y. "Not that young buccaneering
newspaper fellow."

"Professor Green," said Mrs. McLean, standing next to him, "I think we
owe most of the success of this day to you. But how about that charming
Rosalind? Did you train her to act so prettily?"

"No," he replied, "I couldn't do that. It's in her already. One has only
to bring it out."

Among the flowers which were handed over the row of potted cedars to
Molly after that charming performance was a big bunch of yellow
daffodils, and tied to the yellow ribbon was a large yellow apple.

"You've won your second golden apple to-day, Miss Molly, and I am proud
of my pupil," read the card attached.

CHAPTER XXI.

FAREWELLS.

The rest of the time until graduation was like a dream to Molly and her
friends whose hearts were filled with a sort of two-pronged
homesickness; homesickness for home and for Wellington, which now they
were about to leave forever more.

A great many things happened in the space that intervened between the
first of May and the eighteenth of June, when graduation occurred. There
were dances at Exmoor and dances at Wellington and the senior reception
to the juniors. Then there were long quiet evenings when the old crowd
gathered in No. 5 and talked of the future.

It was on one of these warm summer nights that they were draped as usual
about the couches in the mellow glimmer of one Japanese lantern. Judy,
thrumming on the guitar, sang:

"'When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen;
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,
And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog his day.

"'When all the world is old, lad,
And all the trees are brown;
And all the sport is stale, lad,
And all the wheels run down;
Creep home and take your place there,
The spent and maimed among:
God grant you find one face there,
You loved when all was young.'"

"My, that makes me sad," said Jessie. "I feel that I've already lived my
life and am coming back to old Wellington to die with a lot of other
decrepit old persons who used to be young and beautiful."

"Thanks for the compliment about looks," said Edith. "But I don't feel
that way. I'm going forth to conquer. I am going to write books and
books before I come home to die."

"I'm going to write books,