The Ravens, now enjoying a pleasant distinction among the Lincoln students because of Jerry's suffering, the truth of which had become known after a few weeks to nearly everyone in the school, except, of course, the faculty, decided to admit more members to their circle. This necessitated an elaborate ceremony of initiation, and an especially elaborate spread. "Let's us clean the tower room," suggested Gyp one afternoon, with this in mind. "I don't mean sweep or scrub or anything like that--'cause the dust and the cobwebs make it lots more romantic. I mean just shove things further back. We'll need more room." Jerry agreed. So the two pushed George Washington aside and climbed the little stairway. A sharp wind howled around the tower room, making weird, wailing sounds. "Isn't it spooky up here this afternoon?" whispered Gyp. "Let's hurry. Here, I'll hand you these books and you pile them over there in that corner." Gyp tossed the books about as though they were bricks. Jerry handled them more carefully. From her infancy she had been brought up to respect any kind of a book; those at home had seemed almost a part of her dear mother and Little-Dad; these had belonged to Peter Westley. He must have spent a great deal of his time reading, she thought, the volumes were worn about their edges, the pages thumbed. She peeped into one or two. Peter Westley, who had shunned the companionship of his fellow-mortals, had made these his friends. Gyp divined what was passing in Jerry's thoughts. "These books look all dried up and dreary--just like Uncle Peter was," she exclaimed, throwing one over. Jerry opened it at random. "Oh, _this_ isn't! Listen, isn't it beautiful? "Now morn, her rosy steps in th' eastern clime, Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl---- "It makes me think of a sunrise from Rocky Point. Often Little-Dad takes me up there and we sleep all night rolled in blankets." "I wish I could do things like that," sighed Gyp longingly. "I hate just doing the regular sort of things that everyone else is doing." Jerry regarded her in astonishment; that Gyp might, perhaps, envy her the childhood she had had on Kettle had never occurred to her! "Perhaps sometime you can visit me in Sunnyside." Her eyes shone at the thought. "Don't you love poetry?" She read again: "If 'chance the radiant sun with farewell sweet Extend his ev'ning beam, the fields revive, The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds Attest their joy, that hill and valley ring----