“Look here, then,” said the doctor, placing the Cup in her hands. “Here’s an idea. I understand from Rene that you’re giving up mascoting to-day when you become a Tenderfoot, eh? Well, there’s poor Paul, who hasn’t any one to care much about him, and who seems to think an uncommon lot of you Guides; suppose you adopt the poor chap as mascot after this, eh?” The doctor’s voice was very cheery and kind. “I know Miss Carey, and I rather think----” “_Oh!_” cried Betty in her most motherly voice, clasping the silver Cup with its burden of withered flowers while tears of happiness and trouble chased themselves down her cheeks. “Oh! _do_ let’s hurry back to St. Benedick’s. I truly believe that Sybil and all the Guides will say that that would make _everything_ beautiful and right!” PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT THE PRESS OF THE PUBLISHERS.