If Adele Windsor knew that Judy was in the village, she gave no sign, and so the exile, in her old room at O'Reilly's overlooking the garden, had nothing to do but bury herself in her neglected text books. Indeed, very few of the girls knew where Judy was. When she went out for her walks after dusk she wore a heavy veil and thoroughly enjoyed the disguise. One night the old crowd gave her a surprise party which Edith had carefully planned. Dressed in absurd piratical costumes with skirts draped over one shoulder in the semblance of capes, brilliant sashes around their waists, many varieties of slouch hats and heavy black mustaches, they stormed Judy's room in a body. "Hist!" said Edith, "the captive Maiden! We must release her ere sunrise!" Then they trooped in, danced a wild fandango which made Judy envious that she herself was not in it, and finally opened up refreshments. So it was that Judy's exile was happy enough, and when Christmas holidays approached she had made up most of her lost work and was ready for Molly's careful coaching. Thus it is that heaven protects some of the foolish ones of this earth. Judy wrote to her mother and father that she was behind in her classes and would remain to study with Molly Brown, and as Mr. and Mrs. Kean were at this time in Colorado, they thought it a wise decision on the part of their daughter. Molly had grown to love the Christmas holidays at college. It was a perfect time of peace after the excitement and hurry of her life--a time when she could steal into the big library and read the hours away without being disturbed, or scribble things on paper that she would like to expand into something, some day, when her diffidence should leave her. To-day, curled up in one of the big window seats, Molly was thinking of a curious thing that had happened that morning at O'Reilly's. She had gone in to say good-bye to Judith Blount and Madeleine Petit, who were leaving for New York by the noon train. "I suppose you'll be visiting all the tea rooms in town for new ideas," Molly had said pleasantly. "Yes, indeed," said Madeleine. "I never leave a stone unturned and everything's grist that comes to my mill. This fall I got six new ideas for sandwiches and the idea for a kind of bun that ought to be popular if only because of the name. I haven't the recipe, but I think I can experiment with it until I get it." "What's the name?" Molly asked idly, never thinking of what a train of consequences that name involved. "'Snakey-noodles.' Isn't it great? Can't you see it on a little menu and people ordering out of curiosity and then ordering more because they're so good?" "Snakey-noodles," Molly repeated in surprise. "That's the name, isn't it, Judith?" asked Madeleine. "Oh, yes, I remember it because the bun is formed of twisted dough like a snake coiled up." "It's very strange," said Molly. "What's strange?"