Otoyo blushed and hesitated; then cocked her head on one side exactly like a little song sparrow and glancing timidly at Nance, replied: "Mr. Andrew McLean, second, he told it to me." Nance smiled unconcernedly. She never dreamed of being jealous of the funny little Japanese. "And why, pray, didn't Miss Walker announce it this morning at chapel when she made her opening address?" asked Margaret. "Ah, that is for another veree sadlee reason," answered Otoyo, her voice taking on a mournful note. "You have not heard?" "No, what?" they demanded, bursting with curiosity. "Professor Edwin Green, the noble, honorable gentleman of English Literature, he is veree ill. You have not heard such badlee news? Miss Walker, she will announce nothing of jubilee while this poor gentleman lies in his bed so veree, greatlee ill." "Why, Otoyo," cried Molly, her voice rising above the excited chorus, "is it really true? You mean dangerously ill? What is the matter with him?" "He has been two weeks in the infirmaree with a great fever." "You mean typhoid?" Otoyo nodded. It was a new name to her. She had not had much to do with illness during her two years in America, but she remembered the dread name of typhoid. It had a sad association to her, for she had been passing the infirmary at the very moment when a black, sinister looking ambulance had brought Professor Edwin Green from his rooms to the hospital. Molly relapsed into silence. Somehow, the joy of reunion had been spoiled and she tasted the bitterness of dark forebodings. It came to her with unexpected vividness that Wellington would not be the same without the Professor of English Literature, whose kind assistance and advice had meant so much to her. Only a little while ago she had made a secret resolution to seek him in his office on the morrow for counsel on a very vital question. In plain words: how to avoid being a school teacher. And now this brilliant and learned man, by far the brightest star in the Wellington faculty, was dangerously ill. Molly felt suddenly the cold clutch of disappointment. The other girls were sorry but not really shaken or unnerved by the news. "The jubilee must be to celebrate the fiftieth birthday of the new Wellington--" began Margaret, after an interval of silence. "Do you suppose--" she began again and then broke off. "Suppose what?" asked the inquisitive Judy. "Oh, nothing. It would seem rather unfeeling to put in words what I had in my mind. I think I'll leave it unsaid." There was a silence and again came that cold clutch at Molly's heart. She felt pretty certain that Margaret had started to say: "Do you suppose, if Professor Green dies, it will interfere with the jubilee?"