ld go to Antwerp to be there when you arrive or even
meet you halfway in Brussels, but I must put the temptation from me
and await you quietly in Paris. Good-by, my darling old Molly
Brown,

Your own devoted, ever loving

JUDY.

* * * * *

Steamer letter from Professor Edwin Green
of Wellington College to Miss Molly Brown of
Kentucky, sailing on _S. S. Laurens_.

Wellington College.

My dear Miss Molly:

Surely the "best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft aglee." I
feel more like a mouse caught in a trap than a man, just now. I
have been thinking of nothing else all summer but the delightful
time I should have with you and your mother in Paris. It is my
sabbatical year at Wellington, which means a fine long holiday, one
much needed and looked forward to by all hard-worked professors.
But just as I began to prepare for this delightful trip, I found
that my substitute had in the most unaccountable manner,
disappointed the President, Miss Walker, and Wellington was in a
fair way to open without a professor of English. Of course I had to
rush to the rescue and here I am in the old grind again.

I really do not mind teaching, enjoy it, in fact, but oh, my
holiday and those walks and jaunts I have been dreaming of in
Paris! Miss Walker is deeply grateful to me for helping her out of
this difficulty, and is doing all in her power to find a suitable
person to take my place; and of course, I, too, am reaching out in
every direction for help.

One thing, I do not intend to be like poor Jacob: serve seven years
more before I get my reward. I feel in a way that this is making up
to the College for the long, enforced holiday two years ago, when I
was so ill with typhoid fever.

My sister Grace had made her plans to spend the winter in New York
as she did not expect to be needed by me as housekeeper, so I am
"baching" again; and very lonesome it is after being so spoiled and
looked after by Grace.

The place seems sad and gloomy to me and the College is full of raw
and unattractive girls. I could hardly refrain from throwing a copy
of Rosetti at a forward miss the other day in class, when she
attempted to read "The Blessed Damozel" and I remembered a certain
little Freshman, who, five year