If she had mentioned death itself, she could not have used a more tragic tone.
“Judy,” cried Molly, slipping her arms around her friend’s neck, “I’m not going to let you go at mid-years if I have to study for two.”
CHAPTER XIV.
AN INSPIRATION.
“This is like having a bedroom salon,” exclaimed Molly with a hospitable smile to some dozen guests who adorned the divans and easy chairs, the floor and window sills of her room.
Surely there was nothing Molly liked better than to entertain, and when she had callers, she always entertained them with refreshments of some kind. Often it had to be crackers and sweet chocolate, and she had even been reduced to tea. But usually her family kept her supplied with good things and her larder was generally well stocked.
She lay in bed, propped up with pillows, and scattered about the bed were text-books and papers.
“You’ve been studying again, you naughty child,” exclaimed Mary Stewart, shaking her finger. “Didn’t Dr. McLean tell you to go easy for the next week?”
“Go easy, indeed,” laughed Molly. “You might as well tell a trapeze actor to do the giant-swing and hold on tight at the same time. But it’s worth losing a few days to find out what loving friends I have. Your pink roses are the loveliest of all,” she added, squeezing her friend’s hand.