all telegrams to Wellington College were received at the telegraph
office in the village and telephoned over, and when Molly was notified
that there was a message for her, she felt instinctively that it was a
telegram from home; and they would only telegraph bad news, she was
certain.

Her face was pale and her heart thumping as she hurried out of the
gymnasium. Nance and Judy rose and followed her. If anything was the
matter with their beloved friend, they were determined to share her
trouble.

Molly hastened to the telephone booths in the main corridor.

"Is it a telegram?" she asked the young woman in charge of the
switchboard; for, in the last few years telephones had been installed in
all the houses of the faculty and their respective offices as well,
thereby saving many steps and much time.

"Hello! Long distance?" called the girl, without answering Molly's
question. "Here's your party. Booth No. 2," she ordered.

The operator had very little patience with college girls, and this
Adamless Eden palled on her city-bred soul.

"Hello!" said Molly.

Then came a small, thin voice, an immense distance away, but strangely
familiar.

"Is this Miss Molly Brown of Kentucky?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"This is Richard Blount. Have you forgotten me?"

"Of course not."

"Is your mother Mrs. Mildred Carmichael Brown, of Carmichael Station,
Kentucky?"

"Yes."

"Um! I suppose you think it's very strange, Miss Brown, my asking you
this question," called the thin, far-away voice. "I had a very good
reason for asking it. Have you heard from home lately?"

"Not for a week. Is anything the matter with my family besides the----"

"No, no, nothing that I know of."

"Is it about the mine?"

"Yes, but you are not to worry. You understand, you are not to worry one
instant. Everything will come out all right."

"It was nearly ten thousand dollars," said Molly, almost sobbing; "our
house and garden and the rest of the apple orchard that was sending me
to college--" Here she broke down completely. "I may have to give up
all this--I may----"

"Now, Miss Molly, you mustn't cry. You make me feel like the very--very
unhappy, way off here."

"Five minutes up," called the voice of the exchange.

"Good-by, good-by," called Molly. "I'm sorry I cried, Mr. Blount."

Poor man! It was all terribly hard on him, and it was cruel of her to
have given way, but it had come so unawares!

From a corner of her eye, she could see her