“Not going?” began Mary. “You’re to be left at Queen’s by yourself?”
Molly nodded, vainly endeavoring to smile cheerfully.
“Then you’re to go with me. I’ll come right along now and help you pack,” announced Mary decisively.
“But, Mary, I can’t. I haven’t anything—money or clothes——”
“Don’t say ‘but’ to me! I’ve got everything. I’ve even got the drawing-room to myself on the night train to New York. You shall go with me. I don’t know why I never thought of it before. We’ll have a beautiful Christmas together. Since mother’s death, five years ago, Christmas has been a dismal time at our house. You’ll be just the person to cheer us up. It will be like having a child in the house. You shall have a Christmas tree and hang up your stocking. Father will be delighted and so will Brother Willie.”
Thus overruled, Molly was borne triumphantly to New York that same evening, and spent one of the most wonderful Christmases of her life in Mary’s beautiful home on Riverside Drive. As her mother and godmother both wisely sent her checks for Christmas gifts, she was not embarrassed by any lack of ready money. She was even rich enough to purchase a new evening dress and a pretty blouse which Mary had ordered to be sent up on approval, and not for many a year afterward did she guess why those charming things happened to be such bargains. But Molly was a very inexperienced young person, and knew little concerning prices at that time.
Mary’s father was a fine man, quiet and self-contained, with a splendid rugged face. He treated his only daughter with indescribable tenderness, and called her “Little Mary.” They did not see much of “Brother Willie,” a sophomore at Yale, and very busy enjoying his holiday. He regarded Molly as a child and his sister as an old maid, but condescended to take them to the theatre twice.
But all good things must come to an end, and it seemed just a little while before Molly found herself back at her old desk in her room at Queen’s, writing a “bread-and-butter” letter to Mr. Stewart, which pleased him mightily, since Mary’s guests had never before taken that trouble.
Judy came back radiantly happy. She had had a glorious time in Washington with her “vagabond” parents, as she called them. Nance, too, had enjoyed her Christmas with her father and busy mother, who had come home to rest during the holidays. Only one of Queen’s girls did not join the jolly circle that now congregated in the most hospitable room in the house to “swap” holiday experiences. But a letter had arrived from the missing member addressed to “Miss M. C. W. Brown,” and beginning: “My Dear Molly Brown.”
“Good-bye,” the letter ran. “I’m off for Europe and Grandmamma, by the Kismet, sailing the eighteenth. I am afraid I was too much like a bull in a china shop at college. I was always breaking something, mostly rules. I’ve done lots of foolish things, and I am sorry. They were jokes, of course, most of them, and intended to frighten silly self-important people. I’ve learned a great deal from you and your friends, but I’d rather practice my new wisdom on other people. If you ever see me again you’ll find me changed. I may enter a convent for a few years in France and learn to keep quiet. You did what you could for me, and so did the others. You are a first rate lot and you make a jolly good freshman class. I shall miss you, and I shall miss old Wellington. I wouldn’t have come back this year if I hadn’t felt the call of its two gray towers. Somehow, it’s been more of a home to me than most places, and when I’m quite old and forgotten I shall go back and see it again some day. Good-bye again, and good luck. I’ve told Mrs. Murphy to give you my Persian prayer rug. It’s just your color of blue.