ld be so much originality in the world,"
thought Molly, admiring the costumes of the students.

There were many Teddy Bears and Bunny Rabbits. One girl wore a black
velvet suit with a leopard's skin over her shoulder. On her head was a
mythological looking crown with a pair of cow's horns standing upright
at each side. There were numerous Russian Gypsies and two Dr. Cooks
wearing long black mustaches, each carrying a little pole with an
American flag nailed at the top.

Jessie Lynch, not being a skater, sat in a chair on runners, while her
good-natured chum, Margaret Wakefield, pushed her about the lake.
Margaret wore a Chinese costume and her long queue was made of black
skirt braid.

After the parade and the exhibitions of skating, there was general
skating and the lake became a scene of changing color and variety.

"It's like a gorgeous Christmas card," thought Molly, practicing strokes
by herself in one corner while she watched the circle of skaters skim by
her. "And how very light it is. I can plainly recognize Nance going over
the hill with Andy McLean."

"Here she is," called Lawrence Upton, breaking from the circle and
skating towards her as easily, apparently, as a bird flies. His body
leaned slightly. His hands were clasped behind his back, and Mercury
with his winged shoes could not have moved more gracefully.

"Come on, Miss Molly, and have a turn," he said.

"What, me, the poorest skater on the pond?"

"Nonsense! You couldn't dance so well if you were a poor skater. Just
cross hands like this and sail along. I won't let you fall."

Off they did sail and never was a more delightful sensation than
Molly's, flying over the smooth ice with this good-looking young
Mercury. Around and round they skimmed, until one of the Exmoor boys
blew a horn, the signal that it was time to start the ten miles back to
college. Very rough skating it was in places, so Lawrence informed
Molly; rather dangerous going down some of the steep hills, but glorious
fun.

"Why don't you do like Baron Munchausen on the mountain? Sit on a silk
handkerchief and slide down," suggested Molly.

"We have done some sliding of that kind," he answered, laughing, "but it
was accidental and there was no time to get out a pocket handkerchief."

At last the great carnival was over, and Molly, falling in with a crowd
of campus girls, started for home, singing with the others:

"Good-night, ladies, we're gwine to leave you now."

It was