iently at the
strings as he explained: "These are some things the girls made me. It's
great to be going away, isn't it? Why, I feel just like I was getting
out of a cage; I feel like I was going to fly. Say, what is this,
anyway?"

He held up a small book, shaped to resemble the bud of a flower. It was
made of white water-colour paper and every leaf was fastened to the
other leaves by small white cords. On the front was the picture of a
baby; on the back was a pair of black kid doll shoes.

"Where did you get it?" his sister asked.

"Rose gave it to me; she told me a long time ago that she was making me
a book of memories; that I was to open just one page a week. That's my
baby picture, all right, but why on earth has she put those doll
slippers on the back? And why is it shaped in this funny way? What
makes girls such queer creatures, anyway, Beth?"

She laughed. "I guess, Floyd, if this is a book of memories, that last
page is to picture the last great event of your life--your graduation
night. Don't you remember how your new patent leathers pinched your
feet, so that you limped across the platform after your diploma? It is
shaped like a rosebud, for it is like that. Every week you will open a
new petal, and finally, when you have opened them all, it will be a
full-blown rose. When you come back Rose will have unfolded a few
petals, too."

"Well, I am going to unfold every one of these right now. I never could
wait that long to see what is in the centre. Of course I have a vague
idea, but I want to be sure. So in two minutes we will know this
mystery."

"No," she said firmly, taking the book from his hand. "What would the
book mean to you then, Floyd? Every particle of the pleasure--the
expectation--would be gone. It took Rose a long time to make this book
and you surely would not destroy its value in a few minutes. She even
formed every leaf like a petal, so that it would give you the pleasure
of watching it unfold like a real rose. It is just a symbol of
herself--a little bud of promise."

"She's great to think of all that; I like her. Oh, she and Dorothy are
going to stop a minute to-night; Dot has something for me and I want
them to see some of my things. But I do want to open this book. I guess
I will give it to you to keep until I am ready to shut this trunk, so it
won't be such a temptation. But let's eat pretty soon; I am simply
starved."

At the supper table he talked incessantly of his departure.