray of sunlight filtering through the white dimity
curtains cast a checkered shadow on the antique rug. Even the
imperfections of the old room were dear to Molly's heart now that she
must leave them forever; the spot in the ceiling where the roof had
leaked; the worn place in the carpet where they had sat around the
register, and the mischievous chair with the "game leg" which
precipitated people to the floor unexpectedly.
Everybody was in a good humor.
"There are no shipwrecks on the strand this year," Margaret Wakefield
was saying. "Everybody's safe in harbor, glory be."
"Even me," put in Jessie meekly. "I never thought I'd pull through in
that awful chemistry exam., and I was morally certain I'd flunk in
math., too. I'm so afraid of Miss Bowles that my hair stands on end
whenever she speaks to me."
"She is rather formidable," said Edith Williams. "Why is it that Higher
Mathematics seems to freeze a body's soul and turn one into an early
Puritan?"
"It simply trains the mind to be exact," said Margaret, who always
defended the study of mathematics in these discussions. "And exactness
means sticking to facts, and that's an excellent quality in a woman."
"Meaning to say," broke in Katherine Williams, "that all un-mathematical
minds are untruthful----"
"Nothing of the sort," cried Margaret hotly. "I never made any such
statement. Did I, girls? I said----"
There was a bumping, tumbling noise in the hall. Judy, the ever-curious,
opened the door.
"The trunks are here, Miss," called Mr. Murphy, "and sorry we are to
lose you, the old woman and I."
"Thank you, Mr. Murphy," answered Molly.
"Well, for the love of Mike," cried Judy, turning around and facing
Molly. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm not talking about anything," answered Molly, trying to keep her
voice steady.
"Did you flunk in any of the exams., Molly Brown?" asked Edith in a
whisper.
"No," whispered Molly in reply. It was going to be even worse than she
had pictured to herself. "No," she repeated. A pulse throbbed in her
throat and made her voice sound all tremolo like a beginner's in
singing. "I waited to tell you until after mid-years. I'm not going very
far away--only to O'Reilly's."
Nance, who had been sitting on the floor with her head against Molly's
knee, began softly to weep. It was certainly one of the most desolating
experiences of Molly's life.
"O'Reilly's?" they cried in one loud protesting shriek.
"Yes, you see, we--we've lost some money and I have to move," began
Molly apologetically. "We can be friends just the same, only I won't see
quite as much of you--it--it will be harder on me than on you----"
It would have been gratifying if it had not been so sad, this circle of
tear-stained faces and every tear shed on her account.
"We simply can't do without you, Molly," cried pretty, affectionate
Jessie Lynch. "You belong to the 'body corporate' of Queen's, as
Margaret calls it, to such an extent that if you leave us, we'll--well,
we'll just fall to pieces, that's all."
It remained for Judy Kean, however, that creature of impulse and
emotion, to prove the depths of her affection. When she rushed blindly
from the room, her friends had judged that she wished to be alone. Molly
had once been a witness to the awful struggle of Judy in tears and she
knew that weeping was not a surface emotion with her.
For some time, Molly went on quietly explaining and talking, answering
their questions and assuring them that there would be many meetings at
O'Reilly's of Queen's girls.
"I expect you'll have to move into Judith Blount's singleton, Nance,"
she continued, patting her friend's cheek. "That is, unless you can
arrange to get someone to share this one with you."
"Don't, don't," sobbed Nance. "I can't bear it."
Again there was a noise outside of trunks being carried upstairs and
dumped down in the hall.
"There go poor Judith's trunks," observed Molly. "It will be harder on
her than on me because she takes it so hard. She's----"
Molly broke off and opened the door. Judy's voice was heard outside
giving directions.
"Just pull them inside for me, will you, Mr. Murphy? I know they fill up
the room, but I like to pack all at once. Will you see about the room
for me at Mrs. O'Reilly's as you go down to the station? I'll notify the
registrar and Mrs. Markham. And Mr. Murphy, get a room next to Miss
Brown's, if possible. I don't care whether it's little or big."
Nance pushed Molly aside and rushed into the hall.
"Why hadn't I thought of that?" she cried. "Mr. Murphy, I want a room at
O'Reilly's. Will you engage one for me as near Miss Brown's as you can,
and before you go bring up my trunks, please?"
"Now, may the saints defind us," cried the distracted Mr. Murphy. "It
looks as if the whole of Queen's was movin' down to the village. You're
a foine lot of young ladies, Miss, and loyalty ain't so usual a trait in
a woman, either."
"But Nance, but Judy!" protested Molly. "I can't--you mustn't----"
"Don't say another word," put in Judy as if she were scolding a bad
child. "Nance and I would rather live at O'Reilly's with you than at
Queen's without you, that's all. We mean no reflection on the others,
but I suppose you all understand. Edith and Katherine wouldn't be
separated, and Jessie and Margaret wouldn't. Well, it's the same with
us."
"You'll be sorry," cried Molly. "Oh, Judy, I know you'll regret it the
very first day. It will be very different from Queen's. We'll have to
get our own breakfasts, and take meals at the place next door, and the
rooms are plain with ugly wall paper, and there isn't any white
woodwork, and it's a big empty old place. It used to be a small hotel,
you know, and Mrs. O'Reilly is trying to sell it. The only
recommendation it has, is that it's very cheap."
"Why didn't you go over to the post-office, Molly?" asked Margaret.
"They are nicer rooms," admitted Molly, "but----"
"Judith Blount is going there," put in Judy.
"That wasn't the only reason. I really had arranged about O'Reilly's
before I knew Judith Blount was going to leave here."
The girls looked puzzled.
"I know," said Edith. "There's a young person with a soft cooing voice
at the post-office who talks a mile a minute."
"She's a very nice girl," broke in Molly, "and works so hard. I really
like her ever so much. She's very clever, but I have a sort of
bewildered feeling when I am with her."
"I know," said Edith. "It's like standing on the banks of a rushing
river. There's no way to stop it and there's no way to get across. You
might as well retreat to O'Reilly's in good order."
"O'Reilly's it is," cried Judy with the gallant air of one about to go
forth in search of adventure.
It was in vain that Molly protested. Her friends had made up their minds
and nothing could swerve them. By good luck, the checks in payment for
board and lodging at Queen's for the new quarter had not arrived, and
the two girls were free to move if they chose.
Together the three friends, more closely united than ever by the
sacrifice of two of them, walked down into the village that afternoon to
have a look at O'Reilly's, and they were obliged to confess that they
were not impressed with its possibilities as a home. But it was a dark,
cold day--when even cheerful, pretty rooms would not have looked their
best.
"These two back rooms will be rather nice when the spring comes,"
observed Nance, with a forced gaiety. "They look over the garden, you
see. Perhaps Mrs. O'Reilly will let us plant some seeds in March."
"It won't be nice," Molly cried. "It will be miserable. I've known it
all along myself, but I wouldn't admit it until now. Girls, I implore
you to stay at Queen's. You never will be happy here, and I shall be
twice as unhappy."
"Now, don't say another word, Molly Brown," said Judy. "We're going to
follow you if it's to the Inferno."
"Think how you'll miss the others."
"Think how we'd miss you."
"We'd better go back and pack our things, then," sighed Molly, feeling
very much like a culprit who had drawn her friends into mischief.
That night they packed their belongings, and not once by the blink of
an eyelash did Judy or Nance show what they felt about leaving Queen's
forever. At last with walls cleared of pictures, curtains neatly folded,
books piled into boxes and rugs rolled up, the three girls went to bed,
worn out with the day's labors and emotions.
In the night, Nance, shivering, crawled into Molly's bed and brought all
her covering with her. Under a double layer of comforts they snuggled
while the thermometer went down, down until it reached ten degrees below
zero.