Molly Brown's Freshman Days. Speed Nell

but darky songs.”

      “The very girl we want for our Hallowe’en Vaudeville,” cried Jennie Wren. “What do you use, a guitar or a piano?”

      “Either, a little,” answered Molly, blushing crimson; “but I haven’t any more voice than a rabbit.”

      “Fire away,” cried Jennie Wren, thrusting a guitar into her hands.

      Molly was actually trembling with fright when she found herself the center of interest in this musical company.

      “I’m scared to death,” she announced, as she faintly tuned the guitar. Then she struck a chord and began:

      “Ma baby loves shortnin’,

      Ma baby loves shortnin’ bread;

      Ma baby loves shortnin’,

      Mammy’s gwine make him some shortnin’ bread.”

      Before she had finished, everybody in the room had joined in. Then she sang:

      “Ole Uncle Rat has come to town,

      To buy his niece a weddin’ gown,

      OO-hoo!”

      “A quarter to ten,” announced some one, and the next moment they had all said good-night and were running as fast as their feet could carry them across the campus, “scuttling in every direction like a lot of rats,” as Judith remarked.

      “Lights out at ten o’clock,” whispered Nance breathlessly, as they crept into their room and undressed in the dark. It was very exciting. They felt like a pair of happy criminals who had just escaped the iron grasp of the law.

      When Molly Brown dropped into a deep and restful sleep that night, she never dreamed that she had already become a noted person in college, though how it happened, it would be impossible to say. It might have been the Cloister story, but, nevertheless, Molly – overgrown child that she may have seemed to Professor Green – had a personality that attracted attention wherever she was.

      CHAPTER V

      THE KENTUCKY SPREAD

      “Molly, you look a little worried,” observed Nance Oldham, two days before the famous spread was to take place, it having been set for Friday evening.

      Molly was seated on her bed, in the midst of a conglomerate mass of books and clothes, chewing the end of a pencil while she knitted her brows over a list of names.

      “Not exactly worried,” she replied. “But, you know, Nance, giving a party is exactly like some kind of strong stimulant with me. It goes to my head, and I seem to get intoxicated on invitations. Once I get started to inviting, I can’t seem to stop.”

      “Molly Brown,” put in Nance severely, “I believe you’ve just about invited the whole of Wellington College to come here Friday night. And because you are already such a famous person, everybody has accepted.”

      “I think I can about remember how many I asked,” she replied penitently. “There are all the girls in the house, of course.”

      “Frances Andrews?”

      Molly nodded.

      “And all the girls who were at Miss Stewart’s the other night.”

      “What, even that girl who makes catty speeches. That black-eyed Blount person?”

      “Yes, even so,” continued Molly sadly. “I really hadn’t intended to ask her, Nance, but I do love to heap coals of fire on people’s heads, and besides, I just told you, when I get started, I can’t seem to stop. When I was younger, I’ve been known to bring home as many as six strange little girls to dinner at once.”

      “The next time you give a party,” put in Nance, “we’d better make out the list beforehand, and then you must give me your word of honor not to add one name to it.”

      “I’ll try to,” replied Molly with contrition, “but it’s awfully hard to take the pledge when it comes to asking people to meals, even spreads.”

      The two girls examined the list together, and Molly racked her brains to try and remember any left-outs, as she called them.

      “I’m certain that’s all,” she said at last. “That makes twenty, doesn’t it? Oh, Nance, I tremble for the old ham and the hickory nut cake. Do you think they’ll go round? Aunty, she’s my godmother, is sending me another box of beaten biscuits. She has promised to keep me supplied. You know, I have never eaten cold light bread in my life at breakfast, and I’d just as soon choke down cold potatoes as the soggy bread they give us here. But beaten biscuit and ham and home-made pickles won’t be enough, even with hickory nut cake,” she continued doubtfully.

      “I have a chafing dish. We can make fudge; then there’s tea, you know. We can borrow cups and saucers from the others. But we’ll have to do something else for their amusement besides feed them. Have you thought of anything?”

      “Lillie and Millie,” these were two sophomores at Queen’s, “have a stunt they have promised to give. It’s to be a surprise. And Jennie Wren has promised to bring her guitar and oblige us with a few selections, but, oh, Nance, except for the eatin’, I’m afraid it won’t be near such a fine party as Mary Stewart’s was.”

      “Eatin’s the main thing, child. Don’t let that worry you,” replied Nance consolingly. “I think I have an idea of something which would interest the company, but I’m not going to tell even you what it is.”

      Nance had a provoking way of keeping choice secrets and then springing them when she was entirely ready, and wild horses could not drag them out of her before that propitious moment.

      On Friday evening the girls began to arrive early, for, as has been said, Molly was already an object of interest at Wellington College, and the fame of her beaten biscuits and old ham had spread abroad. Some of the guests, like Mary Stewart, came because they were greatly attracted toward the young freshman; and others, like Judith Blount, felt only an amused curiosity in accepting the invitation. As a general thing, Judith was a very exclusive person, but she felt she could safely show her face where Mary Stewart was.

      “This looks pretty fine to me,” observed that nice, unaffected young woman herself, shaking hands with Molly and Nance.

      “It’s good of you to say so,” replied Molly. “Your premises would make two of our’s, I’m thinking.”

      “But, look at your grand buffet. How clever of you! One of you two children must have a genius for arrangement.”

      The study tables had been placed at one end of the room close together, their crudities covered with a white cloth borrowed from Mrs. Murphy, and on these were piled the viands in a manner to give the illusion of great profusion and plenty.

      “It’s Molly,” laughed Nance; “she’s a natural entertainer.”

      “Not at all,” put in Molly. “I come of a family of cooks.”

      “And did your cook relatives marry butlers?” asked Judith.

      Molly stifled a laugh. Somehow Judith couldn’t say things like other girls. There was always a tinge of spite in her speeches.

      “Where I come from,” she said gravely, “the cooks and butlers are colored people, and the old ones are almost like relatives, they are so loyal and devoted. But there are not many of those left now.”

      The room was gradually filling, and presently every guest had arrived, except Frances Andrews.

      “We won’t wait for her,” said Molly to Lillie and Millie, the two inseparable sophomores, who now quietly slipped out. Presently, Nance, major domo for the evening, shoved all the guests back onto the divans and into the corners until a circle was formed in the centre of the room. She then hung a placard on the knob of the door which read:

MAHOMET, THE COCK OF THE EAST,vsCHANTECLER, THE COCK OF THE WEST

      There was a sound of giggling and scuffling, the door opened