“Dear old Judy!” cried Molly, “I don’t know what I have done to deserve such a friend as you. And what an imagination you have! Who but you would ever have conceived such a notion? And to think, too, that I would never have known, if the real person who took the money hadn’t had an attack of conscience.”
“It would certainly have remained a secret forever unless Nance had confessed it on her death bed,” laughed Judy. “She’s that close, I imagine her first confession would be her last one.”
“I’ll wear the dress to-night, Judy, just to show you how much I appreciate the gift,” announced Molly.
Judy put on a broad lace collar that morning and a lavender velvet bow, by way of lightening her mourning.
There was a good deal to do during the day, getting the rooms straightened and writing letters.
All morning the snow fell so softly and quietly that the Quadrangle seemed to be isolated in a still white world of its own. Not even the campus houses could be seen through the thick curtain of flakes. Molly could picture to herself no more delightful occupation than to stay indoors all day and read one of her new Christmas books. Nothing could have been more cheerful than the little sitting room with its Christmas greens and vases of flowers.
Curled up in one of the big chairs, Molly’s mind wandered idly from the open pages of the book in her lap to the recent inexplicable happenings. Who was the mysterious visitor in the Professor’s study? After all, it was none of her business, but she felt some natural curiosity about it. Who was the girl who had stolen the china pig?
“I don’t want to know,” she admonished herself.
Nevertheless, it was impossible not to make a few random conjectures.
Judy, restlessly beating a tattoo on the window, was thinking the same thing.