oke on me, trying to
make me curious and impatient," laughed Dick's mother.

"But where is the package?" demanded Dick, exploring all around. His
father lent a helping hand in the search.

"Oh, never mind, Dick, dear," urged his mother. "My surprise is bound to
turn up. It couldn't have walked out of these rooms. Look at your own
package, my boy."

Dick turned to glance eagerly at a not very large box, against which
rested a card bearing his own name. He saw, at a glance, that the box
bore the imprint of one of the Gridley jewelers.

"I can guess!" cried Dick. "I know what's in the box!"

"Suppose you made a wrong guess?" laughed his mother teasingly. "Better
open it and make sure."

Dick picked up the box with trembling fingers.

"Mighty light, whatever it is," he murmured. Then he took off the cover.

"What's this?" choked Dick. "O-o-o-h!"

For all he saw resting in the box was a slip of white paper on which had
been poorly printed, in lead pencil, the words:

"Merry Christmas, Master Butt-in!"

"Some of Dad's fooling," laughed Dick a moment later.

"Not much it isn't," retorted Mr. Prescott, taking a quick step forward.
"Let me see that paper."

Dick handed it over, and his father read the words.

"What on earth does this mean?" he demanded. "What we put in that box
was your first watch, Dick. A silver-cased watch and a very neat
gold-plated chain."

One look at his father and a swift glance at his mother convinced the
boy that they had not been parties to any joke. Yet where were the watch
and chain?

"Who could have left this slip of paper here?" asked Mrs. Prescott.

"Hardly any one outside of the family," replied Mr. Prescott. "I don't
understand this at all."

"And mother's gift, too?" pondered Dick aloud, growing more puzzled
every instant.

"Well, certainly no one else has been in this flat," went on Mrs.
Prescott.

But Dick flew first to one parlor window, and then to the other. Next he
crossed the parlor in two bounds, dashing to his bedroom. He came back,
holding the slip of paper he had taken from the outer door the night
before.

"The two slips look as though they had been printed by the same fellow,
don't they?" inquired the boy.

"Yes," nodded Mr. Prescott. Dick told him about finding the other slip
on the door the evening before.

"But who could play such a mean trick?" insisted Mrs. Prescott.

"The fit-thrower, very likely," Dick answered.

"The fit--what?"

Then Di