n poet, of a patriot sorrowing for his
country, an artist wrestling over a life's masterpiece, like anything or
everything, in fact, but just what he was--a sulky and empty-headed
young gentleman, wounded in his own conceit!

To her own amazement Darsie presently found herself engaged in the
humble position of "making it up," and in taking back one after another
each disparaging remark which she had made, which, being done, Ralph
graciously consented to "think no more about it!" and strolled off to
speak to a friend, leaving her stranded by herself at the far end of the
garden.

The position would have been an uncomfortable one had it not happened
that just at that moment a bell rang loudly, followed by a sudden
gathering together of the guests upon the cedar lawn. Mr Percival was
making some announcement which was greeted by bursts of approving
laughter. The words of the announcement were inaudible to Darsie's
ears, but the purport was unmistakable. The treasure hunt had begun!
With one accord the guests turned and streamed in the direction of the
gardens, turning to right and to left, peering beneath bushes, poking
delicately among the foliage of flower-beds with the ferules of walking-
sticks and parasols...

Darsie turned and fled like a lapwing along the path leading past the
tennis-lawn and rose and vegetable gardens, to the shaded fern grotto
which formed one of the boundaries of the grounds. The idea had come to
her to begin, so to speak, at the end and have the field to herself,
but, as is usually the case, she was to discover that others were as
ingenious as herself, for she had soon quite a string of followers along
the narrow paths.

The thickly growing ferns seemed to offer endless hiding-places, but a
printed notice to the effect that "It is not necessary to walk upon the
Beds!" seemed to limit the possible area to that within reach of hand or
stick. Darsie poked and peered, lifted the hanging fronds which fell
over the rockwork border of the lily pond, stood on tiptoe on the rustic
seat to peer between the branches of surrounding trees, but could
discover nothing in the semblance of a paper packet. It was the same
story in the rose garden, though the thick foliage on the pergolas
seemed to offer numberless hiding-places for dainty packets, containing
great gear in little bulk; it was the same story in the wide, herbaceous
border, though pathways on either side offered double opportunities for
s