.

The book-rack which Betty had burnt for her, with her initials on each
end, was already nearly filled with the books that different friends had
sent her. Rob's gift had been a book. So had Miss Allison's and Mrs.
MacIntyre's and the old family doctor's. Malcolm had sent a great bunch
of American Beauties. She drew the vase toward her and buried her face
a moment in the delicious fragrance. Then she nibbled a caramel from
Keith's box of candy. The rosebud sachet-bag which Gay made lay in the
box of handkerchiefs that good old Mom Beck had given her.

She patted the thick letter from Joyce that told so much of interest
about Ware's Wigwam. She intended to have the water-colour sketch of
Squaw's Peak framed to take back to school with her. Mary's fat little
fingers had braided the Indian basket which came with Joyce's picture,
and Jack himself had killed the wildcat, whose skin he sent to make a
rug for her room. Lloyd was proud of that skin. As she stood smoothing
the tawny fur, the diamond on her finger flashed like fire, and she
stood turning her hand this way and that, that the glow of the flames
might fall on her new ring.

It was a beautifully cut stone in an old-fashioned setting, with the
word "_Amanthis_" engraved inside; but not for a fortune would Lloyd
have had the little circlet changed to a modern setting. For just so had
it been slipped on her grandmother's finger at her fifteenth Christmas.
She had worn it until her daughter's fifteenth Christmas, and now she,
in turn, had given it to Lloyd. All day it had been a constant joy to
her. Aside from the pleasure of possessing such a beautiful ring, she
had a feeling that in its flashing heart was crystallized a triple
happiness,--the joy of three Christmas days: hers, her mother's, and the
beautiful young girl with the June rose in her hair, who smiled down at
her from the portrait over the mantel.

She smiled up at it now in the same confiding way she had done as a
child, saying, in a low tone: "And when you played on the harp, it
flashed on yoah hand just as it does on mine." Pleased by the fancy, she
crossed the room and struck a few chords on the harp, watching the
firelight flash on the ring as she did so.

"'Sing me the songs that to me were so deah,
Long, long ago, long ago!'"

There was a step in the hall, and the portieres were pushed aside as the
old Colonel came in. She did not stop, for she knew he loved the old
son