exultant breath, dropped her chin on her knees.

"Did--did they all cheer, then, for Ginny?"

"I should _say_ so." With a long yawn Gyp uncurled her legs. "I'm dead.
I'm going to bed." She turned toward the door. "Oh, say, I most forgot.
Ginny told me to tell you that the reason she played the way she did
to-night was 'cause she kept thinking of you and what you'd done for her
and she wanted to prove that she was worth it. Ginny _is_ a good sort,
isn't she?"

CHAPTER XVIII

THE RAVENS CLEAN THE TOWER

The Ravens, now enjoying a pleasant distinction among the Lincoln
students because of Jerry's suffering, the truth of which had become
known after a few weeks to nearly everyone in the school, except, of
course, the faculty, decided to admit more members to their circle. This
necessitated an elaborate ceremony of initiation, and an especially
elaborate spread.

"Let's us clean the tower room," suggested Gyp one afternoon, with this
in mind. "I don't mean sweep or scrub or anything like that--'cause the
dust and the cobwebs make it lots more romantic. I mean just shove
things further back. We'll need more room."

Jerry agreed. So the two pushed George Washington aside and climbed the
little stairway. A sharp wind howled around the tower room, making
weird, wailing sounds.

"Isn't it spooky up here this afternoon?" whispered Gyp. "Let's hurry.
Here, I'll hand you these books and you pile them over there in that
corner."

Gyp tossed the books about as though they were bricks. Jerry handled
them more carefully. From her infancy she had been brought up to respect
any kind of a book; those at home had seemed almost a part of her dear
mother and Little-Dad; these had belonged to Peter Westley. He must have
spent a great deal of his time reading, she thought, the volumes were
worn about their edges, the pages thumbed. She peeped into one or two.
Peter Westley, who had shunned the companionship of his fellow-mortals,
had made these his friends.

Gyp divined what was passing in Jerry's thoughts.

"These books look all dried up and dreary--just like Uncle Peter was,"
she exclaimed, throwing one over.

Jerry opened it at random.

"Oh, _this_ isn't! Listen, isn't it beautiful?

"Now morn, her rosy steps in th' eastern clime,
Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl----

"It makes me think of a sunrise from Rocky Point. Often Little-Dad takes
me up there and we sleep all night rolled in blankets