was just nice
and human of you to get mad once in a thousand years and we love you all
the better for it."

They were good friends, all of them, Molly felt, as they kissed her or
pressed her hand good-night, while Nance and Judy hastened to clear off
the divan and put up the windows to blow out the heavy, incense-scented
air.

It was Otoyo, however, who brought the tears back to poor Molly's eyes.

"Dear, beautiful Mees Brown," she said. "You must not think it will come
wrong. It will come right, I feel, surelee."

"What is it, Nance?" whispered Judy, after they had got their friend to
bed.

Nance shook her head.

"Heaven knows," she answered. "But it's something, and it must be
serious, Judy, or she never would have let go like that."

CHAPTER IX.

VESPERS.

There was a pretty little Episcopal chapel in the village of Wellington,
where at Vespers on Sunday afternoons the students were wont to
congregate. Six Wellington girls always served as ushers and the college
Glee Club formed the Chapel choir.

"It's a good thing to go to Vespers," remarked Judy one Sabbath
afternoon, pinning on her large velvet hat before the mirror over the
mantel, notably the most becoming mirror in the house, "not only for the
welfare of our souls, but also to attire ourselves in decent clothes."

"I suspect you of thinking it's good for your soul to wear good clothes,
Judy," observed Nance.

"You suspect rightly, then," answered Judy. "If I had to dress in rags,
I'm afraid my soul would become a thing of shreds and patches, too, all
shiny at the seams and down at the heels."

Nance laughed.

"That's a funny way to talk, considering you are about to attend Vespers
at the Chapel of the good St. Francis, who took the vows of poverty and
lived a roving life on the hills around Assisi."

"That's all very true," said Judy, "and I've seen the picture of him
being married to Lady Poverty, but our dispositions are different, St.
Francis's and mine. I like the roving over the hills part, because I'm a
wanderer by nature, but I like to wander in nice clothes. My manners are
getting to be regular old gray sweater manners, and if I didn't put on
my velvet suit and best hat once a week there's no telling what kind of
a rude creature I would become."

"Why, Julia Kean, I'm ashamed of you," cried Nance, "you've as good as
confessed that you go to Vespers to show your fine clothes."

"I don't go to show 'em, goosie; I go to wea