"We do look something like a mass meeting of Siberian exiles," observed Judy grimly, looking about her in Chapel a little later.
Miss Walker herself wore a long fur coat and a pair of arctic shoes and in the assembled company of students there appeared every variety of winter covering known to the civilized world, apparently: ulsters, golf capes, fur coats, sweaters, steamer rugs and shawls.
Molly was numb with cold; fur coats were the only garments warm enough that day, and a blue sweater under a gray cloth jacket was as nothing against the frigid atmosphere.
"Bed's the only comfortable place to be in," she whispered to Judy, "and here we've got classes till twelve thirty and moving in the afternoon! The trunks are going this morning. Oh, heavens, how I do dread it!"
"At least O'Reilly's couldn't be any colder than Queen's is at present," replied Judy, "and there's a grate in the room I am to have. We'll have a big coal fire and cheer things up considerably."
Everything was done on the run that day. Groups of girls could be seen tearing from one building to another. They dashed through corridors like wild ponies and rushed up and down stairs as if the foul fiends were chasing them.
The weather was like a famous invalid rapidly sinking. They frequently took his temperature and cried to one another:
"It's gone down two degrees."
"The bulletin says it will be fifteen by night."
"Oh," groaned Molly, thinking of her friends at that dismal O'Reilly's.