snarl of twine.

"Here," said Bell, diving into the trunk again, "is a highly interesting
article, _mesdames!_ a pheasant, you see, carved,--Swiss, I
suppose,--with all his feathers spread out. Now, I think I did pretty
well to bring that home without breaking. Is there a boy in your box,
Hilda? I meant this for a boy."

"There is, indeed, and I know he will be enchanted with such a pretty
thing. Oh, and the marbles! Now, Bell, will you tell me what college
girls do with marbles?"

"I will," said Bell, laughing. "She--Martha Sinclair--is very
near-sighted, poor thing. She thought these were moth-balls. She brought
a lot of them from home, and put them up with her furs this spring, and
was horrified to find them--the furs--all moth-eaten this fall. Poor
Martha! That, Hildegarde, is the sad tale of the marbles. They are very
good ones! I should not dare to let Willy see them,--here, put them in
your pocket! Here are assorted pen-handles,--went in one lot,--forty
cents for the dozen of them. Some of them are rather nice, I think."

"This is a beauty!" cried Gertrude. "This Scotch plaid one. May I have
this, Bell?"

"Certainly, dear! Hilda shall have the pearl one,--there! This is the
prettiest, Hilda--"

"But why am I to have all the prettiest?" inquired Hildegarde. "You are
very reckless, Bell."

"No, my love, I am not," said Bell. "Pen-handles are, generally
speaking, a drug in this family. For several Christmases Willy--dear
child!--could not think of anything else to give us, so we had
pen-handles all round--how many years, Gertrude?"

"Three, I think," said Gertrude. "Then some one laughed, and hurt his
dear little feelings, and he never gave us any more. I miss the
Christmas pen-handle myself, for I always get mine nibbled pretty short
in the course of the fall term. It is the only way I can possibly write
a composition."

"And is your next composition to be on the 'Scottish Chiefs?'" asked
Hildegarde. "Or do you hope to cure yourself by the taste of varnish
and red paint?"

"Puppies!" cried Bell, emerging once more from the depths of the trunk.
"Five china puppies in a row. And thereby hangs a tale."

"I don't see a sign of a tail," said Gertrude, inspecting the five
little terriers, all sitting up very straight, with their paws exactly
on a line.

"Spell it the other way, miss; and don't forget your Shakespeare," said
her sister.

"This reminds me of the very most foolish charade I ever heard. We