Mary Stewart came sailing up to them, gave a beautiful curving turn and then stopped.
"Isn't this glorious sport?" she cried, her cheeks glowing with exercise. "Has your President told you about the skating carnival? It's just been decided, and I suppose you haven't seen her yet. It's to take place to-morrow night. Won't it be beautiful?"
"What fun!" cried Molly. "What a wonderful sight!"
"Now, Molly, you are to wrap up very warm," continued Mary, "no matter what kind of a costume you decide to wear. No cheesecloth Liberty masquerades will go, remember."
"Oh, but I can't be in the carnival. I haven't any skates," said Molly.
"I have another pair," answered Mary quickly. "I'll bring them over to you later."
Molly never guessed that this loving friend skated straight down to the village that very instant and bought a pair of skates screwed onto stout shoes at the general store. Tossing away the wrapping paper and smearing the shoes with snow and ashes to take off the new look, she delivered them at Queen's before supper.
"It's lucky I knew what number Molly wore," she said to herself, as she sailed up the campus on her Canadian skates, with strokes as sweepingly broad and generous as her own fine nature.