ed him to spill a portion of his coffee.
Ever curious, ever greedy, Melchisedek scampered out to sniff at the
coffee, and Cicely made a dash at his abandoned booty.

"What is it, Cicely?" Theodora asked.

"Something he oughtn't to have, ma'am," she answered quickly, her finger
on her lip.

But Billy missed the signal.

"Let's see it," he demanded.

For an instant, Cicely hesitated. Long before this, Allyn had told her of
the girlish fit of temper which had led Theodora to cut off her own hair,
and she had a shrewd suspicion of the history of Melchisedek's trophy.

"Let's see it," Billy repeated, while Melchisedek on appealing hindlegs
walked around and around her, praying that his own might be restored to
him. Cicely hesitated for a minute longer. Then the spirit of mischief
triumphed, and she held out to Billy a long, soft braid of silky brown
hair, tied at either end with a bow of scarlet ribbon.

"Here it is, sir," she said demurely.

"Billy!" Theodora's voice was sharp with exclamation points.

"I know it."

"Where did it come from, at this day?"

"My box in the garret. I was up there, this afternoon, and I must have
left it open."

"And you've had it all this time?"

"Yes."

"You silly old boy!"

Her face had grown scarlet and her eyes were shining. Then she turned to
her mystified guest.

"Excuse this family by-play, Mr. Gilwyn; but that was a lock of hair I
cut off, in the early days of our acquaintance, and my husband has kept
it ever since. You see a small dog in the family is rather destructive to
sentiment."

When the carriage was announced, Theodora was upstairs, putting on her
hat. Mr. Gilwyn came down the stairs and marched straight to the
dining-room where Cicely, divested of her cap and encased in a gingham
apron, was busy clearing the table. In his hand was a book, and his face
had suddenly lost all its pomposity and grown genial and merry.

"I found this on the table in my room," he said without preface; "and it
isn't a very common name."

As he spoke, he opened to the flyleaf and pointed to the two lines
written there.

"Cicely Everard," it said; "with the love of Cousin Theodora."

"I've a daughter of my own," he added; and Theodora, when she came in
search of her guest, found the guest and the maid laughing uproariously.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"Oh, Cis!"

"Well?"

"Come down here."

"Can't. I'm busy."

"What are you doing?"

"Washing Melchisedek. He hunt