k."

"When you come back from Bermuda, I'll see that your wish is gratified,"
replied Molly, laughing, as she rose to go.

"Miss Molly," said the Professor, as he bade her good-bye at the door,
"I wish you would promise me three things: don't overwork; don't make
plans to work on a newspaper instead of teaching school, and--don't
forget me."

"I'm not likely to do that, Professor. I'm always wanting to go to your
office and ask you questions and advice. The last time we were there,
Dodo and I, I found two old rotten apples. I took the liberty of
throwing them away."

"It's too bad for good apples to be left rotting on the ground or
anywhere," said the Professor, and he closed the door softly. While this
surely was a very simple statement, somehow he seemed to mean more than
he said.

Just why Molly's thoughts were on the lost snakey-noodles as she walked
up the campus, she could not say. She recalled that they had been
carefully done up in a box marked on top in large print, "Snakey-noodles
from Aunt Ma'y Morton." That was the Browns' cook.

"I wonder if they were left with the half of the lunch in Exmoor
meadow," she thought with fond regret for this wasted gift of their old
colored cook, who had taken unusual pains to make the snakey-noodles as
crusty and delicious as possible.

"So passeth snakey-noodles and all good things," she said to herself as
she entered the Quadrangle.

CHAPTER XV.

THE CAMPUS GHOST.

About this time Wellington was filled with strange rumors that were much
discussed in small sitting rooms behind closed doors. It was said, and
this part of the story could be credited as truth, that a woman had been
seen wandering about the campus late at night wringing her hands and
moaning. Some of the Blakely House girls had seen her from their window
one night and had rushed to find the matron, but the strange woman had
disappeared by the time the matron had been summoned. Another night she
had been seen, or rather heard, under the Quadrangle windows. She had
been seen at other places and some of the Irish maids had been filled
with superstitious dread because, absurd as it might seem to sensible
persons, it was reported that the weeping, moaning lady was the ghost of
Miss Walker's sister who had died so many years ago.

"It's an evil omen, Miss," a waitress said to Nance one evening. "In
Ireland ghosts come to foretell bad news. It's no good to the college,
shure, that she's wandering