fair weather and sunshine, blew softly through its open
casements and across its spacious galleries.

She went to sleep dreaming of the "Chalet of the West Wind," and in the
morning something throbbed in her pulses. It was a kind of muffled
pounding at first, like the beginning of a long distance call,
"lumpty-tum-tum; lumpty-tum-tum." But gradually a poem took shape in
her mind, and as the fragments came to her she wrote them down on scraps
of paper and hid them carefully in her desk.

CHAPTER VII.

THE GLEE CLUB CONCERT.

"If a cross-section could be made of this house, it would be rather
amusing," exclaimed Judy Kean. "In every room there would be one girl
buttoning up another girl."

It was the evening of the Glee Club concert, and nearly everybody not a
freshman was going to dine somewhere before the concert. Judy and Nance
were invited to the McLeans', and Molly was to have dinner with Mary
Stewart and her guests in the Quadrangle apartment. During the process
of dressing there was a great deal of "cross-talk" going on at Queen's
that night. Through the open doors along the corridors voices could be
heard calling:

"Has anyone a piece of narrow black velvet?"

"Margaret, don't you dare go without hooking me up!"

"Who thinks white shoes and stockings are too dressy?"

"Oh my, but you look scrumptious!"

Molly had saved her most prized dress for this occasion. It was the one
she had purchased the Christmas before in New York and was made of old
blue chiffon cloth over a "slimsy" satin lining, with two big old rose
velvet poppies at the belt. It was cut out in the neck and the sleeves
were short. Just before coming back to college, she had indulged in long
ecru suede gloves, which she now drew on silently. She had received a
letter from her mother that morning and her heart was heavy within her.
The letter said:

"The investment I made last summer has not turned out well. The young
son has assured me that the family intends to pay back all the
creditors, and I am trying not to worry. In the meantime, my precious
daughter, you must not think of giving up college, as you offered in
your last letter; that is, until this term is over. Then we will see
what can be done, although I am obliged to tell you that things do not
look very hopeful about any present funds. Jane is to take a position
in town as librarian and Minnie intends to start a dancing class. Your
brothers and sisters and I will get on,