Molly Brown's Sophomore Days Part 28

Again there was a noise outside of trunks being carried upstairs and dumped down in the hall.

"There go poor Judith's trunks," observed Molly. "It will be harder on her than on me because she takes it so hard. She's----"

Molly broke off and opened the door. Judy's voice was heard outside giving directions.

"Just pull them inside for me, will you, Mr. Murphy? I know they fill up the room, but I like to pack all at once. Will you see about the room for me at Mrs. O'Reilly's as you go down to the station? I'll notify the registrar and Mrs. Markham. And Mr. Murphy, get a room next to Miss Brown's, if possible. I don't care whether it's little or big."

Nance pushed Molly aside and rushed into the hall.

"Why hadn't I thought of that?" she cried. "Mr. Murphy, I want a room at O'Reilly's. Will you engage one for me as near Miss Brown's as you can, and before you go bring up my trunks, please?"

"Now, may the saints defind us," cried the distracted Mr. Murphy. "It looks as if the whole of Queen's was movin' down to the village. You're a foine lot of young ladies, Miss, and loyalty ain't so usual a trait in a woman, either."

"But Nance, but Judy!" protested Molly. "I can't--you mustn't----"

"Don't say another word," put in Judy as if she were scolding a bad child. "Nance and I would rather live at O'Reilly's with you than at Queen's without you, that's all. We mean no reflection on the others, but I suppose you all understand. Edith and Katherine wouldn't be separated, and Jessie and Margaret wouldn't. Well, it's the same with us."

"You'll be sorry," cried Molly. "Oh, Judy, I know you'll regret it the very first day. It will be very different from Queen's. We'll have to get our own breakfasts, and take meals at the place next door, and the rooms are plain with ugly wall paper, and there isn't any white woodwork, and it's a big empty old place. It used to be a small hotel, you know, and Mrs. O'Reilly is trying to sell it. The only recommendation it has, is that it's very cheap."

"Why didn't you go over to the post-office, Molly?" asked Margaret.

"They are nicer rooms," admitted Molly, "but----"

"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 rus.h.i.+ng 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."

"It won't be nice," Molly cried. "It will be miserable. I've known it all along myself, but I wouldn't admit it until now. Girls, I implore you to stay at Queen's. You never will be happy here, and I shall be twice as unhappy."

"Now, don't say another word, Molly Brown," said Judy. "We're going to follow you if it's to the Inferno."

"Think how you'll miss the others."

"Think how we'd miss you."

"We'd better go back and pack our things, then," sighed Molly, feeling very much like a culprit who had drawn her friends into mischief.

That night they packed their belongings, and not once by the blink of an eyelash did Judy or Nance show what they felt about leaving Queen's forever. At last with walls cleared of pictures, curtains neatly folded, books piled into boxes and rugs rolled up, the three girls went to bed, worn out with the day's labors and emotions.

In the night, Nance, s.h.i.+vering, crawled into Molly's bed and brought all her covering with her. Under a double layer of comforts they snuggled while the thermometer went down, down until it reached ten degrees below zero.

CHAPTER XIX.

HOW O'REILLY'S BECAME QUEEN'S.

Molly often looked back on that famous bitter Monday as the most exciting day of her entire life. Surprises began in the morning when they learned for a fact that it was ten degrees below zero. Barometers in a house always make the weather seem ten times worse. In the night the water pipes had burst and flooded the kitchen floor, which by morning was covered with a layer of ice. On this, the unfortunate Mrs.

Murphy, entering unawares, slipped and sprained her ankle. The gas was frozen, and neither the gas nor the coal range could be used that eventful morning. The girls prepared their own breakfasts on chafing dishes, and wrapped in blankets they s.h.i.+vered over the registers, up which rose a thin stream of heat that made but a feeble impression on the freezing atmosphere.

"We do look something like a ma.s.s 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 a.s.sembled 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 cla.s.ses 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.

Having half an hour to spare between cla.s.ses, she went to the library where she met Nance.

"There are some letters for you, Molly. They came by the late mail. I saw them in the hall," Nance informed her.

But Molly was not deeply interested in letters that morning.

"Never mind mail," she said. "I can only think of two things. How cold I am this minute, and how uncomfortable you and Judy are going to be for my sake."