s? Don't you remember that? they asked each other,
finding so many things to laugh over and recall that they quite forgot
the object of their search.

Lloyd was sitting with her back against the warm chimney, which ran up
through the middle of the attic, but presently she began to feel chilly,
and sent Rob over to a chest, away back under the eaves, for something
to put around her. It was packed full of old finery they had used on
various occasions for tableaux and plays. The first thing he pulled out
was a gorgeous red velvet cloak covered with spangles.

"That will do," she said, as he held it up inquiringly. "It's good and
warm."

He pushed the chest back into place. Then, straightening up, his glance
fell on the discarded playhouse, standing back in a dim corner. With a
whoop he pounced upon it.

"Here's old Watch!" he exclaimed, holding up the little iron dog. "And
he is the bank where the wild time grows, for here is the gift he is
standing guard over." Throwing the spangled cloak over Lloyd's
shoulders, he seated himself again on the roll of carpet, and began to
untie the little package fastened to the dog's neck with a bit of
ribbon. Inside many layers of tissue-paper, he came at last to a
memorandum-book, small enough to fit in his vest-pocket. It was bound in
soft gray kid, and on the back Betty had burned in old English letters,
with her pyrography-needle, the motto of Warwick Hall: "I keep the
tryst." Over it was the crest, a heart, out of which rose a mailed arm,
grasping a spear.

"Betty did that," said Lloyd. "She traced the letters on first with
tracing-papah, and then burnt them. I remembah now, she made it a few
days befoah we came home. She thought we would have our usual tree, and
she intended to hang this on it for you. Then when we had the hunt
instead of a tree, she took this way of giving it to you. That is an
appropriate motto for a memorandum-book, isn't it? You'll appreciate it
moah when she tells you the story about it. Miss Chilton read it to the
English class one day, and had us write it from memory for the next
lesson."

"Then what's the matter with your telling it to me?" asked Rob, eying
the mailed hand and the spear with interest. "I'll be gone before Betty
gets back. Go on and tell it. This is an ideal time and place for
story-telling."

He leaned comfortably back against the warm chimney and half-closed his
eyes. The patter of the rain on the roof made him drowsy.

"Well,"