"Why, Judy," exclaimed Molly, "are you a widow?"

"I shall wear mourning for awhile," answered Judy solemnly, ignoring Molly's facetious question. "It is my only way of showing that I am a penitent. I can't wear sackcloth and ashes as they do in Oriental countries or flagellate my shoulders with a spiked whip like a mediaeval monk; nor can I go on a pilgrimage to a sacred shrine. So I have decided to give up colors for awhile and wear black."

Molly kissed her and said no more. She knew that Judy went into everything she did heart and soul even unto the outward and visible symbol of clothes, and if wearing black was her way of showing public repentance she felt only a great respect for her friend's sincerity of motive.

"But what are we to tell people when they ask if you have gone into mourning, Judy, because they certainly will?" demanded Nance, taking a more practical and less romantic view of the situation.

"Tell them I'm doing penance," answered Judy, and thus it got out around college that Judy was making public amends for her angry words to Molly, and there was a good deal of secret amus.e.m.e.nt, of which Judy was as serenely unconscious as a pious pilgrim journeying barefoot to a holy tomb.

In the midst of these happenings there came a note one day from Mrs.

McLean inviting the three young girls to the annual junior week-end house party at Exmoor. Their hosts were to be Andy McLean, George Green and Lawrence Upton and they were to stay at the Chapter House from Friday night until Sunday noon. It meant a round of gayeties from beginning to end, but to Molly it meant something almost out of reach.

"Clothes!" she exclaimed tragically, "I must have clothes. I can't go to Exmoor looking like little orphan Annie."

It was in vain that Judy and Nance offered to share their things with her. Molly obstinately refused to listen to them.

"I won't need any colored clothes, anyhow," said Judy.

"Yes, you will, Judy. You just must come out of those widow's weeds for the house party," Molly urged.

"No," said Judy, "I've made a vow and until that vow is fulfilled I shall never wear colors. I've sent two dresses down to the Wellington Dye Works to be dyed black. Fortunately my suit is black already and so is my hat. Now, I have a proposition to make, Molly. I'm in need of funds more than clothes just now and I'll sell you my yellow gauze for the contents of Martin Luther. He must be pretty full by now."

"He's plumb full," answered Molly proudly. "I hadn't realized how much I had put in until I tried to drop a quarter in this morning, and lo, and behold, he couldn't accommodate another cent."

She held up the china pig and shook him.

"How much should you think he'd hold altogether?" asked Judy. "I don't want to be getting the best of the bargain and perhaps Martin Luther is worth more than the dress."

"No, no," protested Molly. "He could never be worth that much. I think he has about fifteen dollars in his tum-tum. I've put in all the money I earned from cloudbursts and about ten dollars, changed up small, for tutoring."

Judy insisted on adding a blue silk blouse and a pair of yellow silk stockings to the collection to be sold.

"I'll sell them to someone else if you won't buy them," she announced, "and if you need a dress, you might as well take this one off my hands."

"Well," Molly finally agreed, "we'll break open Martin, and count the money and, if there's anything like a decent sum, I'll buy the dress.

Let's make a party of it," she added brightly. "I'll cut the hickory-nut cake that came from home last night, and Nance can make fudge."

It was like Molly's pa.s.sion for entertaining to turn the breaking open of the china bank into a festival. Nance had once remarked it was one thing to have a convivial soul and quite another to have the ready provisions, and Molly never invited her friends to a bare board.

"Try on the dress and let's see how you look in it, Molly dear," ordered Judy. "We'll open the bank to-night with due ceremony, but I want to see you in the yellow dress now."

The two girls were about the same height and build. Molly was not so well developed across the chest as her friend and was more slender through the hips. But the dress fitted her to perfection.

"Oh, you're a dream," cried Nance, when Molly presently appeared in the yellow dress.

"Molly, you are adorable," exclaimed Judy. "You always look better in my clothes than I do."

"They always fit me better than my own," said Molly, looking at herself in the mirror over the mantel. "I feel like a princess," she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, blushing at her own charming image. "Oh, Judy, I have no right to deprive you of this lovely gown. Your mother, I'm sure, would be very angry."

"Mamma is never angry," said Judy. "That is why I am so impossible.

Besides, I told you I needed the money. I have spent all my allowance and I won't get another cent for two weeks."

Molly took off the dress and laid it carefully in the box, stuffing tissue paper under the folds to prevent premature wrinkles. Her eyes dwelt lingeringly on the pale yellow ma.s.ses of chiffon and lace.

It would certainly be the solution of her troubles, and oh, the feeling of comfort one has in a really beautiful dress! She put the top on the box and pushed it away from her.

"I'll decide in the morning, Judy. I can't make up my mind quite yet. It seems like highway robbery to take the most beautiful dress you have and the most expensive, too, I am certain."

"I tell you I never liked the color," cried Judy. "I'm determined to wear black. When I have on black I feel superior to all persons wearing colors. It gives me dignity. There is a richness about robes of sable hue. Some day I'm going to have a black velvet evening dress made quite plain with an immense train stretching all the way across the room. My only ornaments will be a great diamond star in my hair and a necklace of the same, and I shall carry a large fan made of black ostrich feathers."

The girls laughed at this picture of magnificence and as Molly hurried away to invite the guests to the spread she heard Nance remark:

"You'll look like the bride of the undertaker in that costume, Judy."

"Not at all. I shall look like the Queen of Night, Anna Oldham."

Judy went to the door and looked out. Molly was safely around the corner of the Quadrangle.

"Nance," she continued, "don't you think Molly would let me give her the dress?"

Nance shook her head.

"I am afraid not. You know how proud she is. It's going to be hard to persuade her to buy it at that price. You know it's worth lots more."

Judy sighed.

"If I could only do something," she said. "If I only had a chance."

"Perhaps the chance will slip up on you, Judy, when you least expect it.

That's the way chances always do," said Nance.

It occurred to Judy, thinking over the matter of the yellow dress later, that it might be fun to have a "Barter and Exchange Party," and if all the girls were swopping things Molly could be more easily persuaded to take the yellow dress. All guests therefore were notified to bring anything they wanted to swop or sell to the rooms of the three friends that night.

It turned out to be a very exciting affair. The divans were piled with exchangeable property. Jessie Lynch brought more things than anybody else, ribbon bows, silk scarfs, several dresses and a velvet toque.

Millicent Porter, who now spent more time in the Quadrangle than at Beta Phi House, to the surprise of the girls, brought a rather dingy collection of things which no one would either swop or buy. But she enjoyed herself immensely. Edith Williams made two trips to carry all the books she wished to exchange for other books, clothes, hats or money. But Otoyo Sen had the most interesting collection and was the gayest person that night. She was willing to exchange anything she had just for the fun of it.

It was so exciting that they forgot all about Martin Luther until the time arrived for refreshments and they gathered about the hickory-nut cake, now a famous delicacy at Wellington.

"What surprises me is how pleased everybody is to get rid of something someone else is equally pleased to get," observed Margaret. "Now, for instance, I have a black hat I have always hated because it wobbles on my head. I feel as if I had received a gift to have exchanged it for this green one of Judy's. And Judy's so contented she's wearing my black one still."

"Oh, but I am the fortunate one," said Otoyo. "I have acquired an excellent library for three ordinary cotton kimonos."

"But such lovely kimonos," exclaimed Edith. "Katherine and I are in luck. Look at this pale blue dressing gown, please, for a French dictionary."

"I have the loveliest of all," broke in Molly, "amber beads."

"But they did not appear becomingly on me," protested Otoyo, not wishing to seem worsted in her bargains. "And what do I receive in exchange? A pair of beautiful knitted slippers for winter time, so warm, so comfortable."

"They were too little for me," announced Molly. "It was no deprivation to exchange them for a beautiful necklace. Really, Judy, this was a most original scheme of yours."