"But what about Martin Luther?" asked someone. "I thought this spread was really for the purpose of counting up the pennies he had been acc.u.mulating."

Molly took the china pig from the shelf and placed him on the table.

"How shall I break him?" she asked. "Shall I crush him with one blow of the hammer, or shall I knock off his head on the steam heater?"

"Poor Martin!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Edith. "He's not a wild boar to be hunted down and exterminated. He's a kindly domestic animal who has performed the task set for him by a wise providence. I think he should choose his own death."

"Every condemned man has a right to a lawyer," said Margaret. "I offer my services to Martin Luther and will consult him in private."

"We'll give him a trial by jury," broke in Katherine.

"But what's he accused of?" demanded Molly.

"He's accused of withholding funds held in trust for you," put in Margaret promptly.

There was a great deal of fun at the expense of Martin Luther and his mock trial. Katherine presided as Judge. There were two witnesses for the defense and two on the other side, and Margaret's speech for the accused would have done credit to a real lawyer. The jury, consisting of three girls, Otoyo, Mabel Hinton and Rosomond Chase--Millicent Porter had excused herself with the plea of a headache and departed--sat on the case five minutes and decided that the pig should be made to surrender Molly's fund in the quickest possible time and by the quickest possible means.

It was almost time to separate for the night when Molly at last placed Martin Luther on a tray in the center of the table and with a sharp rap of the hammer broke him into little bits.

If interest had not been so concentrated on the amount of money hidden in the pig, perhaps it might have occurred to the company that Molly and her two friends had been playing a joke on them when they looked at the heap of ruins on the tray. But if this suspicion did enter the mind of anyone, it was dissolved at once at sight of Molly's white face and quivering lips.

"My money!" she gasped.

What happened was this. When the china pig was demolished, there rolled from his ruins no silver money but a varied collection of b.u.t.tons and bogus stage money made of tin. Only about a dollar in real silver was to be found.

"What a blow is this!" at last exclaimed Molly, breaking the silence.

"But what does it mean?" demanded Rosomond.

"It means," said Nance, "that someone has taken all Molly's savings out of the china pig and subst.i.tuted--this."

She pointed to the pile of stage money.

"But they couldn't have done it," cried Judy. "How could they have fished it up through such a small slot?"

"What a low, miserable trick!" cried Katherine.

It was a despicable action. Who among all the bright, intelligent students at Wellington could have been capable of such a dastardly thing? They agreed that it must have been a student. None of the college attendants could have planned it out so carefully.

"Who else has missed things?" asked Margaret with a sudden thought.

"I have," replied Jessie, "but I never mentioned it because I'm so careless and it did seem to be my own fault. I lost five dollars last week out of my purse. I left it on the window sill in the gym. and forgot about it. When I came back later the purse was there, but the money was gone."

"How horrid!" cried Molly, her soul revolting in disgust at anything dishonest.

"To tell you the truth I have not been able to find my gold beads for nearly two weeks," put in Judy. "I haven't seen them since--" she paused and flushed, "since the night of our play. I remember leaving them on my dressing table that morning."

Molly and Nance exchanged glances, recalling the mysterious visitor to their room that night.

Several of the other girls had missed small sums of money and jewelry which they had not thought of mentioning at the time.

"But how on earth was this managed?" demanded Jessie, pointing dramatically to the broken china pig.

"I suspect," replied Molly, "that this is not the real Martin Luther.

When I bought him there were several others just like him on the shelf at the store. Whoever did this must have bought another Martin and the stage money at the same time. They have a lot of it at the store, silver and greenbacks, too. I saw it myself when I bought Martin. They keep it for cla.s.s plays, I suppose."

There was a long discussion about what ought to be done. The housekeeper must be told, of course, next morning and a list of all missing articles made out, headed by Molly's loss of almost fifteen dollars.

It was rather a tragic ending to the jolly hickory-nut cake party. Molly tried to laugh away her disappointment about her savings, but she could not disguise to herself what it actually meant.

"I'm afraid I can't buy your dress, Judy," she announced, when the company had disbanded. "I'll mend up one of last year's dresses. It will be all right. It's a lesson to me not to place so much importance on clothes."

Judy said nothing, but she made a mental resolution that Molly should have that dress.

The next morning the housekeeper was properly notified of what had happened and it was not long before the rumor spread that somewhere about college there dwelt a thief. So remote did such a person seem from the Wellington girls that the thief came to be regarded as a kind of evil spirit lurking in the shadows and gliding through the halls.

CHAPTER XII.

ALARMS AND DISCOVERIES.

Several things of importance to this history happened during the week before the house party at Exmoor.

One morning, just before chapel, Molly was visited by several members of the Shakespearean Society, who presented her with a scroll of membership and fastened a pin on her blouse. They then solemnly shook hands and marched out in good order. By this token Molly became a full fledged member of that exclusive body. Margaret Wakefield, Jessie Lynch and Edith Williams were also taken into the society. Most of the other girls in the circle were elected to the various societies that day. Judy and Katherine became "Olla Podridas," which, as all Wellington knows, is Spanish for mixed soup. Nance was elected into the "Octogons," and all the girls belonged to one or the other of the two big Greek letter societies.

If Judy had any feelings regarding the Shakespeareans, she was careful to keep them well hidden under her gay and laughing exterior.

The Shakespeareans at Beta Phi House gave a supper for the new members, and later Millicent Porter, in a stunning, theatrical looking costume of old blue velvet, received them in her rooms. Margaret and Edith wore their best to this affair. The Shakespeareans were a dressy lot.

"I wonder why, in the name of goodness, they ever asked me to belong,"

exclaimed Molly to herself, as she got into her white muslin, which was really the best she could do. "I wish I could surprise somebody with something," her thoughts continued. "College friends are just like members of the same family. I can't even surprise the girls with a shirtwaist. They are intimately acquainted with every rag I possess."

Molly enjoyed the Beta Phi party, however, in spite of her dress, which Millicent Porter had dignified by calling it a "lingerie."

"How much nicer you look than the other girls in more elaborate things,"

she said admiringly.

Molly felt gratified.

"I don't feel nicer," she said. "I have a weakness for fine clothes. I love to hear the rustle of silk against silk. Your blue velvet dress is like a beautiful picture to me. I could look and look at it. There's a kind of depth to it like mist on blue water."

Millicent bridled with pleased vanity.

"It is rather nice," she admitted modestly. "It's a French dress made by the same dressmaker who designs clothes for a big actress. Don't you want to see some of my work? I have put it on exhibition to-night. I thought it would interest the new members. The girls here are quite familiar with it, of course."