“Eh? Well, I daresay you’ll be able to do a bit more in the future, then. I understand that all you Guides are out to help others in need of help, and here’s a genuine case. He’ll be ill for some time, but we’ll get him moved to the infirmary, and he’ll be proud of a little notice, I’m sure. See--” the doctor suddenly slowed down--“here’s my idea, Miss Betty,” said he. “It happens that we’re on the border of Witch’s Wood now, and I’ve the right to go in, I believe. Suppose we leave the car in charge of the reputed witch,” continued Dr. Fergus, clearing the fence as nimbly as a boy and holding out a friendly hand to Betty; “unless, of course, you’d rather stay outside.” Stay outside! It was with a wildly beating heart, in which excitement and eagerness mingled, that Betty followed the doctor through the wood. There stood the cottage little and lonely as ever, as they gained the clearing. There, as they crossed the threshold, lay, as before, a rough bordering of flowers and ferns. They had been picked two days ago and were withered now. And there, as they entered the little inner room--filled with withered flowers, surrounded with withered flowers, and shinily polished as ever it had been when in charge of the Daisy patrol--was the _Guide Cup_! Somehow or other at that instant Betty’s eyes filled with tears. Her heart felt red-hot, and she couldn’t speak. Here was the lost Cup; but she could only remember poor Paul who had tried to “do something” for her; poor Paul who had evidently watched her devotedly from the hollow hiding-place in the ditch while she cleaned the Cup, who had listened to her words, and who had put his own simple construction on them, and who had, so unintentionally, helped to bring so much trouble! The doctor may have noticed her tears, or he may not; he said nothing, but he bent down and lifted up the Cup. “We’ll take it back, just as it is,” he said, “and explain to Miss Carey. Oh yes, I know all the ins and outs of the story from Rene, and I believe you Daisies will hold the Cup next year after all now, because----” But Betty burst in with a choky half-sob. “It isn’t _that_. I don’t believe the Daisies will even _think_ of that when they see it again! I don’t believe any of the Guides will, though it will be so lovely to have it. It’s--oh, it’s all so beautiful and sad, all mixed up together, for the Cup really to come back on Cup Day, and for me to be invested with the Cup there, and yet for Paul--” She broke off. “_That’s_ what we’ll think of,” she choked.