er childhood, she looked so like the little Betty who had
fared forth alone from the Cuckoo's Nest to the long ago house-party at
The Locusts, that Lloyd exclaimed aloud over the resemblance. The three
years of teaching at Warwick Hall had given her a certain grown-up sort
of dignity, added a sweet seriousness to the always sweet face; but the
wistful brown eyes and sensitive little mouth wore the same trustfulness
of expression that they had worn for the mirror in the little room up
under the eaves at her Cousin Hetty's.

[Illustration: "'DO YOU REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME YOU EVER SAW THIS?'"]

As Lloyd's bright head appeared at the top of the stairs, Betty glanced
up, calling gaily, "You are just in time, Lloyd, to see the last of
these things. Don't they take you back? Do you remember the first time
you ever saw this?"

She dangled a little white sunbonnet by the string, and Lloyd, picking
her way between boxes and barrels, reached out her hand for it, then
dropped to a seat on the rug which had been spread out to receive the
contents of the trunk.

"Indeed I do remembah it," she exclaimed. "You had it on the first time
I evah saw you--travelled in it all the way to Louisville. I was so
scandalized to see you arrive in a sunbonnet, that I could scarcely keep
from letting you know it."

"And this," continued Betty, holding up an old-fashioned basket of brown
willow with two handles and a lid with double flaps, "this was my
travelling bag. My lunch was in this, and my pass, and five nickels, and
the handkerchief that Davy gave me, with Red Ridinghood and the wolf
printed in each corner. Here's that self-same handkerchief!" she cried,
lifting the lid to peep in.

Scattered all around on the rug at her feet were many articles to be
packed in the trunk, but for the next half-hour the work went slowly.
Each thing that Lloyd picked up to hand to her suggested so many
reminiscences to them both that they made little progress. One was a
newspaper, bearing the date of Lloyd's first house-party. It was
beginning to turn yellow, and Lloyd scanned the columns, wondering why
Betty had saved it. Then she came to a poem marked with a blue pencil,
and cried:

"Oh, Betty! Heah's yoah first published poem! The one called 'Night.'
How wondahful we all thought it was that you should have something
printed in a real papah, when you were only twelve. Don't you remembah,
you had the measles when we carried it in to show it to you? But