He had not long to wait. That very afternoon the Witch saw Myra crying over her lessons at the window. She was kept in to learn them, and was feeling miserable and cross. No one was about, so the Witch crept up to the window, and told her all about the Memory-Saver, ending by producing him from her pocket. Oh! how glad he was to get out! He sat gasping with delight on the Witch's hand, while she explained his talents to someone. Who was it? The imp looked up and saw a little girl about ten years old, with an inky pinafore, and long, tumbled brown curls. She looked so much nicer than the Witch, that the Memory-Saver gazed up in her face with a forlorn little smile--or at least a smile that would have been "little" if his mouth had not been so wide. "What a queer little thing!" cried Myra. "I should like to have him, only--how _could_ he do all you say?" "Just listen," said the Witch, pulling a string. "William I., 1066--William II., 1087--Henry I., 1100--Stephen, 1135...." said the Memory-Saver, solemnly. Myra danced with delight. "Oh, he's splendid!" she cried. "He's just what I want. I never can remember dates. Oh, how much does he cost? I'm afraid I haven't enough money." "I'm sure you haven't," said the Witch. "I wouldn't part with him for untold gold." "Then it's no use," said Myra, sadly. "I haven't even got _told_ gold, only three shillings and twopence-ha'penny." "You've got something else that will do better," said the Witch, coaxingly. "Hasn't your brother a large collection of moths and butterflies?" "Yes," said Myra, looking rather puzzled; "but what has that to do with it?" "Show me the top drawer of his cabinet, dear," said the Witch. Myra walked to the cabinet, still wondering, drew out the top drawer, and took it to the window. [Illustration: "'WHAT A QUEER LITTLE THING!' CRIED MYRA."] The Witch looked up and down the long rows of moths, each with its wings outspread on a separate pin. At last she picked out a great death's-head, and looked at it lovingly. It was a beautiful specimen, just what she wanted for her latest potion, a wonderful mixture that would enable you to turn fifteen cart-wheels on a cobweb without breaking it. "I'll give you the Memory-Saver for this," she cried, eagerly. "Oh, but it isn't mine!" said Myra, hastily pulling back the drawer. "It's your brother's, dear," coaxed the Witch. "You know he would not mind." "He would," said Myra; "it's his best specimen; he told me so yesterday." "Well, it does him no good in the drawer," pleaded the Witch; "and the Memory-Saver would prevent your being scolded and punished for not knowing your lessons, as you are almost every day. Besides, you could easily save your pocket-money and buy him another moth." "They're so dear!" sighed Myra. "But grandma always gives me half a sovereign at Christmas. Well, if you like----"