Molly Brown's Post-Graduate Days. Speed Nell

the intersection of the grass walk. Can’t you see how fine and stately they would look, and what a wonderful mass of color?”

      “Right, as usual. What an architect you would make! That power of ‘seein’ things’ is what an architect needs above everything. Any one can learn to make it, but it is the one who sees it who is the great man or woman, as in the present case.”

      Things had been humming so since Molly’s return that she had had no time for the confidential talk with her mother that both were hungering for. The Browns always had much company, but at this season there seemed to be no end to the comings and goings of guests, principally comings: many parting calls being paid to Mildred by old and young; Molly’s friends hastening to greet her after the eight months’ absence at college; a steady following of young men calling on Sue, in spite of her suspected preference for Cyrus Clay, the nephew of Aunt Sarah Clay’s deceased husband, and the one Aunt Mary objected to because of his living up such a muddy lane. Presents were pouring in for the bride; notes had to be answered; trains to be met; express packages to be fetched from the station; and poor little Mrs. Woodsmall kept in a state of constant misery over the Parcel Post business Bud was doing, and she with “never a chanst to take so much as a peep.”

      Molly, ever mindful of others, hitched up President one off day and drove over to the postoffice and got the poor thing. Then she let her see every single present; and feel the weight of every bit of silver; and hunt for the price mark on the bottom of the cut-glass; read all the cards; and even go into the sewing-room where Miss Lizzie Monday proudly showed her the clothes, and let her take a good look at the wedding dress all folded up in its box. But when Mrs. Woodsmall began to pick at the hem where her sharp eyes discovered an end of the stiff sandy hair, sewed in to bring a “soon husband,” Miss Lizzie snapped on the top and told her sharply to stop rumpling up Miss Milly’s dress.

      The night after Judy had solved the problem of where the wedding was to be, Molly felt that she must have her talk with her mother. Judy was tired and a little distrait, visualizing again no doubt; seeing the wedding in her mind’s eye; regretting the holly-hocks; wondering if she really did have the power that Kent attributed to her, that of a creative artist. If she did have it, what should she do about it? Was it not up to her to make something of herself if she had such a gift? Was she willing to work, as work she would have to, if she really expected to do something? At the back of it all was the thought, “Would Kent like her so much if she should turn out to be a woman with a purpose?” Judy was obliged to confess to herself as she dozed off that what Kent Brown thought of her made a good deal of difference to her, more than she had thought that any man’s opinion could make.

      Molly waited until she thought Judy was asleep and then crept softly downstairs to her mother’s room. Mrs. Brown was awake and glad indeed to see her “old red head,” as she sometimes lovingly called Molly, coming to have a good talk. It is funny what a difference it makes who calls one a red head. Now that horrid girl at college, Adele Windsor, had enraged Molly into forgetting what Aunt Mary called her “raisin’” by calling her a red head, and yet when mother called her the same thing it sounded like sweet music in her ears.

      Mother had some things to tell Molly, too. She did not altogether approve of John’s inamorata, the girl visiting Aunt Clay. It was a case of Dr. Fell with her.

      “I do not love thee, Dr. Fell.

      The reason why I cannot tell;

      But this I know, and know full well,

      I do not love thee, Dr. Fell.”

      Then she did think if Sue intended to marry Cyrus Clay she should not lead on the other two young men, who seemed quite serious in their attentions. She hated to say anything, because Sue was so dignified.

      “Now if it were you or Mildred, I would speak out, but you know Sue always did scare me a little, Molly.”

      And Molly and her mother giggled like school girls over this confession. Sue was very handsome and lovely and good, but she was certainly a little superior, and Mrs. Brown found that, if she had any talking over of things to do, she wanted either Molly or Mildred, who were “not too pure or good for human nature’s daily food.”

      Molly was eager to know what her mother thought of Judy, and was delighted at her frank liking for her friend. Then Molly had to tell her mother of her hopes and ambitions; of her triumphs and disappointments at college; and of her growing friendship for Jimmy Lufton, the clever young journalist from New York who was trying to persuade Molly to go into newspaper work; of his liking for her that she did not want to ripen into anything more serious, but his last letters were certainly growing more and more fervent.

      “Don’t flirt, little girl, don’t flirt. It would not be my Molly if she deceived any one. Have all the fun you can and as many friends as possible and enjoy life while you are young. You are sure to be popular with every one, men and women, boys and girls, but don’t be a coquette.”

      “Mother, I don’t mean to be ever, and really and truly I have done nothing to mislead Mr. Lufton, and maybe I am mistaken and conceited about his feeling for me, and I truly hope I am. I have never done anything but be my natural self with him.”

      Mrs. Brown smiled, well knowing that just being her natural self was where Molly did the damage, if damage had been done.

      “Mother, there is something else.” Mrs. Brown knew there was, and was patiently waiting. “You know Professor Green? Well, I gave him your invitation to come to Kentucky.”

      “And what did he say?”

      “He said, ‘Thank you.’”

      “Is he coming?”

      “I don’t know.” Molly found talking to her mother about Professor Green more difficult than she had imagined it would be. “When you wrote me two years ago that some eccentric person had bought the orchard and I could finish my college course, I told Professor Green about it, and also told him I should like to meet the old man who had saved me from premature school-teaching. And when he asked me what I’d do if I should happen to meet him, I told him I would give him a good hug.” Molly faltered. “Well, mother, when I told him good-by and gave him your invitation, I went back and – I just gave him a good hug.”

      Mrs. Brown sat up so vigorously that Molly, sitting by her side, was almost jolted off the bed.

      “Why, Molly Brown! And what did Professor Green do?”

      “He? Oh, he took it very philosophically and bowed his head ’til the storm was over.”

      Mrs. Brown gave a gasp of relief.

      “He must be a good old gentleman, indeed. About how old is he, Molly?”

      “The girls say every day of thirty-two.”

      “Why, the poor old thing! Do you think he could take the trip out here to Kentucky all by himself?”

      “Mother, please don’t tease. There is something else. Jimmy Lufton wrote a little note which I found in the bottom of the basket of fruit he had put on the train for us. It was wrapped around a lemon and said, ‘Here is a lemon you can hand me if, when I come to Kentucky this summer, you don’t want me to stay.’”

      “Oh! The plot thickens! So he is coming, too.”

      “Yes, but he lives in Lexington, and is coming out to see his family, anyhow.”

      “Well, Molly, darling, you must go to bed now, but before you go tell me one thing: do you want Professor Green to come to Chatsworth?”

      “Yes, mother, I think I do,” and giving her mother a hug that made that lady gasp again and say, “Molly, what a hugger you are,” she flew from the room and raced upstairs two steps at a time.

      CHAPTER IV. – BURGLARS

      Judy was sitting up in bed, the moon lighting her enough for Molly to see a wild, startled look on her face.

      “Molly, Molly, I hear something!”

      “You hear me making more noise than I have any business to at this time o’ night. I have been having a good old talk