"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."